by Paul Jordan
So I was here for another night. I knew something would go wrong and I was glad I hadn’t got my hopes up. The team left very late tonight and Bala had to call the immigration guys at the border to ask them to stay until the team arrived otherwise they’d be stuck at the border all night. The immigration guys at the border felt suitably embarrassed about the whole situation and agreed to do whatever was needed to help.
Bala sent over a nice letter with my dinner. He referred to the Interim Magistrate as a sadistic man who was out for himself. Bala was a great guy and one of many who had made this nightmare tolerable.
The kids came by for a visit as I sat out the front. I asked if they were allowed to go to the shops on their own. ‘Of course,’ said the eldest. I had a craving for chocolate, so I asked the kids to go to the shop and buy me some. Twenty minutes later, they returned with a handful of chocolate and the exact change. I told them to keep the change, but they refused.
‘We have our own money, thank you,’ they said. Then I told them it was a gift from one friend to another. Then they accepted the money. I put the chocolates in the fridge, then went back outside. It was a nice night and I wanted to stay up as late as I could. I had a good feeling about tomorrow.
Tuesday 17 June
The guards knocked on the door at 6.30 am and asked if I wanted chai. This translated to ‘we want chai so get off your arse and give us some money to go and buy some and then we’re going to keep your change without even offering to give it to you.’ I had them trained (as they had me) and they knew to buy me two glasses, as one just wasn’t enough. In fact, if I’d bought the equivalent of the jug of tea I normally drink in the morning, I’d have 12 glasses of their stuff. Their chai is really tasty. It’s sweet, milky and scented with cloves.
I thought about my kids again. I thought about them a lot. They were great people and I wished I had been a better father to them. I missed them like crazy and couldn’t wait to hug them all. When I first arrived in gaol I couldn’t think about the kids without getting teary. Now I could handle it because I was getting out, but I loved them more than ever — they provided the meaning in my life and I was so proud of who they were.
By 7.00 am the waiting had begun. It wouldn’t be like yesterday when I gazed at the main gate all day waiting for the team or the police to arrive, but they hadn’t. However, Bala had been at the hospital yesterday with a heap of police. I had panicked and had been certain they were here to charge me with some other offence. Then I heard that a doctor had murdered a nurse on Sunday afternoon. Apparently he had drugged her then cut her throat — poor woman, but I’m glad the reception wasn’t for me. Later, Bala mentioned that the police had charged a doctor with murder. He said the doctor was from Forbes-Gange. I told him I had met a doctor the day before from Forbes-Gange. ‘He was a nice guy, we had a long chat and some chai,’ I said. ‘This is a different doctor, Paul. This man is a murderer,’ Bala told me. I walked into my cell and found the piece of paper with the doctor’s name on it and returned to Bala, who was seated outside my room.
‘The name of the doctor I met was V.J. Chaudry.’
Bala looked stunned. ‘This is the man. He must have left you and gone to his office and murdered his nurse. This is unbelievable.’
Apparently, the doctor had been having an affair with the nurse and had wanted to break it off. Instead of doing the usual thing and telling her it was over, he decided to kill her.
‘Paul, this man is now in your prison — but not in your cell.’
What a crazy world. Yesterday I was having a cup of chai with a nice doctor and today that same doctor is in gaol for murder.
Then I heard that all the poor people were waiting to see Bala under a tree in front of his office. The queue had become longer because he was focusing on my problems. Part of the tree had collapsed and fallen on a woman and her baby, killing them both. We all felt terrible. If we hadn’t been here and Bala hadn’t been such a great guy, that lady and her baby would still be alive. And then I felt drawn back to that arsehole Siddiqui and the angry man at the border. If it hadn’t been for that sadistic, corrupt arsehole I wouldn’t be here and Bala could have focused on the real community issues. What recourse could there be in a country like India where a scam goes wrong so the chief cop decides to throw everything at you? It was clear to the Magistrate and prosecutor that this was a joke, but Indian law doesn’t accept the excuse that the law was broken by mistake — you either broke the law or you didn’t. But if the SP had been a decent cop he would have told the local cops to have a chat with me and send me back across the border. Instead, he decided to waste all these resources, money and people’s time that should have gone into making the community safer. Not to mention the money my company has spent, the stress, the risk to my health, the stress on Sallie and my family, it went on and on, all because of one fat, sadistic cop.
So I waited. Sallie arrived to hang out with me and wait. Martin and Rajeesh were with my lawyer trying to get the release signed. I introduced Sallie to the kids and Sallie immediately took to the little girl. The girl couldn’t speak English, but enjoyed the attention from Sallie. Two police cars arrived, bringing my arresting officer, Sub-Inspector Shankar. He told me I would soon have to go back to the gaol to be released. Then he came back to me and told me that the paperwork was being completed at the hospital. Martin and Rajeesh arrived and confirmed that the release order had been signed.
I went to my room to pack the items I wanted to take with me and separate those that could stay behind. I called in the four guards and gave them 100 rupees each — they were very happy. They’d made a lot of money out of me over the past week. One guard had a shocking pair of shoes on his feet. They were falling apart at the sides and I didn’t know how they stayed on his feet. I gave him my hiking boots. I just didn’t want to take them back home. These shoes had walked over some God-awful, disgusting ground. I was certain they had diseases on them that hadn’t been discovered and that bleach wouldn’t kill.
The decision was then made that I could be released from Bala’s house, so we all got into the car and drove there. Martin dropped us off then went to pay my lawyer, Debu-San. The bill came to US$180 for exclusive service for 24 days — he had charged me double. Sallie and I were on our own until Bala’s cook arrived with lunch. He was a great cook, but really pushy and got pissed off if all the food wasn’t eaten. I obliged with gusto.
I walked out onto the front lawn to ask Shankar how much longer it would be. He was on the phone and Bala’s cook was there as well. Bala’s cook had a terrified look on his face. I started to panic and tried to read what was going on. Shankar told me I had to go to the prison to sign my release and I agreed. Sallie came out as I was walking off with Shankar and demanded to know what was going on. When she heard, she said, ‘No, absolutely not!’ Shankar knew by the look on Sallie’s face that he shouldn’t push the issue so said we could stay here and he would bring the Warden over. Actually, I wanted to go to the prison to see all my friends and to say thanks, but it wasn’t to be.
Bala returned with some more police and there was further discussion. Finally, at 2.00 pm, the Warden and clerk came to Bala’s house to say goodbye. I thanked them both for being so kind to me while I was in gaol. They could have made life pretty bad for me, but in general I was treated slightly better than the other prisoners and I was grateful. I shook Bala’s hand and didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t thank him enough for what he’d done for me and words couldn’t express my gratitude. Then we got in the car and started our two-hour drive back to the Nepali border with Shankar and his team escorting us.
Martin drove the car to ensure there were no unforeseen stops and did a great job dodging the erratic traffic and keeping us alive. The usual driver sat in the passenger seat in a constant state of panic and doing all he could to drive the car from the passenger seat with Martin getting more and more pissed off with him. Sallie and I sat in the back seat and listened to the Australian music CD the driver
had brought. It was a bumpy road and, while the team had made this journey twice every day for the past two weeks, it was my first time in this direction.
I felt overwhelmed to be released, but was holding back my joy until I actually crossed the border. I was also bloody drained and still felt quite weak as we approached the border control point. Ujwal came to our vehicle as we pulled up just beyond the immigration office — the same immigration office where I had originally been questioned 24 days ago. Ujwal collected Martin’s and Sallie’s passports and, along with Shankar, went to the immigration office to have their passports stamped and to have my paperwork finalised. That took about 10 minutes and I sat in the locked vehicle examining the border. I couldn’t see any obvious indications that this was a border but, as I looked more closely, I could see that damned boom gate raised behind a big tree. There’s no way I could have seen that in the bloody rickshaw, even if I had been looking for it. No excuse though — it was my fault; I should have known where I was.
Sallie and Martin returned with Shankar and the immigration officer who had sat quietly on day one when the mad man fucked me over. I wanted to get out of the car and slam my fist into the little fat prick’s head, but Sallie told me he’d been very nice and was extremely apologetic for what had happened. So, after shaking hands with Shankar, I shook hands with the little fat prick. Everyone got back into the vehicle and we drove over the border.
Sallie looked at me and I realised I was free and thanked the team for their efforts. I was free because of Sallie, Martin, Ujwal, Rajeesh, Bala and all my friends in the media and IFJ. I sent a text message to my children, mother and friends informing them that I was now across the border and free. I received a flood of replies. We drove the short distance to the Nepali police compound so we could thank the Nepali Superintendent of Police for all his efforts. We only stayed for 15 minutes and then pushed on to the hotel where Sallie and Martin had stayed, and where I’d stayed and run the course before being arrested. The hotel staff greeted me as I hobbled through the front door. They’d known what was going on and hadn’t seen me since the police brought me back here 24 days ago. My luggage was still here and Sallie had repacked it all for me. Ujwal arrived and told me all my former students had come yesterday as a welcoming party, but they didn’t believe I’d be released today, so decided not to come. Just quietly, I was relieved. I just wanted to get on the plane and start making my way back home. Ujwal was only able to secure two extra tickets for today’s flight, so Martin and Rajeesh got the flight the next day before both flying to New Delhi. Martin needed to go to the Australian High Commission to wind things up there and pass on our gratitude.
I carried my bag down the stairs and then to the car and was exhausted by the slight exercise — and strained my back in the process. We said our goodbyes to Rajeesh and Martin and again I thanked them both for their amazing efforts. We loaded up and headed to the airport. The flight to Kathmandu was only an hour, but I was still in a surreal world. One minute I was a prisoner and the next I was on a plane flying home. I wondered how people responded after being inside for years — I was only inside for 24 days, not even a month, and I felt like kissing the ground or doing some cartwheels. I remember a similar sense of relief and weariness when I came back from a month in Aceh following the Asian Tsunami, the tidal wave of death and destruction that ended the lives of thousands of people in 2005.
31.
ASIAN TSUNAMI
On 26 December 2005, as I was recovering from too much Christmas food and alcohol, I wandered into my bedroom where the TV was still on from my morning ritual of watching the news before dragging my arse out of bed. A news flash was on the screen talking about a massive earthquake off the coast of Aceh that had generated tidal waves throughout the region. The news anchor was reporting 10,000 dead in several countries. I walked back to the verandah and told my guests, who were left over from Christmas, that tidal waves had killed a heap of people in Asia.
Later in the day I contacted Rob, my cameraman mate at Channel 7, guessing that he would be on his way to Aceh. He said he was at Sydney airport with a young female journalist named Jess. I gave him some ideas on what Aceh was like and the issues he might face when he arrived. I had worked in Aceh a few years previously, so had a pretty good idea what they would face.
The next day the family and I decided to go to the beach for the day. We went to our favorite spot — Mooloolaba on the Sunshine Coast. It was a good day, but in the background, Sallie began contacting the Australian media offering assistance. I got a call from the News Director at Channel 9 who said he wanted me to go, and that was effectively the end of my day with the family. Sam was playing chess with a guy on the picnic table and I went from one phone call to another. The poor kids and Toni once again were put in the background while I pulled this job together. The family, as always, was supportive and understanding. I went to the chemist and bought anti-bacterial soap, face masks, insect repellent and an assortment of other products I thought I might need.
That evening, 27 December, I departed Brisbane for Aceh. Apparently, two Channel 9 crews had flown out the day before and would be there when I arrived. I flew via Singapore then to Medan in southern Sumatra. I was in Medan by 8.00 am and was due to depart for Banda Aceh at 12.00. When I walked into the departure lounge, every plane had been delayed and four other planes were due to go to Banda Aceh before mine.
Medan airport was a nightmare. Aircraft from relief agencies blocked the runway and parking areas, which meant that planes could only land after other planes had departed and made room on the tarmac. I bumped into Rob and Jess at Medan where they’d been delayed for 12 hours. My plane departure time was continuously postponed. I started calling all my contacts in Medan looking for a driver because I thought driving to Banda Aceh might be quicker than waiting for a plane that might not actually leave. If I had a vehicle I could buy food, water, assorted camping equipment, fuel and a small generator and transport it all to Banda Aceh. But there were no cars to be had; all available drivers were already in Banda Aceh. Fortunately, at 10.30 pm, my plane began to board. I said my goodbyes to Rob and Jess and said I’d see them there at some stage.
I arrived in Banda Aceh at midnight with some trepidation. When I had worked in Aceh with Exxonmobil, Banda Aceh was a no-go city and to go there meant certain kidnapping. But that wasn’t the case this time. The place was deserted; we even had to unload our luggage from the plane ourselves. When I had found my pack, I wandered across the tarmac and out the front of the airport and smelt that horrible, yet familiar smell of death. It was putrid and the air was thick with that gag-inducing rotting, human flesh smell. There is no other smell like that of a dead body and certainly nothing like that of thousands of dead bodies.
The whole place was in darkness; there were no city lights or any other lights for that matter, and I wondered what the hell I was going to do and where the Channel 9 guys were. In front of the airport there were a handful of old crappy cars with the drivers standing in a small group chatting. Instinctively I found myself creeping up next to them to listen to what they were talking about. Obviously they were talking in Acehnese rather than Bahasa Indonesia, so I had no idea what was being said. I said ‘hello’ to the group and they all jumped then started hassling me for my business. These guys were trying to make a few bucks as pretend taxi drivers. One of them said he knew where my friends were staying. ‘How do you know who my friends are?’ I asked with some concern. This was clearly a scam to get me into his car where I’d be whisked away to some jungle camp and locked in a bamboo cage. ‘All the people are staying at the same place. I can take you for 10 dollars.’
‘Okay, let’s go.’ I had no real options here and I knew the general direction of town from the airport so would know if we were heading for the jungle.
The driver was very good and gave me a run-down on events over the previous two days, pointing out the beginnings of mass graves on the roadside. It was obvious when we drove close to a mass gr
ave as the concentration of rotting bodies not yet covered generated a smell that became more powerful as we got closer and weaker as we moved away.
The driver pulled up outside the Governor’s compound which was called Pondopo. He said everyone was using Pondopo as a work space and the odd satellite truck gave some weight to his story. I gave him his 10 dollars and thanked him as I walked into the compound. It was now 1.00 am, and only a few people were moving around, but I could see plenty of white faces sleeping in the buildings and on the lawn in front of the main building.
Bugger it. I was tired, so I decided to find a spare section of grass and try to get a few hours’ sleep. I rolled out my sleeping bag, lay it on my sleeping mat and used my pack as a pillow. I was just slipping off to sleep when someone grabbed the world and gave it a fucking good shake. I sat up immediately as people ran from all the buildings screaming. But the shaking stopped as quickly as it had started and people slowly went back to their beds. Fuck me, that was big; now I knew what an aftershock felt like.
