KIDNAP: An ABS-CBN Special.
(Last of three parts)
For the first days, my cell phone, with Smart as the service provider, was used by our captors to contact my family, and for their own use as well. By the third or fourth day, the battery of my cell phone was used up.
They transferred my SIM card to one of their phones and continued to use my line. The group would send a messenger from time to time to charge the phone, I assumed, to a nearby village. At some point when communication was urgent, we would wait anxiously for a courier to come back with a charged battery. The group had control of my cell phone but there were times when they would hand it to me to call or text. I sent messages surreptitiously.
I would also look immediately at the call register to see who they contacted, or who called them and I would copy the numbers in my notebook. I could do this because I would pretend not to know the numbers of my family by heart and would always have my notebook handy. I would look at messages in the inbox and outbox and at one point, copied a message in Tausug as swiftly as I could.
All this information, I have shared with the authorities. I also managed to send messages to my family and ABS-CBN about our whereabouts. They were tension-filled moments because I had to look nonchalant even when my heart was pounding so hard. The unit was no longer mine so I had to familiarize myself with the cell phone quickly.
I would carefully erase my messages from the sent box so as not to leave evidence. My heartbeat quickened when once, I realized that I did not clear the text from the phone. It was fortunate that I was given the phone to call again and I had an opportunity to double check. But nothing was so fearful as the time I had reported that ten to 12 men had left camp, including the supposed commander, a day after Angel Valderama was freed.
When I had the cell phone, I told Jimmy Encarnacion to be on the lookout and to alert me in case they would come near. I then rapidly texted the message, with the professor egging me, “Don’t forget, go delta.” My hands were shaking as I sent the text; “Ten men left, only about twelve here. Now is the time to go delta.”
When we realized they could not understand English, I would give clues while talking to my brother, Frank. I remember I said: “We are on a mountain I climbed before, check with my office what mountain that is (referring to Bud Daho). My rest house, referring to our camp, is facing a mountain that sounds like an old man (Mt Matanding) “
In another call I said, “Frank, I have a rest house (referring to our camp) which has 20 caretakers ( referring to our guards). This rest house is 3000 meters from a lone house facing the sunrise. Tell the caretakers they have to clear the area around the rest house. Also there is poison ivy there (referring to the bomb), they have to be careful.”
Negotiations
I was ordered to call ABS-CBN to inform my employers that I was being held hostage.
When I asked who they were, the commander said, “Lost command.”
I asked, whose lost command?
“Just lost command,” came the reply.
I called the head of news and current affairs, Maria Ressa, on my cell phone. I was also instructed to tell her not to tell the military about it. It was a brief conversation, and I was told to tell her to expect another call. They said they would tell me when I should call again. I was instructed to return to our hut and not to tell my companions anything about the conversation or they would be tied.
We were told we had to leave the camp. By then, the kidnappers had demanded a P20-million peso ransom for us.
It was made clear to me, which I conveyed to the kidnappers, that the company had a no- ransom policy. I also told them they cannot expect anything, since I had defied instructions on the eve of the interview not to proceed with it and instead to just hand Prof. Dinampo my list of questions for Sahiron and a mini-camera which we also brought with us.
I tried to bring down the price and bargain with them. The one armed man had told me the ransom could not be brought down.
P2 million only
We were on the move again, passed more homes but they became more and more far apart from each other. One had a radio that I could hear some broadcast from.
The civilians did not look threatened by the armed men, who could be mistaken for soldiers.
They had the same uniform, complete with the army insignia and carried the same M14 and M16 long arms. We stopped on a grassy slope where water was flowing on a well-built pipe made out of bamboo above the ground.
It was on the ridge that I talked to my sister, Grech, for the first time. I also talked to my mother, who was crying on the phone and finally my youngest son, Andre.
Before night fall, the armed men set up camp in a narrow ridge of the mountain covered by trees. They laid out a plastic sheet for us, the material similar to rice sacks. A plastic tent was put above it, tied to the trees. This was where we were to sleep. We were given a plate of rice and a child-size serving of noodles. It was for the four of us. I didn’t eat my share.
Shortly after nine in the evening, the one armed man brought me my phone again and said I must talk about the ransom with my sister. My sister told my captors that all we could afford was P2 million.
I heard one of the armed men remark that they would start digging. Alarmed, I told my sister, “Let’s borrow money, maybe I can borrow from ABS-CBN.”
Patikul
As we got ready to rest, Jimmy, my cameraman, said we must cover our ears for the ground was filled with giant ants. I thought of my panty liners in my bag. I peeled two of them to get the cotton stuffed inside to protect our ears.
But we were ordered to move. As we got up, we saw new faces. We walked for probably an hour, until we reached a lone house overlooking the sea. Before approaching the house, we were made to wait and I assumed they were sending the occupants away. The house like many we saw on the mountain, was on stilts, it was roofed but had no walls. The cold was bitter that night and I shivered all night in my damp jacket.
In my journal I kept throughout our captivity I wrote:
The cold was biting and our feet were damp, my rubber shoes caked with mud. I slept fitfully and was shivering from the cold. I was woken up to start transferring again. The view we left behind was worth it though. The sunrise gave the sky an orange glow. The sun rose over the mountains and gave the sea a soft light. There was an island close to the shore but no one could tell me what its name was.
All throughout our captivity, the group was careful not to reveal where we were or to mislead us by giving wrong information. In the next days, I would pass information through text and through my phone calls, based on the description of the area that Prof. Dinampo would give me.
The area we moved to was where we spent the next six days of our captivity. About four men brought us to the area but before we climbed the slope, they made a great show of planting a bomb, they said in case soldiers were to come.
We were on the eastern slope of Bud Daho, 3000 meters from the lone house where we were first taken, facing the sun RISE. The slope we were on was facing a smaller mountain, called Mt. Matanding.
Bud Daho is a storied mountain, where more than a century ago, thousands of Tausugs, including women and children, were massacred by US soldiers. The professor told me if there was any opportunity to escape, we must head west. West was the more populated area of Patikul, the baranggay of Danag, where Jimmy and I began our climb in 2007.
As it is, we were already in Patikul, the stronghold of Radulan Sahiron. This was what the professor told me. When I had the opportunity to text, I would send the location to my family members and to Charie Villa, my immediate superior in ABS-CBN. I had also sent the same message to Vice Governor Lady Anne Sahidula, who was chosen by my family to represent us in the negotiations for our release.
Threat to behead
We were constantly in fear, but I would try never to betray it to our captors.
It was on June 11 that the first really frightening experience of our captivity came. It was close to sunset, when Vice Governor Lady Anne, who was on speakerphone, told my captors all my family could afford to pay was P2 million.
They grabbed the cell phone from me and went berserk. The one-armed man, whom I later learned to be Commander Harris or Commander Tek, looked at me with blazing eyes and said we were going to die in the jungle.
We held hands and prayed. I never prayed so hard. Then the men took Jimmy and Angel and tied their hands behind their back. They were made to kneel on the mud. We were told that if the money didn’t arrive the next day at two pm, they were going to behead Angel.
The man holding Jimmy turned to me and said I should put on make up so that when they ship my head via LBC to ABS-CBN, I would look pretty.
I tried to be as calm as I could. My calmness in the face of all these threats surprised me. There was no other choice. To be hysterical would have achieved nothing. I could not do anything to comfort Jimmy and Angel and all I could was offer them a drink from the plastic gallon, as they were hogtied. I wanted to cry, but I held myself.
Then Angel and Jimmy were brought to separate hammocks, with one hand tied to a tree. When things settled down, the professor told me we had to undo the group’s “misuara,” or consensus. He said he had to make a counterproposal to the group otherwise, if the P20 million doesn’t come, they would be forced to uphold their ultimatum.
We had to save Angel. We quietly discussed what to propose. The professor said, what if we offer a cash advance to lift the ultimatum? He talked to the one-armed man in Tausug. The professor came back and said the group would meet again to discuss our proposal.
Cash advance
By nine pm, the one- armed man came to tell me that they had decided on a P5-million cash advance by two p.m., to cancel the ultimatum on Angel.
I called the Vice Governor and pretended I was talking to my sister, because they were so enraged by her. I said,” Sister, they are asking for five million so that Angel will not be beheaded. It has to be with Mayor Isnadji by two o clock p.m. tomorrow.”
It was the day before, the morning of June 10, that our captors had told us that it was Mayor ALVAREZ Isnadji of Indanan who they could trust to receive their money. They said the Mayor’s son, Jun was a friend of theirs, who will not fool them about the money.
I was surprised when they mentioned the Indanan mayor, because one of the very first things they warned me about, aside from not telling the authorities about our kidnapping, was for my family not to deal with any politician, because they said the politicians would only keep the money for themselves.
This was how I convinced them to accept the vice governor as my family’s representative.
‘I would die, too’
It was the longest night of my life. I prayed hard and confronted the possibility that I too may die. I could not live if one of us is beheaded. I would also die myself.
I wrote in my journal:
June 12, 5 a.m. Sunrise, again a beautiful orange glow in the east that somehow eases the brutality that envelopes us. I prayed the rosary again as the sun rose. It eases the soul and calms me. There is an ultimatum issued by the group that if P5M is not received by the mayor of Indanan at 2 pm today, Angel will be beheaded. I could not write that yesterday as it was difficult. I took the news as calmly as I could. And the possibility that I too may die here.”
At 11:00 a.m., I wrote:
I am leaving my fate up to God and only hope there will be an end to this.” Then at 1:40 p.m., another entry: “ We just learned of Angel’s reprieve. Angel was very happy. We are all happy. I just said the rosary and I feel a sense of peace.”
It was past the two p.m. deadline, when the one armed commander approached my hammock and said that the P5 million was already with the mayor and that the ultimatum on Angel had been cancelled—and that he was going to be released.It was good news to us!
Without hesitation, I agreed, but asked that I must explain this to Jimmy. We all agreed and wished Angel well. They warned me that I must instruct Angel not to talk to the authorities or our safety will be jeopardized. Some 12 men prepared to bring Angel out. It was June 12, Independence Day. Second ultimatum
It was on the 7th day of our captivity, on the evening of June 14, that we moved camp. It was also the day that the second ultimatum was issued. Before transferring, Commander Tek told me that the second half of the ransom of P15 million had to be in by Monday, June 16, or one of us would be beheaded. And as if to soothe me, he added that the mayor had asked them to extend the deadline to Tuesday, June 17, and the group agreed.
It was also the day I received a text from Senator Loren Legarda. Commander Tek, the one-armed man had given me my cell phone to show her text. By this time, the “commander” had left with about ten men. He left Friday, the day after Angel was released. Professor Dinampo had told me he saw some of them receive money. “Good for six months,” he overheard them say.
I asked if I could call the senator, because by this time, I could no longer reach any members of my family. It was a big relief and a great comfort to hear a voice from the outside world. She told me, “I am working for your unconditional release.” After our conversation, I sent a text to Loren, “ I have faith in you. Please send my love to my mom and my boys.”
The camp we moved to was a short walk downhill, about 30 minutes away. It looked like a place that the armed men had used before. I was assigned a bamboo cot with low nipa walls but no roof, so they tied a plastic sheet above it. Immediately, below the bed, our captors set up hammocks for Jimmy, the professor, and Commander Tek. Some distance away were other makeshift huts, surrounding my own “hut.” There was even a makeshift kitchen.
The professor told me we were on the west slope of Mt. Matanding. I made a mental note of it just in case I had an opportunity to send a text on our change of location.
Sunday evening, as I was on my bamboo bed, Jimmy and I were roused from sleep, our hands tied. They accused us of trying to escape. It would have made me really scared but I refused to indulge my fear. I just prayed and tried to go back to sleep.
They were getting more and more cruel with us. Jimmy was now always tied with his arms behind his back. My arms were tied in front. They would untie us only when meals were served. My bag which I used as a pillow was taken away from me. I worried more about my notebook and the notes I had written on it.
Very early Tuesday, the day of the ultimatum, the men had already begun to threaten to behead Jimmy. The men gave me the phone to call my family. I called Senator Legarda, gone was the calm in my voice. I told her, please tell me if there is money, otherwise I will prepare my fate.
It was before noon when I called her again saying they were ready to behead Jimmy. A bolo had been taken out. Then I heard a loud slap. I screamed and cried in shock. I slumped on the cot and hugged Jimmy, crying on his shoulder. Then I had seen that a rope had been tied from his arms behind him to his neck, with a piece of cloth tied around it. I had an empty feeling in my stomach.
They made me call my family to ask exactly how much money they raised. I called Senator Legarda instead. In the middle of the phone call, I saw one of the armed men hit me from the corner of my eye. Again, I fell on the cot. In the middle of my sobs, I remember asking Jimmy, where was I slapped? Why don’t I feel pain? But Jimmy was already begging the men for his life. I told the men, “Please behead me instead.”
By then, after all my prayers, I had asked the Lord to prepare me to accept my death calmly. At the same time, I tried to think, could they be bluffing? But I had made up my mind, that I would not beg these men for my life.
As they hit Jimmy with the butt of a rifle and the bamboo bed, I said, “Please, please one last call, one last call to my family!” But the phone rang and the image of the man who answered the call will forever be imprinted on my mind. He was laughing as he spoke to the phone, spat on the ground, ended the call and said to us, “It’s over, you are free.”
Free, at last!
On our long walk to freedom on the 17th of June, I asked one of our guards when the one armed commander lost his right arm. I was told that Commander Tek was with his family in a jeep when they were ambushed by the military. Commander Tek, he said, was only five years old then.
I asked myself in my journal: “What kind of life will I go back to? What about these people? What is life to them? What is their purpose? What is mine?”
I still have to discern the answers to these questions. And as I face the consequences of my actions and for my error in judgment, when I brought my team aboard the jeep that would take us to our abduction, the only certain thing I know is that while my family forgave me unconditionally for the ordeal I had put them through, the institution I belong to will demand accountability.
As journalists, we demand accountability from public officials. For now, the first honorable and decent thing to do is to accept the sanctions that may be meted out to me, that I too am ready to be accountable for my actions.
It will be a long time before I return to Sulu. It would be foolhardy to go anytime soon. I can only hope that even as the ransom paid will sadly go to more arms and resources for the bandits, the focus on the province will galvanize the nation to address its dire situation. While I condemn the actions of the group that took us, I also condemn the system that allows them to thrive.
"During the day, when you gaze at the deep blue sky or at night as you look up to the darkness dotted with stars and a crescent moon, “ I wrote in my journal, “you wonder how the Sulu sky can shelter such cruelty.”
KIDNAP, a documentary on the abduction in Sulu of ABS-CBN broadcast journalist Ces Drilon and her crew by the Abu Sayyaf Group, will be aired on ABS-CBN (Channel 2) Sunday, July 13, 10:05 p.m.
