Alex's Book...Chapter Two

HOW LONG DOSE IT TAKE TO FILE A POLICE REPORT IN THE PHILIPPNES?
Undoubtedly, many of you have asked yourself the question, “I wonder what it would be like for Alex to file a police report if he were to have his brand new motorcycle with only 400 kilometers, stolen?” Well wonder no more.
It was my first trip to a nearby mall on my motorcycle. It is a brand new mall only minutes from our house complete with a grocery store, cinemas, clothing stores, restaurants, and for Chris’ occasional drinking pleasure, a Starbucks. They also had a few cargo/package handling stores that shipped all over the world. I was doing some research on what it would cost to use these services to have custom bracelet orders shipped to the USA. I also had a few other supplies I needed to pick up as well.

The mall is on both sides of the road with a pedestrian walkway connecting the two sides together. I usually take the U turn slot in the divided road so that I can park on the side that will allow me to be heading in the right direction to go home when I leave. Today was no different, except when I made the U turn, I noticed several motorcycles parked at the gas station next to the mall. Without giving it much thought, I pulled in and parked my bike since this was a fairly common practice at many malls in the metro Manila area. After securing my helmet to the hook that could only be accessed by unlocking the seat, I realized that my cycle might be in the way of a car wanting to use the air and water station (never mind the fact that I hadn’t noticed that both the air hose and water hose had been stolen so the station was rendered inoperable).
Upon moving the cycle to a new location, I forgot that my key was still in the lock at the back of the bike that opened the seat cover to access the hook for the helmet. So I innocently walked away with the keys dangling from the lock like a shiny lure on the end of a fishing line used to attract its unsuspecting victim. Only this time, I was the victim and my cycle was the catch of the day!
I was only in the mall for about 45 minutes, but that is all it took. When I left the mall I returned to the place where I had left my motorcycle with Christmas songs running in my head. (Malls begin playing Christmas music on September 1st and continue all the way till Christmas here in the Philippines.) When I realized it was gone, with great anticipation, I asked the gas station attendants if they moved my cycle for some reason. They said they didn’t touch it. “Then where is it?” I asked. A few of them seemed to find the situation amusing for some reason, so I went inside the station to ask the manger if he had seen anything. He was visibly more concerned and tried to get some answers for me to no avail. I asked if he had the phone number for the local police so he gave me the number off their official emergency response sheet taped to the wall. Upon calling the number, a calm soothing voice came on the line and informed me, “We are sorry, you are not allowed to call this number”, and then politely hung up.

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of this call is that I was not at all surprised by the results. As a matter of fact, while I was dialing I was thinking to myself, “There is no way this is going to work!” The real shocker would have been if it actually had worked! Defeated, I decided to call Chris and tell her the bad news and ask her to come pick me up in the car. While she was on her way, the gas station manager continued to persist in getting through to the police station, and was finally successful.

Shortly after Chris arrived to pick me up, the police arrived to take my statement. After gathering all my information they instructed us to meet them back at the police station to file an “official report.” It was only about a mile away so it was relatively easy to find, in spite of the fact that very few streets are actually labeled properly. Usually, when you get directions to a place, geographical locations, structures or businesses are used for guidance. In this case we were to go down the road to the place where three streets merged together near the Chowking, (a Filipino fast food restaurant that serves Chinese food which we affectionately call Choking for reasons I will leave to your own imaginations), then take a hairpin turn to the left and the police station would be next to the big Baptist Church. With Chris as the navigator we found it with no problem.

Since there was a typhoon in the area, it had been raining on and off for a few days and just as we arrived at the station a downpour hit. I got out of the car and scampered into the building managing to stay relatively dry. Once inside I had to wait for the officer to arrive. There were several people inside the cramped lobby area all waiting their turn. Near the front desk I noticed a door made with steel bars, secured with a padlock. Upon further observation I realized this was their holding cell and just inside the door was a young boy along with a few more of the accused further back. The cell itself was dark, but at the back of it was another steel bar door with a light beyond that, so most of the figures inside were only a silhouette. The boy was visible because he sat right next to the door gazing at the people waiting in the lobby, perhaps waiting for someone to rescue him from his dilemma. The cell had no bed, no toilet, not even a bench to sit on so he had removed his flip flops and was sitting on them for some relief from the hard floor.

When the officer arrived we went into another room and he took our statement again along with all of our contact information so they would be able to get a hold of us should they happen to recover the stolen property. After he was through he recommended that we also file a report with the local Highway Management Team because stolen vehicles fall under their jurisdiction. I thought to myself, “Now that would have been helpful to know before-hand” but I would soon find out their rational for this seemingly odd procedure.

We were given directions to the location of HMT and sent on our way. Back past the Chowking, take a hard right and go up the hill about 500 meters (which was closer to 1000 meters) and you will find the office on the right hand side of the road. Once again we find it without too much confusion. I parked the car alongside the front of the office on the street because there was no clear place to leave our car. Chris decided she would wait in the car in case it needed to be moved figuring it wouldn’t take me too long since we had already filed a report at the other station. Ha!

Once inside, I was met by an officer and I communicated my situation. I was told to wait while they worked with another victim that was there first. There were five or six policemen that were going about their work while I waited and each greeted me in a casual manner. After about 15 minutes, I was introduced to the Chief Investigator that would be handling my case and another officer that was already off-duty and in his street clothes but hung around to see if he could help. While we were engaged in conversation an officer came in from off the streets and was clearly viewed as the comic relief on the force (I’ll refrain from revealing his identity to protect the guilty). As he walked in, laughter filled the room. I’m in a side office that has no door so I can easily hear what is going on. When he saw me, he came over and introduced himself and started chatting with me. At this point it became quite evident that this man was, (how can I say this delicately?) gassed! He asked if I was married and I said yes. “To a Filipina?” he inquired. “No, to an American” I replied. He asked where she was and I said that she was waiting in the car. He told me to invite her in but I said that she was more comfortable waiting in the car. At this point he began to ask vulgar questions that would have made a seasoned sailor blush. All the other officers laughed at his lewd behavior, all except one. The officer that was off-duty was clearly ashamed of his colleague’s actions.

While I was being asked about the circumstances of the theft, the inebriated officer went out to our car to invite Chris inside. When I realized that she had come inside I looked at the officer and said “you better behave yourself.” Chris did not look too amused by the situation and asked how much longer it would take. The Chief Investigator said all they needed was a copy of the police report, the original receipt and proof of ownership for the cycle (which was stolen along with my wallet at the market three weeks earlier), and a 2X2 photo ID then they would be able to process my complaint.

Now this was a bit confusing to me. I’m thinking, “This is the department that handles stolen vehicles, but you need the police report from the other department to process the stolen vehicle report here?” “And why do you need a 2X2 photo ID?” The Photo ID is so that we can be sure we are giving it to the right person when it is recovered. Wait just a minute!! Something is terribly wrong… that could actually make sense! “Can’t you just take a picture of me if you need one?” We don’t have a camera they explained. I told them that the other department didn’t give me a copy of the report. “We can’t file a report until we have a copy of the official police report and all the other documents”. “Can they send you a copy of the report over the computer?” They looked perplexed, so I inquired further, “Is this computer on your desk connected in any way to a computer at the other police station?” “No, no, you have to go get it and bring it to us.” I asked, “What is this computer on your desk do?” He said it was connected to all the computers in every precinct so that when they entered my report they would all be alerted to be on the lookout for my motorcycle.” OK now I looked perplexed! Lots of things were racing through my mind at this time, but somehow I knew it just wouldn’t be worth pursuing and would end in both parties being exasperated.

It was starting to get late so we decided I would finish up business the following day. I used a scooter we sold to a friend before we went on furlough since Chris would be using the car to substitute at Faith Academy again. Of course I prefer a cycle to car anyway because they are much more efficient at weaving through traffic, not to mention the advantage of getting 100 miles to the gallon! (The only real problem is when those pesky pedestrians jump out in front of you when you are trying to drive down the sidewalk. :) You may recall my description of Manila traffic in my previous entry of “A Simple Trip to the Market” as an all out battle for position. Perhaps battle is too strong a word because it implies survival at any cost. A very aggressive competition may be a more apt description and the jeepney drivers tend to be the fiercest of the competitors!
They are experts at gaining position in traffic at almost any cost. However, I have found that if I follow the car in front of me at just the right distance (with little margin for error I might add) while centering my car on the left side of the car in front of me I can prevent other vehicles from cutting me off while leaving myself just enough room to cut others off. :) If I miscalculate this distance and fall back a few inches, I have left room for another driver to exploit my error in judgment allowing them to maneuver in front of me. If I follow a smidgen too close and the driver in front of me has to turn or stop (for any variety of reasons), I won’t be able to pull out from behind him to exploit the next available error in judgment in the adjacent lane. As stated previously, jeepney drivers rule at this technique and just to make it a little more fun, many of these colorfully painted vehicles (often with sound systems that allow you to actually feel the sound waves in your own vehicle through closed windows) are equipped with devices that mimic familiar sounds like a machine gun or the horn on the car from the Dukes of Hazard or a police siren (often used to distract you just long enough for them to gain position) or someone shouting, Fire! Fire! I think my personal favorite is the sound of laughter like the Joker from the old Batman television series. This mocking laughter is often reserved for a perfectly timed lane change that makes you fume with disgust at yourself for allowing him to take advantage of your momentary lack of focus. But as I said, it is a competition for position and for the most part it is friendly competition. It reminds me a little of my Dad playing cards and the joy and laughter that comes when he knows he just got the best of you.

Sorry, I got sidetracked for a bit there, back to the story. First I need to go to the place where I bought the motorcycle to obtain the documentation proving the bike was indeed mine. Shortly after leaving our house I was hit by a downpour so I was fairly soaked by the time I arrived around 8:00 am. Not only did I obtain the official paperwork, but they handed me my shiny new license plate as well (Up until this time I only had a temporary license applied for plate.) I thought to myself, “What a swell souvenir of this memorable experience.” :)
When I got to the police station I asked for a copy of the police report that we had filled out the night before. They asked who the officer was that filed the report but I didn’t remember his name (Filipinos are phenomenal at remembering names so they were stunned that I couldn’t recall). I told them I only needed a copy of the report and didn’t need to see the officer but they said they couldn’t release the copy until that officer was present. They asked about what time the report had been filed and proceeded to open a large book filled with handwritten entries. He scanned through a few pages and found the entry and the officer’s name. So I asked to see him but they said he wouldn’t be in until 3:00 pm.
Ok, I’ll come back at 3:00 for the report. I asked if there was a place nearby to have my photo ID taken and they pointed down the street by the Jollibee, the Filipino version of McDonalds. I pulled up to a storefront that said, “Rush ID’s in 7 minutes while you wait.” Ah, the land of fake ID’s! It was good that these public servants were able to help direct me to this fine establishment. Did you know there are places in this city where I can go to get a Harvard Law diploma or any other Ivy League diploma or other official documents made while I wait? This may be part of the reason why legitimate Filipinos with legitimate degrees have a difficult time getting into other countries to make better wages.
At this point I realize I’m somewhat in the neighborhood where I take my cycle to have it worked on so I hopped on the scooter and headed to the shop. I had a couple extra photocopies of my official documents so I gave them a copy and told them if they found my cycle I would give them a reward. It is a very popular shop and a lot of cycles go there to be fixed, so I figured it was worth a shot. It was still raining fairly hard and I was wet and somewhat chilled so I hung out in the open air shop with a tin roof until the rain let up some.

By the time the rain had let up, it was getting close to lunchtime so I headed to a nearby McDonald’s and ordered a Big Mac meal, GO BIG TIME! Portions are much smaller here than they are in the US. The largest size fry is equivalent to a regular size in the US and the largest drink is a 16 oz. cup. Since I was still wet and the air-conditioning was running at peak performance (because it was cool and damp outside anyway) I made record time inhaling my sandwich so I could get back out into the warmth and comfort of the drizzle.

I realized that in a few short weeks we would be attending the first wedding at the church that was planted in Puerto Galera and I still didn’t have my Barong (a formal Filipino shirt) to wear. I was right next to the Tay Tay market so I thought I would stroll through to see if any of the shops sold them. A few years back I went to this market for the first time looking for the kind of thread used in making the bracelets. When I came upon a shop that sold it I asked, makano (how much?) and pointed to the thread. The woman behind the counter looked at me in bewilderment. Then she looked to my left, and then she looked to my right and back at me again. I asked again, “Makano thread?” when she finally broke her silence she said, “Where is your bodyguard?” I have been asked this question more than once over our years of service in the Philippines and I have to confess that it is kind of an unsettling question! I thought, “Do I need a bodyguard? Am I in some kind of danger? Will I be in danger if I say I don’t have a bodyguard?” Lord, how should I answer? Without any real thought to my response (yeah, ok I know what you are thinking, very funny!), these words escaped my lips, “He is very near and always watching!” I didn’t have to lie, but at the same time put them on notice that I was not alone. This answer seemed to pacify her curiosity. It also serves as a great reminder as we live out our lives before the omnipresence of our Lord!

I found a Barong shop but I didn’t want to try any on because I was all wet. After informing me of their price I asked what was their “last” price (best or lowest price). They came down a few hundred pesos and I said I would have to think about it and that I didn’t have enough money on me at that time to make the purchase. It was getting closer to 3:00 pm, so I started to slowly head back towards the police station always keeping my eyes peeled for my stolen motorcycle. I carry the spare key with me at all times just in case I happen upon it. But this is a very popular model and they are all over the place so it will be like trying to find a patient at a government sponsored hospital. Yeah that’s another story!

I get back to the police station at precisely at 3:00 pm (I don’t think there is an equivalent to the term precisely in the Filipino language, and if there is I have no idea in what context it would be used because I have been unable to observe any discernable precision within our host culture) and approach the officer behind the desk that instructed me to return at that time. His new instructions for me were, “just wait, just wait.” It turns out the officer that took my statement hadn’t completed the report yet so I had to wait for him to finish it. Once finished (about an hour later), he called me into the office and had me read the report for accuracy, it was riddled with errors. After making the corrections he presented me with my very own copy of the “official police report.”

Finally, I could take the report, my 2X2 photo ID and original papers for the cycle to the other station and be done with it. Ha! When I arrived still wet from the rain, I was greeted with the instructions, just wait. They were working with another complainant ahead of me. One of the officers noticed I was chilled and turned the air-conditioner off (after about 30 minutes) and offered me a newspaper to read to help pass the time while I waited. I thanked him for his thoughtfulness and proceeded to read the headline story, “Republic of the Philippines ranked among the worst of nations in anti-corruption efforts.” (Hmmm, were they trying to send me a coded message?) Of course I already knew this but I found it humorous that it was a police officer that gave me the paper since they (and politicians) are typically among the worst offenders.
After another 30 minutes or so, I am called into the office. The chief investigator smiled and said, “See that wasn’t so bad.” I wondered at that point what the punishment would be for assaulting an officer of the law, but after some deliberation I decided it wouldn’t be in my best interest. I handed him everything he requested and he said, “There, you are all done; now you need to fill out this form.” After giving him a quick lesson on the proper use of the phrase, “Now you are all done,” I proceeded to take the form from his death grip to fill it out. No! No! You can’t fill out THIS form; THIS form belongs to our department. You must have it photocopied first and then return our form back to us. “Let me get this straight, this entire department has only one form and I need to have it photocopied and return the original back to you?” “Yes, you understand!” After a quick lesson on the differences between comprehend and understand, I took the form and conveniently discovered a Xerox machine in the front entrance where I could have the document copied, for a price. I can’t be sure, but my guess is that this is just another way for our public servants to make a little extra scratch.

There are actually two forms, one in English the other in Tagalog. I ask for a pen to fill out the form and they looked at me and said, “You don’t have a pen?!” All of a sudden I had flashback of applying for my replacement driver’s license at the Land Transportation Office after my wallet was stolen. They apparently had no pen to spare in the vast expanse of their facility and they weren’t provided but they did have a man conveniently located just outside the entrance that would be willing to sell me one. Aren’t they thoughtful? :)

Thankfully one of the officers found it within his heart to loan me his pen so that I could complete their paperwork. The Chief Investigator helped me fill it out in case I needed clarification on any of the questions (which I did). After another hour, the form was done and the officer smiled and said, “Finally you are all done… now you need to take the statement to an attorney and have it notarized.” After another brief explanation on the proper use of that phrase, I realized the day was shot and all law offices would be closed by this time. I took the form and declared with a smile on my face and a chuckle, “I’ll be back.” They asked what was funny and I said that I never imagined filing a police report would consume three days of my existence! They reassured me that this was the proper procedure so I went on my way.

The next day I went to the same place I went to have my “Declaration of Loss” form notarized when I wanted to get my license replaced (apparently something isn’t actually considered lost or stolen until all forms are properly completed and notarized, after all I’m sure the notary public has inside information to the validity of the claim). This elderly lady was actually one of the bright spots in this whole misadventure. She remembered me when I came walking through the door and asked how I was doing. I told her I had another form that needed to be notarized. As she took the form from me I could see that she was ashamed and embarrassed by the actions of her fellow Filipinos. I reassured her that things like this also happen in the US, especially in big cities like Manila. But much of the time theft in the US is motivated by greed, here in the Philippines it is often more motivated by desperation due to poverty. She nodded in agreement but still offered her apologies for my loss and only charged me half price for her services.

Of course it was raining once again, but this time I was prepared with a poncho. I headed back to the police station with my form officially notarized, entered the door and tried to bring an end to my misery by handing it to the officer. “Just wait! Just wait,” was his reply as he asked me to take a seat. I reluctantly sat down and waited once again as the Chief Investigator dealt with another complainant. I started thinking to myself about all the times I had been pulled over by a policeman trying to extort money from me. He would usually accuse me of some traffic violation but was always willing to overlook my offence for a price. Most often it was the infamous violation of “swerving,” to which I would often reply, “Of course I was swerving, I didn’t want to get squished by that bus that was trying to run me off the road!” Ah, the memories!

As I was reminiscing about my past experiences with various officers of the law, I noticed a buzz of activity come across the room. One of the officers informed me that I would need to move my scooter because it was blocking the spot where the head of their entire district liked to park his car when he visited their precinct, and he was there! So I went out and moved my cycle to a new location while he waited patiently for his spot to be vacated. After parking, he came strutting into the room where I had returned to my seat while waiting to be served. He was a large man that obviously spent a lot of time in the gym working out. He wore a tight white t shirt and jeans and had a pistol strapped to one hip and his cell phone strapped to the other. He walked over towards me and sat behind the desk next to me. “So what brings you here?” he asked in perfect English. I told him my brand new motorcycle was stolen. He asked how much it cost; I told him 56,000 pesos (about $1200). He said, “Heck, I paid more for my cell phone.” I confidently pulled out my cell phone and said I paid $30 dollars for mine and it came with 300 minutes on it. The expression on his face indicated that I didn’t clearly understand the rules of the game. It reminded me of the time a missionary friend of mine landed a fancy field job at a law office when he was between ministry assignments because he was fluent in the language where they had many clients. A few of the big wigs were standing around the cooler flaunting their new designer suits and how much they paid for them when my friend strolled over with his fancy suit, grabbed both lapels with his fists and proclaimed, “25 bucks at Goodwill!” He was certain that he had won the competition!

After talking with him a little more I decided to buy a merienda (a snack or drink) for the guys in the office. I went to the sari sari store next to the station which is basically a mom and pop business ran out the home selling various consumables. (Someone once described the Philippines as a land where everyone runs a Kool-aide stand from their shack year round.) I came back in with a 1.5 liter bottle of RC Cola as one of the officers retrieved some drinking glasses from the back room. After pouring a few glasses, I asked if they had some coasters to protect the finish on the desk. The head of the district laughed while the others didn’t seem to understand the humor in my request. The desk was very old and made from cheap plywood with a coat of paint slapped on it, but to the other officers it was their executive desk and the request seemed appropriate.
Given this guy’s command of the English language and his ability to catch the subtlety of my sense of humor, I was compelled to ask how long he lived in the US. “Twenty years in Vegas,” was his reply. “So what brought you back to the Philippines?” I inquired. “A family land dispute that needs attention.” “How long have you been here?” “Going on three years!” “Wow! Do you plan to go back to the US anytime soon?” “First chance I have to get out of this hole, I’m out of here!” I was a very uncomfortable as he continued to degrade the Philippines in front of his subordinates so I attempted to change the subject. “So I’m guessing you must have been in law enforcement or security or a private investigator in Vegas to help you land this job here?” Nothing could have adequately prepared me for his response! He reached into his wallet, pulled out his business card and handed it to me and said, “No, I’m an Elvis impersonator!” Have mercy!

Have you ever been in a situation where the filter in your brain that controls tact was screaming, DO NOT LAUGH! DO NOT LAUGH! DO NOT LAUGH! While another part of your brain was simultaneously processing the intellectual information that it had just gained and was in process of speeding it along your nervous system to your funny bone? Thus was my predicament! Perhaps if I gouge my eyeball out with a spoon I will become distracted by the pain and keep from bursting out into laughter! No wait, I’ll hold my lips tightly together and plug my nose to keep any hints of amusement from escaping my face (While this method is somewhat effective, its draw back becomes evident when you drop over dead from a lack of oxygen after just a few minutes).

What do I do? My brain keeps telling me don’t laugh, but I feel the muscles in my face starting to flex and my lips quivering as I press them firmly together in an attempt to contain the laughter brewing within. Before you know it, your body is convulsing like you had just swallowed an industrial strength paint mixer. At first it is set on the lowest level while you still have a prayer of escaping with a shred of dignity, but then the intensity slowly and painfully escalates until it is maxed out on Turbo Boost. Before you know it you are in the fetal position on the floor laughing uncontrollably until you cry. Ok, perhaps that is a slight exaggeration, but you catch my dilemma. Fortunately for me, he seemed to appreciate the humor of his response once he put himself in my place. Whew!
After I finally regain my composure, I asked how he landed such a key position within the police force. “Everything is for sale here! Just grease the right palms and the job is yours.” Any residual desires to laugh from the previous statement left me as I pondered what he said. What a hopeless feeling it must be for an honest, hard working Filipino policeman making next to nothing as he sees promotions being bought and sold to the highest bidder whether qualified or not! Is there any wonder why they are ranked among the lowest in countries trying to bring an end to corruption? Next time you think you didn’t get a fair shake in some matter, try remembering the many people living in the Philippines or other underdeveloped countries that will probably never get a fair shake. The situation reminded me of something Pastor Harry said in one of his sermons while we were home, “if God did nothing more than save us, He has already done far more than we deserve!” And for many Christians here, that seems to be their lot in life, yet so many of them remain faithful till the bitter end, recognizing that very truth! James 2:5 says, “Listen dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom He promised to those who love Him?”

When the officers discovered I was a missionary they seemed to have a renewed interest in talking with me. I was no longer a rich foreigner exploiting their people to gain wealth for myself, but rather a guy who gave up the comforts of life in the US to help their people. I told them about Threads of Hope.

At that time the Chief Investigator emerged from his office once again and asked why I was still wearing my rain poncho. I said my brain refuses to let me take it off because it keeps telling me that I am almost done and will be allowed to leave at any moment. He laughed as I handed him my notarized form. He escorted me into his office where he stapled my photo onto the form and took my thumb print. Really? You need my thumb print to complete the form? He assured me that this was the procedure by allowing me to look at other completed forms. See, even this police officer had to have a photo ID and thumb print! And look, this beautiful woman needed a photo ID and I took two of her prints he said with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. Ok, ok, I get it. “It is the procedure,” I said with a chuckle. He said “Now you are finished,” so I handed him the report and turned to leave when he said “Wait! Where are you going? You need to have fourteen copies of the entire police report Xeroxed for us to send to all the other precincts.” Great! Now that he knows I’m a missionary I have to exude patience and politely say, excuse me? As opposed to my more base instincts that wanted to react in a slightly different manner!
After one last lesson on the phrase, you are now finished I said, “But I thought that was what the computer on your desk did! Remember it is connected to all the other precincts so they will be alerted to keep a watch out for my cycle?” Yes, but they all need a hard copy as well. At this point I didn’t know if he was just feeding me a line or if he had a financial stake in the Xerox copier. I took the report and asked the copy boy to produce fourteen copies of each and every page as I paid him for all 140 pages. I was half expecting the toner cartridge to run out of ink and I would have to buy a new one to complete the project, but God had mercy!

I handed him the fourteen copies and asked if there was anything else. He said “No, you are finished”. I stood there thinking, “I’m not falling for that one again!” He looked at me standing there and then gave me a quick lesson on the proper understanding of the phrase “you are finished.” Then he laughed and gave me permission to go. I said, Maraming Salamat Po! (Thank you so very much sir!)

Now you know the procedure for filing a stolen vehicle report in the Philippines. It is my recommendation that you not have your vehicle stolen in the first place!