First of a series by Donnie Lama

It was a case of mistaken identity. I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I was jailed by accident. But looking back on that fateful day I am certain that I was serving the right purpose of God.

The Saudi authorities were looking for a murderer. They though I was the murderer. But they found out later that I was not and I will never be the murderer. What they found in me instead after torture and maltreatment was a photo where I was holding up the body of Christ during communion service. The authorities did not find a gun or a knife or anything that would tie me to the killing incident. What they fund in my room was the reason why I was in jail – my hands holding the body of Lord.

I guess not so many are jailed because of picture. But I was. The picture was not an ordinary one, it was a picture of a man not acceptable in Saudi Arabia; that man is Jesus. He is the man present in the bread I was holding in that picture that put me in jail for one year and six months with 70 lashes.

A Filipino is Murdered

I returned to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia on October 5, 1995 to resume work in an airline company. Three days before my return a murder took place near our apartment. A Filipino hospital worker had been murdered. Vic Prodigalidad, a trusted friend who fetched me at the airport, updated me of the latest news. But I brushed the news aside. After all, I did not know the guy.

Meanwhile the dead man’s unidentified killer was now being tracked down by the Saudi authorities. They were looking for the murderer.

Midnight Knockings

I was renting an apartment in the City of Riyadh with two other Filipinos. One of whom happened to be an acquaintance of the boss of the dead Filipino. But did not know the implication of such an association until that fateful day of October 10, 1995. It was 11:00 in the evening. I was tied up doing my weekly laundry. I wanted to finish this weekly chore so that I could have a free weekend, Thursday and Fridays being the weekends in the desert kingdom. I was going to participate in a tennis tournament late Thursday afternoon. I wanted to have much rest as possible.

I was about to go to bed when I heard the loud pounding noise coming from the front door of my rented apartment. The people outside were pounding on the door so hard they almost knocked it down. They also tried to climb up the windows of the living room to get in. It was good that the windows were closed and had bars. I decided not open the door. Rey Barrera, my apartment, which did not have any window so we could at least hide ourselves from whoever it was outside.

My other apartment mate was not around. We had no idea who they were and their reason for being there. We recognized them, however, to be Saudis as they were speaking Arabic. But we did not understand of what was being said. We did not know that these were the policemen. We were terrified. We could only pray that the men outside would go away and leave us soon. I recited Psalm 91 with Barrera to comfort and remind us of God’s protection: Whoever goes to the Lord for safety, whoever remains under the protection of the Almighty, can say to him, “You are my defender and protector. You are my God; in You I trust” He will keep safe from all hidden dangers and from all deadly diseases.

The knocking continued until 2:00 am. Then it stooped. I was so nervous and mentally disturbed. I was not able to sleep the whole night.

In Case of a Raid

Early on the morning of October 11, Thursday, a weekend and therefore a no-work day, I took immediate and necessary precautions in case of a raid. I knew it was common occurrence in Saudi to have one’s house raided. You do not know just what might be used against you, no matter how innocent or neutral the object may be. The police will use anything as evidence. So very early in the morning, I cleaned my apartments and gathered all the religious stuff, e.g. Bibles, cassette tapes, videotapes, pamphlets which were the only things that I thought would implicate me. I brought them to the house of my friend Ronnie Germino who lived nearby. I kept all the rest of my things including the photo albums.

Instead of returning to my apartment, I went to Rey Sapnu’s house, another close friend of mine, just to spend my time with him for the whole day.

The Terrifying Raid

Barrera, who had an association with the boss of the murdered Filipino. Was so afraid for himself that he did not leave my side the whole day. Concerned with the safety of my apartment mate I thought of entrusting him for the night to another close friend, Rod Sitson, who runs an automotive shop.

At around 5:00 pm, I went home alone to prepare for a tennis tournament. While I was talking with another friend on the phone, someone knocked on my front door.  Without thinking I immediately opened the door.

To my great surprise, five Saudis, six feet tall, wearing their Arab attire of white gowns rushed in. they were identifying themselves as policemen without any warning and asking question, they rushed to handcuff me with my hands at the back. As there was no explanation to why they were doing this, I protested, “No, you can’t handcuff me! What’s my violation? What’s the problem? Who are you? “You are the problem” shouted the group’s leader who turned out to be a Muttawah (the Saudi Religious Police). “Come with us to the police station. Give your explanations there.” I was caught between shock and confusion. They started beating me, kicking me and slapping me. Still, I protested while I was trying to pull away my hand. “You can’t do this!” They choked me so I could barely breathe I felt I was drowning. I felt terrible pain all over. “You are resisting arrest!” said the Muttawah as I kept on pulling my handcuffed hands which had by now begun to grow red and swollen. Then my other apartment mate, Mario who was resting in his room at the time, checked to see what the commotion was all about. He, too was immediately handcuffed and arrested, “Where is your other companion?” referring to Barrera who was actually the one they wanted to interrogate because of the latter’s association with the boss of the murdered Filipino. “He is not here,” we answered.

I could not believe what was happening. Then they started going through my personal belongings. They messed up the living room and the bedroom. They moved my furniture here and there, opened my cabinets, my drawers, ravaged though the neatly stocked clothes and other belongings. They began throwing things onto the floor whatever their hands got to hold of, unzipped bags. They found my photo albums and took the copies of my photographs and negatives. They said they were going to take them as evidence.

Then Mario and I were brought to the Al-Sulimaniyah Police Station with the things they had confiscated from my apartment including those albums.

Torture and Interrogation in the Cell

At the Police Station, Mario and I were immediate separated from each other. It was 7:00 pm. I was asked to stand facing the wall still my hands were handcuffed for five hours. They also shackled my legs, so that I could barely move. When I moved ever slightly, the guards would immediately slap me so hard, kick and punch my body. Not content, they would also spit in my face. I felt as if my blood was surging to my head and I almost fainted. I thought I would pass out each time. Then they started interrogating me. “Your passport is fake!” they said. “No, it’s not. You can check it with the Immigration,” I answered back. “You know about the murder?" insisting of my knowledge about the murder. "I don’t know anything about it. I am telling you the truth.” Every time I answer, “Liar! Liar!” had been the reply with a stinging slap on both sides of my face.

(to be continued...)