Dragons & Butterflies: Sentenced to Die, Choosing to Live (40 page)

On the whole, the Thais were very friendly and they seemed fascinated by a Western foreigner in their midst. Many shook my hand and wanted to know where I was from. Some even spoke English. Something curious that happened the first time on my walk around, and which was to be repeated many times after that (and has never left my mind), was that often while you were talking to a Thai, he would proceed to pick his nose. He would do this not just casually but with deep intent, as though his finger was scratching his brain, and he would do this for the duration of the conversation. Afterwards he would wipe his fingers on his shorts. It baffled me, and from then on I avoided shaking hands.

The toilets were situated behind the gold paper factory, and next to that was the area allocated for prisoners who wanted to do their own cooking on portable charcoal stoves. I was surprised that prisoners were permitted to cook their own food. It was there that I hooked up with two Nigerian guys, Patrick and Frank. As fellow Africans, we shared a common bond. They were cooking
moola
, which is equivalent to South African mieliepap, and, in a wok, some kind of omelette with chillies. I don’t think I’ve ever smelt anything so delicious in my life.

After introducing themselves, they said, ‘You must be real hungry, brother, join us for something to eat.’ They dished me a portion of the omelette-chilli concoction, which they served with some bread. They also offered to give me dinner, which they were about to prepare and would bring to the cell that afternoon.

Many of the more privileged prisoners who did their own cooking would keep their food in a
pinto
(three or four metal bowls that fitted snugly into each other; on top went a lid with a handle that held all three bowls together). Some groups had a bigger five-bowl
pinto
, and they would cook up a variety of Thai dishes, all of which contained a lot of chilli. Thai food is very spicy and it took me quite a while to develop a taste for it. They also used a fortune of oil when they cooked, and they had eggs daily, mostly to make omelettes.

Just about all of the prisoners wore flip-flops on their feet. Apparently the footwear was donated by the Chinese and these were one of the few items issued to prisoners twice a year by the authorities. They were all the same brand but came in different colours. We could mark our names on our shoes in pen, and some prisoners would cut a pattern into the sole as identification. Alongside our building was a long, steel-framed, double-shelved shoe rack. In Thai culture, shoes or slippers are not worn indoors, and so we had to leave our flip-flops here before going to our cells in the afternoon. Inmates were forever either taking the wrong pair or stealing each other’s flip-flops. Because of the extreme temperatures, wearing flip-flops or sandals was by far the most practical option when it came to shoes, but guys often hurt or cut their feet or toes by accidentally bumping against sharp concrete edges or jutting-out broken pipes.

One morning, I was hurrying past the shower area where the concrete surface was smooth and wet. I was wearing flip-flops. The next thing I knew both my legs were flying in the air. I come crashing to the ground flat on my back. My head hit the concrete with a loud thud. Sitting on the veranda along the side of the clothing factory were a bunch of Thai workers folding paper bags. They all packed up laughing, but I’d hit my head so hard I thought I’d cracked my skull open. I lay there motionless for at least a minute before I could get up. After that I would only wear sneakers, unless I needed to go to the toilet.

After eating with Patrick and Frank, I found that I was exhausted, having not slept the night before, so I went to the temple, where I had dumped my stuff earlier, took off my flip-flops and left them outside. Using my blue towel as a pillow, I lay down and fell asleep almost instantly. It was a troubled sleep, though, and about an hour later I was woken up by one of the Thais for shower time.

Patrick and Frank had given me soap and a shower bowl. When I approached the shower area, I recoiled in horror at the sight of 500 naked convicts watering themselves down at the same time out of what I could only think of as the horse troughs. The sight was beyond description. I had to push myself through the prisoners to get to the water, and when I got there it was the quickest shower of my life. I kept my flip-flops on, and I would continue to do this every time I showered in prison. I made the mistake of putting my soap down – it was there one minute and gone the next. People hung their towels on the barbed-wire fence. I couldn’t help noticing that some of the prisoners were urinating right where they were standing in the trough, often pissing on the leg of the person in front of them; some were spitting and blowing their noses with their hands. Guys were brushing their teeth in the same water as others were bending over, naked, doing their washing. Others, while sitting where all the dirty water was flowing past, were cleaning their shackles by shaking them against each other. And everyone was in a rush. Soap was squirting all over the place.

On this my first day in the showers, someone actually had the bloody nerve to pinch my ass! I had no idea who the culprit was, but I turned around and gave everyone in my vicinity a dirty look. It never happened again.

Showering naked in front of so many guys made me feel uncomfortable and exposed. I had grown up with a certain sense of modesty about my body, and was not in the habit of just exposing myself to whomever. Such mass exposure was difficult for me to comprehend. I thought how easily someone could get stabbed there. There were so many people crushed together no one would even notice.

After my speedy shower I went and sat on the veranda next to the clothing factory. This was where most of the foreigners hung out. Then, just before 3pm, a whistle was blown and everybody congregated on the parade ground and lined up in order of their cell numbers. Roll call was conducted and we were then marched upstairs in single file to our cells. As we went we were counted, and at the entrance to the steps each prisoner would be searched. The guards would feel you, frisk you down, probe under your testicles and check your personal belongings. This procedure was to make sure you had no weapons or drugs. I found it humiliating.

After this it was lockdown. Once we were in the cells, we were counted again; in the morning before exiting from our cells, another roll call was conducted. Security was hectic.

Being in a foreign prison, unable to speak the language, not to mention being thousands of miles from home, with no regular visitors or access to a telephone, made my suffering and feeling of isolation that much worse. The only visitor I could look forward to was the consular officer from the South African embassy.

When my name was called for a visit on a day when I was not expecting the embassy, I was overcome with excitement and joy. Who on earth could it be, I wondered – perhaps a surprise visit from my family or a friend. I walked eagerly into the visit room, the area that was allocated for official visits, and standing before me was this young man I’d never seen before. He was tall and had a long red beard and a very pale complexion, and he was well dressed. His aura glowed with a lightness of being. I couldn’t believe my eyes. What was a rabbi doing way out here? He introduced himself to me as Rabbi Kantor. He was from New York and had been posted to Bangkok to head Chabad House there. He was a good few years younger than me, yet spiritually I knew immediately we were generations apart. His display of compassion and concern for my wellbeing moved me deeply. I remember thinking that, even in the darkest corners of the earth, one could find
Hashem
’s light present. For a moment I wished the walls around me would crumble and the steel bars melt like when Moses parted the Red Sea. For days on end I kept replaying the rabbi’s visit in my mind. I was not alone after all. The tribes of Jerusalem extended to wherever one might be.

For now, however, I remained spiritually distant from the powers above.

I met up with an elderly German guy, a tall, grey-haired man in his mid-sixties who was brought in a few days after me. His name was Dieter, and, because we were the only two white foreigners in Building 5, we struck up a friendship. He was very wise and worldly and we got on well. I didn’t have anywhere to keep the few things I possessed, so Dieter, made me a suitcase from a cardboard box. It was so well crafted that he started getting orders from other prisoners. Dieter would wear his clothes for days on end. Out of respect for his age, I offered to do his washing for him. Later I learnt that this was not the first time Dieter had been in a Thai prison. He was connected to one of the most powerful Burmese warlords, Khun Sa, also known as the ‘Opium King’. In the 1960s, Khun Sa had disappeared into the jungles of eastern Burma with an army of 600 men, where he cultivated opium. At the height of his power, he was producing as much as three quarters of the world’s heroin supply. The DEA labelled him the ‘Prince of Death’.

My new cell was about three and a half times the size of a double garage and housed 44 prisoners. In the cell were three wooden platforms, which must have been at least 20 years old, and the wood was infested with woodlice and fleas. I got a terrible skin infection that lasted for several months before I managed to get medicine from South Africa. By that time I had scratched myself so badly there were scabs all over my arse. The infection was compounded by a heat rash that produced pimples full of pus all over my body.

Every cell had a room chief whose duty it was to make sure that all new prisoners had a place to sleep. He would allocate you a place at his own discretion. He had to make sure that there was no fighting in the room, that the toilets and the cell were clean, and that there was fresh water available. My room chief’s name was Mohammed. He was a Thai Muslim guy, very well built, and very humble and friendly.

The cell was already overcrowded and there was no place for me on the wooden platforms. I was given the spot in front of the steel door, which offered a bit of privacy. I organised a cardboard box which, when folded open, was big enough for my body. I used this as a mattress. I also had Joan’s blue beach towel. During the day I would use the towel to dry myself, and at night it was my bedsheet.

In front of the toilet there was a ceramic bowl in which clean drinking water was stored. Resting on the rim was an aluminium cup, which was used by every single prisoner to scoop water and drink. I took one look at this and decided there was no way I was going to drink from that cup.

Once the cell was locked, two guards came around to do the second roll call. For this, we had to sit on the edge of the platforms in a straight line and face the passage. Then each person would count in Thai. Once everyone had counted, the room chief would announce to the guard the number of people in the cell and account for how many people were still in court. For example, he would say, 42 prisoners were there, and two had not come back from court. After roll call, little groups would form in the cell, and everyone started taking out their food. The Thais always ate in groups and they would share their food among the group. They got regular visits and their visitors bought them an abundance of fruit and foodstuffs from the prison canteen. When it comes to food with the Thais, it doesn’t matter how much they have, they will invite you and will share their last. It’s part of their culture. If you walk past a group of Thais eating, it’s customary for them to invite you to join them, either by gesturing with a hand or by saying ‘
Khun kin cowe’
. Literally, this is an invitation to eat but it can also be interpreted as a greeting. If you aren’t going to accept the invitation you would reply, ‘
Pom kin leow
,’ meaning ‘I’ve already eaten (thank you).’

Most Thais had no support, whereas we foreigners were more fortunate. The United Nations donated 25 Thai baht a day to all foreign prisoners; in addition, we would get two eggs each. A prison account was opened for you and you could order food from the prison grocery store, provided you had money in your account. Popular with the prisoners was sliced bread smeared with condensed milk. Another affordable meal, which came in a small packet, was Mama Instant Noodles; all this required was a bit of hot water. We would eat this with canned pilchards.