WE WERE about 20 minutes up in the air and passing over the island-province of Basilan, which is roughly the halfway point between Zamboanga City and Sulu.
The flight was one of the several I took every month across Mindanao. I was then working for a foreign-funded program, which helped capacitate former combatants and their families.
Our team was bound for Jolo, the capital of Sulu, to cover the turnover of infrastructure projects to the provincial government.
Our aircraft was a 19-seater Dornier twin turboprop. From its worn-out exterior, it had seen better days but I knew that it was among the most reliable in its class.
The weather was good from the time we took off. The sun shone brightly. The sky was a deep blue and had very few clouds. I heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God, no air turbulence today.
Suddenly, one of the male passengers, a burly man who was seated by the side of the left engine, shouted, “Umaapoy! Umaapoy!”
As I looked out the window, I saw sparks coming from the engine, the kind that we see from welding equipment.
It took me about a minute, which felt like an eternity, to take in and process what was happening: The engine was on fire.
Chaos broke out inside the aircraft. Passengers held on tightly to the armrests of their seats.
Babies wailed. It felt like a scene from a horror movie.
Then, I saw a young mother in a tundong (Muslim headdress) bow down her head and quietly embrace her two children. It seemed she was prepared for what was about to happen.
The first thought that came to mind was to call my wife. However, I remembered that around that time, she was in a meeting. So, I decided to call my mom instead.
I could not recall the exact words I told my mom but I remember telling her that I love her and to please inform my wife in case something happened to me.
As I turned off my phone, I saw scenes of my life flash in front of me. My first date with my wife. Our wedding. The birth of our firstborn. Milestones with the family.
It is true that when you are in such dire situations, the mind compensates by accelerating the cognitive process, enabling us to think quickly and deeply, and lose track of time.
But what I found strange was the feeling of calmness that enveloped me. I knew that I was afraid but the feeling did not overpower me. I just whispered a prayer for deliverance.
After what seemed like an eternity, I heard a voice coming from the cockpit. It was the co-pilot telling the passengers to remain calm. He said everything was under control.
Then, the propeller of the left engine stopped turning, as the sparks and smoke disappeared. The plane tilted to one side, as the aircraft turned around towards Zamboanga.
Expecting to have a rough landing, the wheels of the plane hit the ground smoothly, as we taxied to the maintenance area.
As I disembarked from the aircraft, I said another prayer to the one above, thanking him for the strength, courage and faith to believe I would come home to my family safely.
But for the rest of my colleagues who were on the same flight, it was just another day in the life of a peace and development worker.