Dragons & Butterflies

by Shani Krebs

  It scared me that I could be so cold and callous, but I was. What was becoming of me? Prison can turn a man’s heart to stone. Was I capable of committing murder, I wondered, and not for the first time. The frightening truth lay in my conscience. If provoked, I had no doubt I could take a life at the snap of a finger. May Hashem forgive me for what I knew then.

  Whenever a Blue Shirt approached us, we foreigners would whisper to each other, ‘Watch out – here comes the CIA.’ It made me sick knowing that prisoners were informing on prisoners, and that there was nothing you could do about it. When Somsak was murdered, I knew things would change. Kill one to teach the rest. Apparently Somsak was stabbed 36 times. His death brought a wave of fear to the other Blue Shirts, and being a trustee was no longer as glamorous as before. A statement had been made and its message was clear: you inform, you die. The guards could not protect you. Every Blue Shirt knew that they would now have a target on their backs.

  A morbid atmosphere permeated Building 2. Aporn was taken away and charged with Somsak’s murder. He was shackled with heavy railway chains and thrown into solitary confinement. Soon after that, the second chief, Adun, was promoted to Building Chief. We didn’t know it, but our problems were just beginning.

  On my birthday on 15 October, my eleventh in prison, I was awake at the crack of dawn, cheerful and ready to take on the day. I was 45 years old. When our cells were opened, I made my way to my house. As I entered, I was confronted by a pool of sewage. My house was ankle deep in watered-down human waste. They say when you stand in shit it’s meant to be lucky, but I’m not so sure about that. I started scooping and throwing out the water. Jonnie arrived, took one look at the mess and disappeared. The smell was disgusting and soon had me choking. I had to get a plumber in. The sewerage pipe had blocked and the pressure that had built up was so strong that the water was leaking through the concrete walls. Well, that was my gift for my birthday. I expected a shit-load of luck to come my way!

  Mikhail was by then quite a good friend of mine. Interestingly, he and Philip, who was Australian, had both been arrested on suspicion, but had been found to have no drugs on them. In the first court they were acquitted. When this happens, the public prosecutor appeals your sentence and, unless you pay money, the chances are you will receive a prison sentence in the second court. Mikhail and Philip believed they had a strong case and their lawyer advised them not to pay. They waited two years for second court, where they were both given life sentences. They would have to wait for third court, which could take up to another eight years.

  When they came to Bangkwang, Philip was placed in Building 6 and Mikhail came to Building 2. About a year later, Philip got into an altercation with a fellow prisoner and that was how he came to move to our building.

  The General used to work out in my gym. One of the Iranians, Reza, a murder offender, was a 4th dan. Reza had done time with the General back at Special prison, and now he became his personal trainer. One day, the General was relaxing on one of the benches in the gym when Philip, who had been in Building 2 for only a couple of days, walked in. He wanted to use the bench and rudely signalled with his hand that the General should clear off. In Thai the gesture and accompanying words ‘by by’ (go go) say it all. Even to an ordinary prisoner this is highly disrespectful.

  The General got up, never said a word, and walked away. All this happened while I was in my house, drawing. About an hour later, the General’s right-hand man, and my good friend, came to me to tell me what had happened. He said they wanted to stab Philip. As I was the leader of the foreigners, they first wanted to run it past me. Although Philip had a reputation for being an obnoxious fuck and was forever starting shit with the weaker guys, I couldn’t allow an attack on a foreigner. Philip had no idea that his life was in danger. I explained to my friend that Philip was new in our building and he didn’t know who the General was. Even so, he argued, Philip had disrespected an old man. I was in a difficult position. Surely a peaceful solution would be better, so I told him I would sort it out with the General, and we agreed upon that.

  I found Philip walking around on the grass patch near the front gate. When I told him what was going down, he turned white. I suggested that he follow me to the General’s house and apologise. First I spoke to the General, explaining that Philip was very sorry and hadn’t known who he was. Philip reiterated his apology and simultaneously put his hand out to shake the General’s hand. The General was not impressed, but, because of my relationship with him, he said, ‘No problem.’ But he didn’t accept Philip’s hand. Instead, with his own hand, he brushed Philip off. I pulled Philip away by his arm, thanked the General and quickly led the Australian away before the General changed his mind.

  Aporn, before he murdered Somsak, taught me how to make lau (whiskey), or – my own personal term of endearment for it – ‘love juice’. The parcel guard, Suchin, was different from the other guards; he spoke good English and he knew which foreigners used drugs and which didn’t. He never really checked the contents of my parcels, which made it easier for me to bring in the key ingredient you needed as a brewmaster: yeast. I would share the yeast with the Thais who formed part of our drinking circle, giving them two or three tablespoons from which they could make at least nine litres. In return I asked for one litre of their best. I also gave the General yeast, and his boys were great whisky makers. I was one of the only people in Bangkwang who always had a supply of yeast, and this bought me a lot of friends. As a rule, I didn’t sell it; if I had it, I was happy to share.

  My relationship with the General was good. There were occasions when we even sat and had a drink together. Anytime I wanted to use the General’s mobile, I could. Among his crew was a Thai boxer, Weenai. He was bigger than the average Thai. He and I had a mutual respect for each other. I had discovered in getting to know the Thais that some of them were really amazing, sincere and genuine people; if you respected them, and behaved properly, they would do anything for you. I was learning more and more to be friends with them. The Thais were more resilient than the foreigners, and they accepted the hardships of prison life without complaining.

  During this time, I started drinking on weekends. My relationship with Jai was taking strain. She had started lying about small things and had neglected to carry out certain of my requests that were important to me, like depositing my allowance and lying that she had when she hadn’t. We were definitely growing apart, and my feelings for her were becoming increasingly Platonic. Still, it was a complicated situation and, irrespective of my own cooling feelings for Jai, I remained indebted to her; she was not only helping me but also many of my friends who had nobody in Thailand.

  While lifting weights one day, I strained myself doing chest, and felt a vein pop out of my arse. I was told I had ‘rissidoeing’ (haemorrhoids). It was damn uncomfortable. I couldn’t remember when last I had used toilet paper to wipe my arse, so whenever I flushed, using my hand I would feel this vein and it really bothered me. I was too scared to go to the hospital, even though I heard it was quite a quick procedure to sort out. Somebody advised me to get a cream. I tried to push it back with my finger, but it kept popping out whenever I squatted. After a month of waiting, I eventually got some cream from home, but it didn’t help. Then my Thai friend Somchai, who slept in my room, introduced me to this cactus-type plant that grew like a weed; each piece was about 5cm in length and about the thickness of my baby finger. Every day I was required to eat three pieces. First I had to wash them well, then trim off the four rough edges before chopping them into small pieces. I then had to take a segment of a naartjie (tangerine), split it open along the edge, take out the seeds, and fit as much of the cactus into the naartjie as possible. Then I had to close it and swallow it whole. If the cactus came in contact with my tongue or mouth, Somchai cautioned, it would leave me incredibly itchy, so I had to be careful. After 12 days of performing this tedious ritual, my haemorrhoids disappeared completely. I repeated the process every three months and never suffered fr
om haemorrhoids again.

  Meanwhile, the Director’s administration was proposing stopping prisoners receiving parcels and foodstuffs from visitors, the reason being that there had been a few incidents where the prison authorities had detected drugs in parcels and food brought by visitors. There was also a serious clampdown on guards who were suspected of bringing drugs inside, and some of these guards were transferred to other prisons. The price of heroin increased tenfold. Somehow, though, drugs still worked their way into the system, but on a smaller scale.

  On the parcel issue, it was time to draw swords. Apart from cutting off a lifeline of support to many of us, it did not make sense to stop parcels from being sent to the prisoners. First of all, the prison didn’t supply the prisoners with anything. We paid for our own food, medicines and even drinking water. The things we received in parcels from our families and loved ones were necessities, and parcels were the only tangible contact we had with them. Some of our families couldn’t afford the airfare to come and visit us, but they felt good knowing that we could receive some small luxuries to make a difference to our existence. What did the prison authorities hope to gain? Just because a few individuals abused the privilege and smuggled drugs, why punish us all? Once again I drafted a petition expressing our grievances, distributed it to every building, collected signatures and submitted it to the Director. Surprisingly, he withdrew his recommendation and eased the pressure. If it hadn’t been for my initiative, life in Bangkwang would have been much more difficult for everyone.

  Joseph, the Israeli backgammon player who had been so soundly beaten by the Cripple, slept opposite me. He and his co-accused had escaped from Chiang Rai prison, but had been caught, rearrested and given the death penalty. For seven years they had sat on death row, with leg irons welded round their ankles. Then, with the support of the Israeli government, through a royal decree their sentences were reduced to life imprisonment, which was how Joseph had come to our building.

  Late one night, at around 1am, the sounds of a muffled conversation woke me from my sleep. It happened again the next night. After a few nights of puzzlement I realised Joseph had a mobile phone, a dog. The next day I spoke to him about it, thinking that I would reprimand him and ban him from bringing his mobile into the room. I did not want to run the risks that being caught with a dog carried. When Joseph first arrived from Building 1, I had invited him to stay in my house with Simon and me, on condition that he stopped using heroin, which he did. He turned out to be a great guy, actually, and he was the one who introduced me to gambling on football. Joseph was from the old school, where there was still honour among men who had chosen a life of crime. When I spoke to him about the phone, very diplomatically and respectfully, he explained to me that in fact there was nothing I could do to prevent the guys from using mobiles in the room. If I tried to stop them, he said, I would make a lot of enemies. He added, ‘Don’t you want to speak to your family?’

  Obviously, he was right. How could I even try to prevent the inmates from having instant contact with their families? Joseph had one of those small Panasonics and a SIM card (code word ‘biscuit’). His friends on the outside would text him airtime numbers from a pop-up voucher.

  On weekends, the General’s house and the area behind it became like the post office. Guys were ducking and diving behind their locker doors all day, phoning their families. People would happily allow you to use their mobiles (‘bark the dog’) and airtime was easily arranged. Every 500 Thai baht cost you an extra 50 Thai baht. It was another way of bringing revenue into the prison without having to go through the guards. I remember the first text message I ever sent was to my friend Melanie in Pretoria. It read: ‘Hello’.

  When I took ownership of the gym, our membership stood at 15. I employed the services of two Thai boys to unpack and pack the weights away every day. We also had to pay the guard 500 Thai baht a month, after expenses. The profit left was worth one football. If the gym was going to run profitably, we needed to get more members to join. So I had this idea. Everybody liked to watch themselves in the mirror when they trained, but the gym had only two mirrors, both of which were small and badly cracked. Through one of the guards I arranged to buy four big mirrors, ordering them from the furniture factory in Building 8. Within a week of fitting them in the gym our membership increased to 30 paying members. I also organised permission for the guys on death row to work out between 8 and 9am. Actually, I ran the gym single-handedly; my Russian partner Yegor sat back and did bugger all. Being a people person, and knowing how important it was to keep busy – not that I had all that much time on my hands – I didn’t really mind. I also offered a special for senior citizens and only charged these older guys half-price.

  Much as I was beginning to like some of the Thais – and some were already close friends – they had some personal hygiene habits I could never quite get my head around. Sometimes when you would be working out in the gym, and looking at yourself in the mirror from about 3m away, a Thai guy would come and stand close to the mirror right in front of you, squeeze his blackheads, pick his nose, then wipe his nails on the edge of the wooden frame, not in the least perturbed that you were watching him. It amazed me every time one of them did this.

  It was hard to prevent people from training in the gym for free. If I saw somebody who was not a member working out for the first time, I wouldn’t say anything. If he came back the next day, I would tell him that the use of the gym was strictly for members, but that he was welcome to join – at a fee, of course. There were also some guards who worked out; naturally I could not charge them. With the profits I made, I would buy footballs, takraw balls and even ping-pong balls. I was one of the fortunate ones who had support from home, so I used the money I generated from the gym to benefit prisoners by buying sports equipment.

  Being the owner of the gym also enhanced my position as leader of the foreigners. Among the Thais there were some really big gangsters, and these guys had a lot of influence. I would allow them to train for free, mostly out of respect, but also because they all had bodyguards. So while the boss didn’t have to pay to train, he paid for six or seven of his boys to use the gym. There was an incident where one of the Thai Bad Boys took a 5kg weight and smashed it on the head of one of the other prisoners with whom he had had a falling-out, opening quite a deep gash. I did not witness the attack, but whenever there was a fight, every second person who walked past you would say, or ask, whether you had seen or heard about what happened. One of my boys who worked in the gym came running to tell me.

  In the gym we had dumbbells, weights, bars, any of which could be used as a weapon. The investigating guard submitted the 5kg weight as evidence as the weapon used in the attack. It was sent out with a report to the security section. My greatest concern was that they might close the gym down, but thankfully this didn’t happen. I was called to the inquiry, but the guard in charge only asked me to please monitor the weights and generally to be more vigilant. After that, every afternoon when my boys packed the weights away, I was careful to do a count.

  One day, a Frenchman arrived from a prison in the provinces. In our cell we had decided that whenever a new person came, until they paid their 2 000 Thai baht, they would have to sleep among the Thais without any space between their beds.

  On his first night, as the new guy passed my bed, he muttered in his French accent, ‘I want the same space as you.’

  ‘All in good time, my friend,’ I told him. ‘It took me almost ten years and a lot of money to enjoy this privilege.’

  All he had was a couple of soiled blankets. Without his knowledge, I ordered one of my boys to wash his blankets, dry them, buy another two blankets and make him a bed, which was ready by the time he came to the cell that afternoon. He looked at his bed, not sure if it was for him.

  ‘It’s yours,’ I said.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. The guy moaned about my gift, saying that he’d never asked for help. I actually found myself apologising for my good deed, and saying tha
t one of the requirements of being in our cell was that he have a bed. I didn’t get upset, though. When I extended help, it was always unconditional. With time, most of us took a liking to the Frenchman.

  Jonnie the South African, on the other hand, was likeable, easy-going and always had a smile on his face. He and the Russian and the Frenchman became good friends, and all three of them would hang out in my house.

  By now there were at least two dogs in our cell. Jonnie and one of the British guys wanted the three of us to club in and buy one. We paid 18 000 Thai baht for a Nokia and I took on the responsibility of hiding it and bringing it in and out of the room, which was quite dangerous. Before we entered, there would be a guard at the gate checking our bags and frisking our bodies. Because of the power I had by now, whenever we entered I would briskly walk past the guard without pausing to give him time to search my bag or my body, and I was never called back. You have to remember that most of these guards had, at one stage or another, taken a bribe from me. I wasn’t about to allow myself to be searched.

  I took the cardboard tube from a roll of toilet paper and made a small box with it, about the size of a cigarette packet. I used Super Glue to stick the box under and against the edge of one of my lockers, and this was where I would hide the dog. Having a phone was still extremely dangerous and had to be kept a secret, especially from the Thais, whom one couldn’t trust. Despite the good friendships I had forged with some of them, the Thai mentality remained very strange to me: if a Thai could benefit from you in some way, he would be your best friend, but the second there was no advantage to be gained, he didn’t know you and wouldn’t give you the time of day.