Eva Visperas

THANK God I was not there, otherwise I would have been in my grave.

Two years have passed and this incident has been the scariest so far that ever happened to me in my life as a reporter. Until now, it gives me goose bumps whenever I remember it.

It’s like this. I made an early phone call to then Urbiztondo, Pangasinan Mayor Ernesto “Jun” Balolong around 7 a.m. on June 7, 2014.

The mayor cordially acceded to my request to help me locate the house reportedly built by one of the country’s Cabinet members then for her rumored lover in his town. We needed to take pictures and confirmation from reliable sources.

Balolong said he was willing to help and assured me he would ask one of his men to accompany me and our photojournalist, Cesar Ramirez, to accomplish our mission given by our editor.

He reminded me about his earlier invitation for a twin celebration in his family — his councilor-son’s wedding and his and his wife’s wedding anniversary, too, the following day.

“Yes, mayor, I’m attending your very special occasions,” I assured him.

Our call time with the mayor was 9 a.m. The mayor told me to go first to his house where our guide would join us for our assignment.

Another media colleague, local broadcaster Joel Balolong of Aksyon Radyo Pangasinan, who is close to the mayor (having the same family name but not related by affinity or consanguinity), was to accompany us, too. He volunteered to be our driver.

But he came in late for a few minutes as he was interviewing live in his radio program another mayor who discussed many things, prompting his program to go overtime.

As soon as he was finished, he hurriedly went to our rendezvous and off we proceeded to Mayor Balolong’s town.

But on our way, exactly already in San Carlos City which is several kilometers away from Urbiztondo, I received a phone call from a friend.

He asked me where I was and promptly told him I’m on my way to Urbiztondo with two media colleagues.

He said he has a passenger in his vanforrent business from Urbiztondo telling him that Mayor Balolong and other persons were gunned down and about three others were wounded.

I said he must be kidding as I talked to the mayor barely an hour earlier and I was, in fact, on my way to see him in a few minutes.

Then, I got more text messages informing me about the killing. I became jittery.

My cellular phone became busy, making phone calls and sending text messages to police authorities and mayor’s friends, to get confirmation about the killings.

We drove faster to reach our destination as quick as we could. On our way, we met speeding ambulances and police vehicles.

‘Oh my God, the report must be true,’ I told myself. I frantically sent a text message to our editor about the still unverifi ed report.

When we reached our supposed meeting place, people were rushing to the crime scene, in front of an ongoing construction of the mayor’s building.

There were Scene of the Crime Operatives, policemen securing the area, curious onlookers with frightened looks.

I felt shaking but had to do interviews from eyewitnesses in the area.

We next proceeded to the hospital where the mayor was brought. Yes, the mayor was dead. He was already in the morgue when we next saw him.

Joel Balolong said we, too, would have been killed, if we came on time. He said he knew too well how the mayor would do as soon as we arrived in his place, as it was his routine — to invite us to see the ongoing construction of a building he was putting up. He was always like that whenever Joel visited him, I learned.

If we indeed came on time, we would have been among the casualties of that supposed happy day that turned into a tragedy.

It pays sometimes to be late, I told myself.

I am grateful I was not at the wrong time, at the wrong place when this happened.