Dragons & Butterflies: Sentenced to Die, Choosing to Live (42 page)

Even though I was waiting to be sentenced, and the waiting was a difficult time mentally, at least I was much more comfortable. I bought myself a deckchair and got a locker to put my personal stuff in. I continued to walk around every day, explore, see who worked where. I also started exercising. I managed to get hold of a pair of cheap canvas running shoes, which are called
nang yang
, and I started playing this Thai sport called
takraw
. It’s a fast game, played with a round ball made out of rattan. You have to be quite agile and fit to play it, and the Thais were very impressed that a foreigner not only participated in one of their sports but also played well. Within a few weeks I became quite good at it, and we used to play for money.

There was a ping-pong table near the top end of the building, near the transport section, where mechanics repaired the prison buses. You had to pay to play ping-pong – bats and balls had to be bought from the guards – and nobody played just for fun. There was always gambling involved, whatever the activity or sport.

My case was due to be heard in September. I knew that if I got a life sentence I would be moved on return from court to Building 5, which was also the transit building, and after a week there I would be transferred to Bangkwang. So I began packing my things.

A couple of days before my court appearance, Joan arrived in Bangkok. The embassy had let me know she was coming, and her timing also coincided with the annual contact visit. Each prisoner is allowed two visits annually, which can either be taken on separate days or as two visits in one day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. This is one of the highlights of prison life. The excitement is almost tangible. Spirits are high and generally the guys stay out of trouble, not wanting to forfeit these visits. Usually a few months before, a lot of the guys start working out, wanting to look their best for their wives, girlfriends and families. (There were instances where families who came from abroad and weren’t able to visit during the official time of the contact visit would be given special permission, with the support of the relevant embassy, to come at another time during the year.) Marquees are erected for the occasion, and people can buy cooked food, ice cream and cold drinks. Security is also tightened, however, to prevent anybody from trying to escape by posing as one of the visitors. All visitors are thoroughly checked on arrival and are required to carry passports and identity documents. It’s a whole long procedure.

Contact visits are one of a few vital support mechanisms for prisoners, but there are upsides to them as well as downsides. On the one hand, it’s an opportunity to spend quality time with family and friends, where you can interact freely on a normal basis, but on the other hand, it can also be quite frustrating being with somebody you love and with whom you have been deprived of any form of intimacy for so long. I would learn this in time. For now, though, with my court appearance coming up, I couldn’t wait to see my sister.

Tables and chairs for the visit were set out on the lawn near the front gate. The prisoners who were expecting visitors were taken to this area to wait, and so that they could see them coming through the gates. The visitors all come in together, hundreds of them.

It took me a good while to spot my sister, but then, suddenly, there she was. I saw her long blonde hair in the throng as she came around and went through the entrance. I was a fair way away at this point but the moment I saw her, I started walking. I could feel the excitement. I ran towards the entrance and got there just as she was coming in. I couldn’t believe it. She was finally here.

Joan looked up and saw me and she just dropped everything, including the two huge bags of foodstuffs she was carrying. I ran towards her and I picked her up and swung her around in my arms. We held onto each other for what seemed like an eternity. I never wanted to let her go. We didn’t speak; we couldn’t. I just wanted to hold her close. I knew she was crying. I could feel her tears mingling with my own that were rolling unchecked down my cheeks. ‘Shaun, are you okay, are you all right?’ Just to hear her voice was amazing.

I gently put Joan down. I had so much to tell her, so much to ask, I wanted to know it all. I wanted news, news of my mother, the family, my friends. Then we were both talking at once, Joan asking me over and over again if I was okay. We talked about South Africa and about my court case. We laughed and we cried.

Before somebody goes to court, it is always the same procedure.

In the late afternoon of 27 September 1994 I was called to the office and informed that I would be going to court the next morning. Then I was sent to the White House to have shackles put on my legs. That night in my cell I couldn’t sleep, wondering what destiny had planned for me. I was hoping against hope to get a 25-year sentence, but by now I was under no illusions. In Thailand there is no consistency to the law. Anything is possible. It was generally believed that the judges sat around and that a roll of the dice decided the fate of those on whom they passed judgment. Court officials were corrupt. There were cases of people who had actually been acquitted in the first court, but would still be held in prison. Whatever your sentence, the public prosecutor would automatically lodge an appeal, but, unless you paid a minimum of US$10 000, getting a heavy sentence in the second court was guaranteed.

Huddled up with my mates in my cell, I began to prepare myself mentally for the worst. The atmosphere was one of melancholy. Experience had taught us that, so often, one forged a friendship only to find that you or the friend would be sentenced and moved, or else transferred to another prison. Friends came and went like the weather, but, with a sense of separation coming, I was still gloomy.

I got on well with all my cellmates. Nick was a British guy who was doing short time for possession of weed. He was easy-going, always cracking jokes, and very light-hearted. Freddy, my next friend, was more of an introvert. Like me, he was also in for drug trafficking and was a drug addict. Then there was Daniel Westlake, the Australian who had approached me about buying into the cell. He was very quiet and gave the impression of being something of a nerd, but what a great guy he was. I didn’t know it then, but he had apparently served time in several prisons around the world and had even managed to escape from one, in Italy. He carried a dozen different passports. In fact, Daniel would later stage one of the most notorious escapes ever, from the very room we shared together. He would be the first foreign prisoner ever to escape from a Thai prison.

My shackles were hurting my ankles. It had been only a couple of months since my first set of silverware had been removed. Now they chafed against the old wounds where the rusty steel rings had rubbed the skin off my ankles.

While shackles may seem inhumane and also a violation of the United Nations’ minimum requirements for prisoners, they seem to be part of a psychological orientation that goes beyond the understanding of anybody who hasn’t worn them. Remembering when I first arrived at Bombat, I was so absorbed with the discomfort of the chains, and with the procedure of slipping my underpants and shorts through the rings that held them, that I didn’t actually dwell too much on what they represented, namely, the fact that I was in prison.

The night before first court, I couldn’t sleep. I could feel my sister’s presence, our connection was so strong. I knew she was in Bangkok, and that helped and comforted me.

I was preparing for a move to Bangkwang in a few practical ways. Some of us had Thermos flasks, and I removed the centre piece of mine and hid 7 000 Thai baht inside it. Then I put it back together and sealed it with Superglue. I rolled another 7 000 Thai baht into a small ball, covered it with cellophane, and then, using insulation tape, shaped it into a bullet which I planned to insert up my arse.

The following morning, I was removed from my cell earlier than usual and taken out to the central security point, where there were other prisoners in chains, also going to court. We were all wearing the same brownish khaki shorts and shirts. From there, we were escorted through a few more security checkpoints and out the front of the prison, where we were greeted by armed guards and put into a prison transport vehicle with double sets of bars. I had a window seat, so, while driving to the court, I could watch the people outside, scurrying around, heading to work, going about their normal morning business. It evoked a deep sadness in me. Only a few months before, I had been one of them, running around free. I so longed to be free. It was terribly painful. I was already so far removed from that world. Even though it had been only a few months, to me it felt like a lifetime. I kept staring and imagining what might have been, had I not agreed to smuggle drugs. I’m such a fuck-up, I thought to myself. Over the last 16 years, what had I achieved? Nothing. In and out of jobs, I’d lost my business and had almost destroyed my family, and all through drugs. I hated myself. What a loser.

And then we were pulling in behind the Rachada courts and being led in single file into the section where the cages were.

It wasn’t too long before I was called, and to my delight there was Joan. It was so good to see her there. I could feel her support. She was with the Thai secretary from the embassy, Kun Paem. The pleasure of seeing her was overshadowed, needless to say, by the fact that I was waiting to be sentenced. It wasn’t like I was bumping into Joan at Woolworths. Nevertheless, having a family member there to support me at this tumultuous time was a great source of comfort.

When she saw me shuffle into court, my sister broke down. The shackles kind of blew her mind. She kept saying, ‘You’re not an animal, why do they have to chain you?’ and, trying to lighten the mood, I said, ‘Oh, these things? This is my jewellery. Instead of arm bracelets, I have leg bracelets.’ We sat next to each other in the courtroom, holding hands. I explained to her that I had had to plead guilty because in Thailand it was virtually impossible to win a case, even if you
were
innocent. Once you fell victim to the judicial system, there was no way out. She didn’t understand this – I didn’t blame her; it
didn’t
make any sense – and only cried more.

When the judges entered the courtroom, dressed smartly in black suits, silence fell. The public prosecutor was there, too. It was all very formal. I watched attentively as the judges read through my files. Two of them conversed. I had a government-appointed lawyer, who spoke no English, and there was no interpreter available. Luckily, Kun Paem could speak a little English. Although I was physically in the courtroom, actually I felt like I wasn’t there at all. It didn’t feel real; it was a dream, like I was watching a movie. One of my nightmares was unfolding in front of me and I couldn’t wake up from it. Nothing seemed to be registering in my brain. Thinking back today, it is still a blur.

My lawyer was called up to the bench. I don’t know what he said, or even if he said anything at all. Everything was merely a formality, just going through the motions. The procedure was so drawn-out – but for what? Anyone could see that the whole thing was a charade.

I had pleaded guilty, knowing that the penalty was life, but, even so, I don’t think I was prepared for the reality of the outcome. I don’t even know what I was feeling – confused, angry, disappointed by my naiveté. I was very tense. My legs were shaking and so were my hands. My lips were numb. My heart ached more for my sister than for myself. I wanted it to be over with, for her sake more than mine. I wanted to run or to scream, but I also wanted to be strong for Joan. So I pretended to be strong, acting like I was prepared for anything. But can anyone ever actually prepare himself for the thought of spending a life in prison? I knew I would never accept my predicament. I imagined my lawyer saying to the judge, ‘Throw the key away on this fuck.’ The judges made me think of sentries at the gates of hell.

The next thing I knew, the judges blurted out some words I didn’t understand, read from some papers, signed them and passed them to the public prosecutor. Then they got up and walked out. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. Joan and I turned to Kun Paem. We asked her what had been said. She said that, as far as she understood, I had been given the death penalty.