MARCO TORAL, provincial jail consultant, with inmates at the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center JUNJIE MENDOZA/CEBU DAILY NEWS
For Marco Toral, life is full of ironies. For seven years, he was detained inside a jail facility built on a lot donated by his family. Now, he is running the provincial jail made famous by its dancing inmates.
As capitol consultant on jail matters, Toral oversees the administration of jail personnel and implements programs for the rehabilitation of inmates at the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center (CPDRC).
Being a former detainee gives him an edge because he knows what these inmates are going through. “I very well know how it feels to be imprisoned. I was once a prisoner. And it’s definitely very difficult,” he said.
Toral is a scion of the wealthy Ouano clan in Mandaue City. His grandfather, the late Ernesto Ouano, owned the Ouano Wharf and several businesses in Mandaue.
A graduate of business management at the University of the Philippines (UP) Cebu, Toral helped run several businesses of his family. But in 2002, his life took a sudden twist.
Then 36, Toral was arrested inside the Mandaue City Sports Complex for allegedly selling 0.002 grams of “shabu” (methamphetamine hydrochloride) to a friend who had tipped off the National Bureau of Investigation. He was detained at the NBI stockade in Cebu City for 31 days.
After the drug charges were filed in court, he was moved to Mandaue City Jail, which stands on the lot donated by his grandfather, who was not told about what happened because it might affect his health.
Toral could not post bail because he was charged with selling illegal drugs, a nonbailable offense under Republic Act No. 9165 or the Comprehensive Dangerous Drugs Act of 2002. The court later sentenced him to life imprisonment for selling and possession of illegal drugs.
Used to a life of comfort, Toral felt he was in hell when he was placed in a cell with 25 other inmates. “We slept side by side on the floor. It was extremely hot. Skin diseases were everywhere and I was not spared,” he told the Inquirer.
His wife left him and filed a petition to annul their marriage. She didn’t allow their son, then a Grade 6 pupil, to visit him.
“I felt like I was going insane. It was the worst time of my whole life. I even thought of committing suicide inside the jail,” he said.
His mother was his constant visitor, which kept his hopes alive. She even stopped using their air-conditioned unit at home in sympathy to what his son was going through.
“Mama kept me going. She never failed to encourage me,” he said.
A devotee of the Our Lady of Manaoag, his mother always reminded him to pray to counter the loneliness. He started reading the Bible and began to hope that he would be freed someday.
Toral had also begun to adapt to life in jail.
Upon his suggestion, officials allowed prisoners to work inside the facility so they wouldn’t be idle.
An owner of a rattan furniture factory in Mandaue, who was Toral’s friend, subcontracted him and other inmates to smoothen the rough edges of rattans. Toral also introduced candle-making.
In 2009, the Court of Appeals overturned the lower court’s decision to send him to jail. He was immediately released as acquittals are non-appealable.
The first thing he did out of prison was to look for his son, by then a junior college student. “When we met, I held his hands and told him, ‘I’m so sorry, son. I have sinned against you. Please do not imitate what I did. I’m a bad example to you,’” he recounted.
“My son responded, ‘It’s OK, dad. You’re still my dad despite what happened.’ And then I cried very hard,” Toral said.
Though his marriage was annulled, he remained close to his son, now 25 and a law student. His son helps him monitor cases of inmates inside the CPDRC.
Life as an ex-detainee is not easy even for Toral who comes from an affluent family. The stigma of being a convict forced him to live in the family-owned house in a mountain village, where he run a small farm and a piggery, to be away from people.
In 2013, Toral received a dinner invitation from Cebu Gov. Hilario Davide III, whom he knew because the official’s wife, Jobelle, was his classmate in UP Cebu. Davide asked him to be his consultant for CPDRC, which gained international fame after the 2007 YouTube video of prisoners dancing to Michael Jackson’s “Beat It.”
“I told him that my life has been surrounded with intrigues. But the governor didn’t mind my past. And I assured him of my loyalty,” he said.
As consultant, Toral constantly tells the inmates to never lose hope.
The CPDRC will construct another facility at a cost of P87 million to accommodate up to 1,000 inmates. As of April 2015, it had 2,300, more than the ideal capacity of 1,500.
The “dancing inmates” are engaged in livelihood programs, which include running an in-house bakeshop that sells bread at P2 a piece to inmates and P4 to outsiders. About a thousand loaves of bread and banana cakes are produced daily. The cakes are sold at P10 per slice.
The bakeshop, which opened in August 2013, also accepts orders from outsiders, usually capitol and bank employees. The products are delivered by jail personnel using a motorcycle.
The inmates manufacture pen holders, artificial flowers made from recycled materials, and bags, too.
The CPDRC also partnered with the Technical Education and Skills Development Authority for vocation courses, and with the Department of Education for an Alternative Learning System program for the inmates.
Toral said he hoped that the inmates would be given a second chance by the society once they regained their freedom.
“Please do not judge us. Like the rest, we, too, are human beings who are capable of changing our lives for the better,” he said.