The Man from Tugaya

My son failed to put enough pressure on the brake in that crucial moment and our old Isuzu Highlander slammed head-on to the left engine side of a sparkling Isuzu Crosswind that suddenly appeared in that intersection from nowhere. The crashing sound of the impact attracted people in that otherwise traffic-free intersection of Iligan City. They started to hover around the two vehicles like vultures waiting delightfully for unfortunate victims.

The driver of the Crosswind was quick to alight from his vehicle, halted and ushered his passengers to a passing jeepney. By his attire, my son figured that he had hit a car driven by a Maranao. His heart sunk and his feet turned into jelly. He remained on his seat for some eternity contemplating on his next moves. My wife, obviously shocked, started calling me frantically from her cellular phone.

But I was of no immediate help. I was beyond reach at that moment. I was on my mountain bike descending like a waterfall down a rough, steep and winding road carved from the mountainside of Balingtad, Manticao Misamis Oriental, about 46 km away from Iligan City.

My son finally summoned enough courage from within him and climbed down from his perch. He approached the driver who was inspecting the damage on his car and carefully put his left arm on his shoulders.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I tried but failed to avoid you. I am relieved that no one was hurt.”

“Well, it was an accident. I must admit I was a little fast because I did not want my passengers to be left behind by the Supper Ferry 11 a.m. schedule. Yes, we are fortunate that no one was hurt,” the Crosswind’s driver matter-of-factly replied.

My son, greatly consoled and comforted by the calm and friendly demeanor of the driver, introduced himself to him. The guy told him his name and showed him his driver’s license apparently to validate his information. His name was Sharif A from Tugaya, Lanao del Sur. He owned the Crosswind he was driving.

A radio announcer was on the scene just after impact and tried to manage the growing crowd. Using his two-way radio, he informed the City’s Traffic Management Office of the accident. Meanwhile, he requested unnecessarily the two drivers to remain calm and leave their vehicles on their exact location until the arrival of the traffic officers.

A band of Maranaos arrived and started talking excitedly to Sharif. They told him that my son was definitely at fault. Sharif looked at them and said that it was for the traffic investigation team to decide. They gave him their own estimate of the damage. He told them that the matter was for the insurance company to make. One claimed that the destroyed front light bulb alone would cost P7-10k. Sharif patiently told him that he bought it some two months ago in Davao City at P2.5k.

Halfway between Balingtad and Manticao proper my cell phone began beeping like mad. Seven text messages from my wife informed me and provided details of the accident. I immediately called her telling her that I was on my way and advising and assuring her to relax because everything would be all right. I also called my eldest son directing him to rush to Iligan to keep her mom and his younger brother company and to inform our insurer of the accident. Meanwhile, my biking companion and I decided to go back to Naawan. We negotiated the route back home at 30-35 km/hour.

In the race to Naawan some butterflies started to flutter in my stomach as the traumatic experience of my younger brother long time ago was refreshed in my mind. The company vehicle he was riding from an inspection tour of a road they were constructing in Tubod, Lanao del Norte, bumped a five year old Maranao girl somewhere in Kauswagan, Lanao del Norte. The girl, unmindful of the onrushing car, crossed the highway and ran after her grandma who was already on the other side of the road. It was too late for the old lady to stop her, and too late for the driver to totally avoid her. My brother picked up the bloody mess of a child and persuaded the grandma to accompany them to the hospital in Iligan. Upon reaching the Sanitarium, my brother directed his driver to surrender the vehicle and himself to the police station.

In the emergency room, the attending physician could not believe the results of the medical examination of the little girl. Despite the impact of the vehicle on her frail body she sustained no fractured bones. Except for the minor but bleeding wound in her forehead and the bruises in her tiny limbs, the child was in exceptionally stable condition. Nonetheless, the she had to be admitted in the hospital for a 24-hour medical observation. The child was about to be ushered to a private room when a throng of relatives arrived angrily demanding for the driver of the ill-fated vehicle. The medical team scampered to safety. Only my brother, the little girl and the grandmother remained in the room. Then a young man pointed to my brother telling the crowd that he was the one who picked the child up and pushed the old lady inside the car. My brother tried to explain but they seemed to hear nothing and started inching towards him. The guard informed of the commotion rushed to the scene and somehow stopped what could have been a tragic event. He was tailed by a tall fellow with a .45 pistol bulging on the left side of his waist.

“Are you the driver?’ the new arrival with the .45 asked with authority.

“No,” my brother replied. I am the passenger – the project engineer. The driver already surrendered to the City Police Station,” he explained.

“He should have surrendered to the PNP in Kauswagan where the accident happened,” the guy blurted out and demanded for my brother’s ID.

“My driver was entertaining that but I ordered him to rush here so that the child can get immediate medical attention. The life of the child was our primary concern,” he answered while handing to him his ID.

The tall guy examined my brother’s ID, looked quizzically at him, narrowed his forehead and asked: “Are you in anyway related to Willie A of MSU Naawan?”

“He is my elder brother.”

“O my God!”

He put his arm around the shoulders of my brother and immediately addressed the crowd, telling everyone that everything is Ok and to leave the stranger (my brother) alone because “I know his brother.”

I was waiting for the bus ride to Iligan after a quick change of clothing when by good fortune an unfamiliar car stopped where I was standing. The new car was owned by a son of a family friend. Thus I was in Iligan in just about an hour upon learning of the incident.

From a distance I saw my two sons talking to the insurance man and to another man whom I presumed to be the driver-owner of the Isuzu Crosswind. I approached them and introduced myself to the owner of the Crosswind.

The man was cool and composed. He showed me his driver’s license, his OR and the certificate of registration of his vehicle even without my asking.

“We are a little unfortunate today Sharif,” I declared.

“Perhaps, but only a little as you said Mr. Willie,” he replied. “To be honest, I actually consider myself fortunate because if it was I who hit your car I really don’t know where to get the money for the repair of the two vehicles. My car is not covered by a comprehensive insurance.

Only two months ago I also figured in an accident with this car while driving in Davao. Somewhere in Makilala, a big carabao suddenly crossed my path and I smashed into it. The carabao was unscathed but my car was heavily damaged. I walked the carabao to the police station nearby and requested the police chief to call for the owner of the carabao. Everyone in the community was notified to identify the carabao. No one claimed the beast. I returned the following day with a tow truck. The carabao was still in the police station ground. ‘Sir,’ the police chief told me, ‘the carabao is owned by nobody. You can bring it home.’ So the police helped me load the carabao in the tow truck. I brought it home to Tugaya and sold it for P15k. You know, I paid P80k for the repair of my car. I was still lucky I had the carabao.” He chuckled amused by his own story.

“Sharif, I am really fascinated by the way you take and handle things like this,” I told him. “You seem undisturbed by the incident. You appear to me incapable of anger. You are really different.”

“Mr. Willie,” he explained. “Nobody wants an accident. Not you and me. But you cannot avoid an accident. If it is bound to happen it will happen. Consider this: I was from Tugaya and your son was from Naawan. We did not know each other and never had an agreement to come to Iligan and arrived here today almost at the same time. There are many routes to the pier and there are other routes to the bank he was going. He chose his own route and I chose mine and we met in that intersection in a way that no one of us desired.”

“But by experience many people get mad in situation like this,” I said.

“One must be mad for the right reason and at the right time,” he mused. “To get mad you must have someone to blame and direct your ire to. But who is to blame for an incident that no one intended to do or even wished to do? Accidents might be divine jokes. This one was neither funny nor so cruel in anyway. Whatever, this is one of the things we have to accept in life.”

He gently tapped my shoulder and whispered a request: “Please put some pressure on the insurance and the repair shop to hasten the restoration of my car. This is my livelihood. I ferry passengers in groups (pakyaw) from Marawi to any parts of Mindanao. I hope I can drive this car again before Christmas or the New Year.”

I promised. The shop released his car to his satisfaction three weeks after the incident and two days before the New Year. Mine languished in the shop for another two weeks.