Cold Metal: Incarcerated

By John Michael Corpuz

Armed with four academic degrees, including an MBA, Tito worked in banking and never worried about money. His comfortable lifestyle included traveling around the world, from the Florida Keys to Tokyo. Ultimately, though, he trusted the wrong people when he decided to start his own business, despite warning signs. Several bounced checks later, Tito was arrested in a street roundup for failing to produce identification, beginning an odyssey he never could have imagined, in a place where the stench alone nearly overpowered him.

Enter Dubais Muraqqabat and Al Awir jails, where people of every race, language, and ethnicityChinese, Lebanese, Pakistani, Filipino, African, Syrian, Indianare confined for crimes ranging from indecent exposure to financial misdeeds to homicide. Meet Joey, who loved to impersonate action stars from old movies; Neil, terrified and on the edge of a breakdown; Joseph, who reputedly earned nearly $10,000 a month while incarcerated; Khalid, the swaggering bully who tearfully recounted what happened to the woman whose love changed
his life.

Tito puts human faces on stereotypes of Christian and Muslim, gay and straight, Arab and Chinese. Stories of loyalty, small kindnesses, and selflessness unfold along with those of deceit and intimidation, and it is here that Tito learns about pure love, true friendship, and his ability to survive. Cold Metal opens the door to a world that is sometimes sad, sometimes harsh, sometimes heartwarming, and always fascinatinga world most of us will never see firsthand, but will never forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Dec 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466998438

John Michael Corpuz

Tito Corpuz Flores has lived in the United Arab Emirates since 2004 and has worked as a business development manager for a bank, a consulting firm, and an outsourcing company. He has earned degrees from the University of Illinois, the Singapore Institute of Management, Saint Mary’s College of California, and the University of Pangasinan.

Book preview

Chapter 1

In the Beginning

It was a journey that I need to embark on! I have been living a life without direction, full of uncertainties. As if I was a drifting wood hopelessly floating on a turbulent flow of a gushing river, heading towards a very high fall. I could not help but await the big crash that would eventually shatter my existence. If that happens, all my problems would be solved, but, like in the past, I would be running away from it again.

My mind was occupied with the impending fall from the gushing water of the rapids where limbo is a better alternative than the plunge. I was hoping that my fall would bring me to a land where I could rise with my own two feet again securely fastened on the ground. It was so scary to think of the effect of the fall on my soul. Surely, it would be shattered into pieces and would be floating to nothingness like a meteor rock hovering in the vastness of space.

I need a new beginning. Like a phoenix, I want to rise from the ashes to start a new life. However, the odds are against me. Unless, the guiding hands of God will nudge me to a place where I can start a fresh life and breathe fresh air. I pray to Him that my deliverance will be smooth and easy.

I have made major mistakes in this life that landed me free accommodations in UAE jails. Although these costly mistakes have cracked my self-respect and confidence, they have certainly thought me valuable lessons that reshaped my beliefs and philosophies. Most of all, it totally changed my perspective in life.

My sister compared me to our late father. Like him, I worked hard to attain a luxurious life only to fall in the end. I keep asking myself about the parallel of my Papa’s life and mine. Fortunately, like him, I will rise up again and will live comfortably until the twilight of my existence. He was fighter like me!

Jail life was a surreal experience. My days inside have given me ample time to blame myself and wallow in self-pity. Most importantly, I had time to do major soul-searching. While staring the vertical metal bars of the prison walls, I kept asking myself why I got into these doldrums. I asked myself over and over again if I was awake or if this was just my worst nightmare playing endlessly in my head. I was thinking of the better times in the Philippines, the US, Singapore, India, UK, Japan and other countless countries that I have been to. I kept remembering my yuppie days where money was not an issue. I closed my eyes and remember walking on the streets of New York, San Francisco, Tokyo, London, Sydney, Singapore, Delhi and other famous cities in the world. The beaches of Miami, the Florida Keys, Hundred Islands and Santa Monica could only soothe my troubled mind; only to wake up and see the vertical bars staring at me blankly, reminding me of the predicament I was in.

I was in denial for some time, thinking that this cannot be happening because I am too damned smart to be in jail. I cockily say to myself that I have four degrees, two of which were from reputable universities in the United States, under my belt. How can a US-educated man with an MBA from one of the major State colleges in the Midwest be in jail? Is it just my luck or am I just damned and stupid? Do the gemstones I wore and collected have finally given up their cosmic powers to drag me down into oblivion?

Before, I laughed at the notion that the ruby ring I wore and the gemstones I lovingly collected had bad effects on my fate. A dear Indian friend of mine, Mike, warned me a thousand times not to dip my hands into these beautiful stones. At times, his Indian beliefs about those ornate things led him to predict that those beautiful pieces would adversely affect my well-being, finances and health, if those were not compatible with my stars. Instead of good energy, those stones would funnel a wrath of bad energies that would knock me off from my path of happiness, harmony and good life. He went at length with lecturing me on the dangers of each stone, how the cosmic rays of the planets would shower me with bad energies by just wearing or even touching them. I just ignored him. Maybe he was right! Maybe I should have heeded his advice? It is too late now though. I would never know what my life would have been if I had only shunned these things.

Is this karma? I know I have wronged a lot of people. Like a normal being, I have committed sins against my fellow human beings. I run away from my problems, avoiding them. I do not have guts to face them. I am a kind of person who avoids confrontation. I thought I could just live with by ignoring my problems. Boy, I was so wrong! I have learned an invaluable lesson; the more you run away from problems the more they hunt you. Just face them! Take whatever result or punishment it will give you and move on. Remember there is no such thing as a stable life.

Even in nature stability is a myth. In fact, the opposite is the universal truth; life is unstable. At times good weather will change to violent storms and these storms will remind us that we cannot completely control our lives. There is a Supreme Being controlling the intricacies of our physical, spiritual and metaphysical environment we live in.

But what do these storms mean to us? Storms come to tell us how vulnerable we are and show us the sincere people are in our lives who will stand besides us to face its fury. After each storm, only then can we appreciate how beautiful life can be. But let us be thankful for every storm that hits us. Because of these disturbances, we will find out who we really are and how strong we can be. This storm that just hovered on my horizon has taught me a lot of things about myself that I never knew before. It gave me a clear picture of which road to take. It has opened my eyes to what kind of life I should take and where fate will lead me.

It is so surreal that every move I made and every person I met while inside the prison had an effect that defined the direction where I am going and what will happen next. These clandestine events were so foreboding that I was in awe before I realized that these things happened for a purpose.

However, accepting fate is not easy. Right after my detention, the blaming game started right away. At first, I blamed everybody but myself. I blamed the banks for extending me loans and my credit cards. I blamed their sales people who enticed me to get credit from them and how they were able to sweet talk me into marching right into the credit trap. I blamed the banks for their liberal credit policies. I blamed the parties into luring me to open a business with them that eventually failed without even taking off the ground. I blamed the Dubai and UAE governments for their pro banks laws and regulations. I even accused them of fostering a very one sided lending practices that only protect the interest of the banks at the expense of the consumers. I blamed the whole materialistic world for why I succumbed from its temptations. I should have lived a normal and simple life. I was lost and angry.

But should I blame them? Of course not! There is nobody to blame but myself. I have lived a life of adventure and carelessly betting on my future. I lived the Que Sera Sera (Whatever will be will be) mentality that my Spanish forbears have planted in my Filipino culture during their long years of Philippine occupation. It is ridiculous to blame banks’ sales people in pushing their products to people like me. Like me, they are also just doing what they can to survive. Here in the UAE, credit cards and loans salespersons’ compensations depend on their sales volume. Worst, their employment visas will be cancelled immediately and will be sent home with a six months ban from re-entering the UAE if they are not able to reach their quotas. Likewise, it is also ridiculous for me to blame the government. Dubai and UAE as a whole, have nothing to do with the banks and my credit transactions. It is my belief that unless, we break the law and commit fraud, government should never snoop its nose in anybody’s business. In short, this quagmire is between the banks and me.

Finally, I came to terms with reality that I was behind bars because of bad choices, bad behaviors, and, most of all, uncontrollable lifestyle. My shortsightedness of not planning for the future, and my extravagant ways during the abundant times have given me a false security. I came to believe that, with my background and qualifications, endless cash will surely come.

It is ironic. I read books about money matters, especially on financial management, only to be incarcerated because of mishandling my own financial affairs. The lessons from these readings have not certainly registered into my materialistic mind or I just ignored them because I was enjoying what I was able to have.

It was too late when I found out that I was on the brink of disaster, and the only wise thing to do is surrender and face my fears. Be humiliated, I deserve it. But I was so scared and proud. I drifted for months, even years, before fate finally decided that I had been outside for too long.

I am now middle aged and all I earned during my years of working have been lost. I need to get up and fight again and earn my key to a good life for my golden days. My recovery from this disaster maybe just around the corner or may just be a dream. As I write this book, my guts are wrenching not because of my fear of failure to finish it but because of the kind of life I maybe having on the coming of my twilight days. The unknown is scary.

I have already accepted my incarceration without questions. Although this remains a stigma in my life, I am grateful that I have come to terms with my failures. My incarceration has reshaped my emotional, philosophical and intellectual states permanently. Jail has restructured my overall views especially on crime and punishments, and the so called criminals. When I wrote a draft of this book on my prison bed, I could already see and feel the changes I have had and the emergence of my new outlook in life. Indeed, I will be a changed person when I walk out the door from prison. Not that I was bad and finally corrected, but I am now changed because prison has transformed me to become more street-smart and less trusting.

I considered myself an academician. I always thought that academics should always predict and dictate the behavior, pattern and direction of what a productive and normal life should be. Now that the reality and norm of street life flashed right before me, I believe that the process is the other way around. Street knowledge is actually the one that dictates what the academics should teach and the most powerful teacher is the street and not the school.

The line that divides academic theories and street education, in my mind, has become more visibly drawn. Simply, the academe is more of a guide; it dictates the steps how we should approach life while the street is the laboratory where academic theories and practices should get its teachings from. The streets should always shape the face and behavior of the academia.

When I left the Police Station in Ajman UAE, my feeling was just so bizarre. The police officer told me that I was Afraj (Arabic word for Free), and handed me a piece of paper saying that I was a free man. I did not know what to do. I had been longing for this time to come. But I couldn’t explain my feelings. I had mixed emotions and could hardly think where to go. When I crossed the door lentil that separated the police station domain and the street, I was hesitant to move forward. Like a bird that has just been released from its cage, I just stood and look around until reality kicked in. I was a free man!

The smell of freedom brought by a gentle breeze brings out tear drops from my eyes. I could not believe I was free. Instinctively, I executed a sign of the cross to thank the Almighty for giving me back my freedom. Then, as if somebody told me to run for my freedom, I walk briskly on the roads of Ajman, I could still not bring myself together. My mind is still churning episodes of my jail’s life. Afraj, beto beto, khanna, Isab kalath, isab sahi, sacary bob, yallah, these are the words that were still ringing in my head. Then finally, a thought crossed my mind. Yes, I was really free! It was so fitting. My troubles started in Ajman and I was freed from Ajman jail.

Finally, recollecting the past seven months of my life, I told myself that my experience inside the jail must be told. It is just too selfish for me to take these stories to my grave. I do hope that people will learn from my mistakes and will avoid the traps in life which will lead to free rooms with bars. My story begins here.

Every corner has its own story to tell

Chapter 2

Secrets of Dubai

Every single night, unless I was sick or out of the area, I walked from my dingy place in front of the Union or Etihad metro station in Diera taking the streets of Diera Dubai. There were some routes that I regularly follow. One route was from my place towards the gold souq all the way to the end of Hyatt regency then towards Muteena Park then back home. This long route would take me at least 2 hours. I had to pass through dark alleys under the watchful eyes of Pathans and Arabs with their flirting eyes towards me. These people always gave me signs if I wanted to have a rendezvous with them in the crevices of dark empty stalls of Diera’s gold and spice souqs.

Some of my friends had interesting experiences in these parts of town. There were pimps and marketers in the industry who ply the streets of these areas. There were rumors that this trade was handled by powerful gangs connected to some government officials. I also heard that the government is not aggressively cracking this industry down because of the following reasons.

Firstly, the men and women in the street became a de facto arm of the CID to help them watch any illegal activities in the area, especially from the terrorist threats. Although CID people were all over the place, they regularly talk to the industry workers to spy on people. One of my fellow inmates has told me that this is a fact. Secondly, the imbalance of men and women ratio, being men is dominant in numbers, allegedly made the government to close their eyes on this issue in order to minimize the effect of homosexuality. Also, it is assumed that having women readily available will deter rape or bring down cases of rape. Of course the main reason boils down to greed. This is a very lucrative business. Prostitution is all about quick fulos or money. All other reasons are just smoke screens to hide the timeless excuse for prostitution; money.

On the streets of spice souqs going towards the Al Sabkha in Diera Dubai, I passed through the territory of African women offering their services to sex starved expatriates and locals who were seeking to satisfy their lusts. One could tell that these were sex workers because unlike in western countries, people strolling on the roads when night time comes were only men and rarely women. Women who were unaccompanied by men roaming the streets of Dubai after hours are mostly workers of the sex trade.

While walking just right west of Al Sabkha station, I spotted a group of African women soliciting from passersby. Most of the women in the pack were huge. I kept on wondering if the notion that Arabs and people from the subcontinent prefer women who are overweight, especially if these women have big bosoms and rear ends, was true. The definition of sexy which was the anorexic type in Western countries is the exact opposite in this part of the world. From what I observed, men were crowding the big women more than the regular and thin bodied members of the pack.

One of the ladies approached me and she gave me her best smile. Her white teeth were so bright in the dark that I could not really figure out how she looked like. She started offering me her service at an initial price of 30 Dirhams (less than 10 US dollars). I respectfully said, No, Thank you. But she was too persistent that she started following me around. I ran away from her and tried to lose her before any cop would show up.

This pack was successful though, many times in the past I encountered some of its members were into intimate acts in the dark alleys in this area with their patrons. One hilarious incident happened when I detoured from my usual walk route and was lost in the dark pathways of closed souqs for electronic items. I heard thumping and moaning. But since my eyes were not yet fully adjusted in the dark, I did not notice that I was turning into an alley where a very big African woman was being humped by a Pathan. I was very close when I saw their silhouetted bodies and heard their catlike moans. I knew that they also saw me coming because their rhythm became faster and the man’s moans stopped. I think the man’s orgasm exploded because he momentarily froze. After a few seconds, he moved quickly. He pulled his trousers up and ran. Like a scared deer caught on a car’s headlight, he ran while still holding his untied shalwar. My playful mind made me chase him, but he was nowhere to be found once he turned a corner. I looked back at the huge woman who was adjusting her dress. She grinned and asked me, For 25 Dirhams, you can have me. Her grin turned into a wide, toothy smile that all I could see were her white teeth. It was my turn to scamper away!

This is only one of the secrets and whispers of the streets of Dubai. Every corner has its own story to tell. The Baniyas Square itself is arguably the red light district of Dubai and the UAE. Naif and Al Rigga come a close second and third. Al Muteena is also a hunting ground, but not for straight sex.

To begin with, Baniyas and Nasser Square have the entire recipe to be called the Red Light District of Dubai. In the East side next to Al Sabkha Bus Station towards the Abra station is the marketing area. The calling is mostly managed by Bangalis. They loudly whisper their ladies, ladies, ladies offer to passersby who are mostly tourists and merchants from Africa, Europe and most parts of the Middle East. Once a person shows interest, he will be taken to a building or a hotel inside the square. The place features an array of wide selections of women from different countries. When a choice has been made, the couple will then go to a small room or a makeshift cubicle, sometimes, divided only by a blanket to consummate the flesh transaction. It is tricky, because they only tell you the price for the woman but when you pay they will charge you extra for the stinky room. Plus, if you are satisfied and feel like being generous, you will give an extra tip to the girl. The total price may come up easily to 200 Dirhams per quickie. From this amount, the marketer will get from 25 to 50 Dirhams.

In jail, I spoke to inmates who subscribed to the flesh trade of the famous Baniyas Square. All of them had colorful tales to tell about their escapades. They ranked these women and at the bottom of their lists were the Chinese.

I can’t really fathom how the Chinese built such a bad reputation here in Dubai. My Chinese colleagues back in the States are one of the most respected people I have ever known. They are leaders in academics, business and now in the government. However, it is the direct opposite here in Dubai. Chinese girls have a reputation of street roamers. I heard some people saying that they charge as low as 10 Dirhams or 2.75 US Dollar. With this price, they attract the labor class.

There was a time when I lived in the Metro Dubai Area during the mid-2000s. My house was only a few blocks away from a row of old villa-type dwellings. My roommates told me that those were Red Houses or casas of Chinese freelancers. At first, I did not believe them. But one Friday morning, I saw laborers lining up in front of these houses. My curiosity took my feet inside one of the rooms despite the howling of the people on the queue. What I saw was a room subdivided into six smaller rooms. Blankets were used for partition. Each small room had its occupant engaging their own business. The place was so dirty and the putrid smell was unbearable.

I asked my inmate friends about their experiences with Chinese ladies. They all told me that the group screams a lot during love making. They also said that these ladies who are in Dubai are unhygienic and smell bad, at the very least. Again this was a surprise to me. Most of my Chinese friends were very neat and tidy. They were meticulous in using colognes and perfumes.

The second group of workers is the Arabic group. They are the most sought-after-group by the non-Middle Eastern