Dragons & Butterflies: Sentenced to Die, Choosing to Live (69 page)

There were no English-language TV channels for us foreigners to watch, so, unless we watched videos, there was nothing much on the box to entertain us. Then a Thai prisoner was transferred from Building 1 to our building. He was an electrician by trade and he came up with the idea of installing our own satellite system. Getting a decoder was no problem, but bringing in a satellite dish would be almost impossible. One of the British guys, John, who was an electronics aficionado, happened to have some electronics journals that showed you how to build a satellite dish, so we collected some pieces of scrap metal that we found lying around the prison and John built a 2m dish, which we hid in the roof of the place where the garbage was kept. The decoder was smuggled into the prison by one of the guards and, at the same time, hundreds of metres of aerial cable were also brought in. Cables were run to connect all member rooms. There was an initial membership charge and a monthly subscription fee. John also built boosters so that every room had a clear picture. The remote we kept in our room. We formed a committee to select programmes to accommodate everyone’s needs. Pedro, a Dutch guy who was glued to his private TV from the time we got locked up in the afternoon until late into the night, was our committee chairman. Programmes revolved around the news: BBC news was always at 6pm; at 8pm we had either Star movies or HBO; and in between we had a variety of other channels to choose from. On weekends it would be sport. At first our satellite system was the best-kept secret in Bangkwang, but word eventually got out and so we organised two more decoders, one for our Chinese members and the other for a permanent sports channel. It was a full-time operation. We never made money from it, but I can tell you it changed the lives of the foreign prisoners, who would normally be bored out of their heads after we were locked up.

Backgammon was very popular in the prison, even among the Thais; there were inmates who played all day, betting on every game. I organised a competition of 20 players. Each player paid 100 Thai baht to participate and it was a case of winner takes all. I happened to come third, but it was a lot of fun and the guys thoroughly enjoyed the competition.

During this time I got news from home that my sister had managed to organise government support for my royal pardon. I had no idea from whom, or at what level, but this seemed like a major breakthrough. I struggled to contain myself and wanted to share the good news with everybody, but I couldn’t, out of fear of jinxing it. And besides, nothing was in writing, so I kept it to myself.

Guards were always looking to make money from the prisoners. One of them started an email service. It cost 30 Thai baht for two pages, which was not bad considering that this way you avoided going through the prison censorship. For me it was the perfect set-up. And that Australian bitch Sheila was still reading my letters and feeding information to the embassy and, I was sure, adding her lies. I could not understand why she hated me or what had possessed her to decide to make my life difficult.

Parcels from home were still the biggest source of strength for me. Penelope, my ex-girlfriend who had gone on that memorable Transkei summer holiday with me, would send me a package every year on my birthday. Inside it, besides a variety of clothes and foodstuffs, there was always a scrumptious cake. My mom sent me many parcels over the years and she also helped my sister with my monthly allowance. She would buy me things that I never thought of asking for, like sun protection cream, lip balm, ankle stone with oils to soften my heels, special nail clippers to trim my cuticles, earbuds and other items. She would also bake me my favourite pastries. On the day she baked them she would give them to one of the South African women who had befriended her and who travelled regularly to Thailand to buy clothes. A day and a half later, I would be sitting in prison eating freshly baked Hungarian pastries with my friends. My mother’s letters, though, depressed me terribly. When I read her words, her pain and longing became too real for me to cope with. I could visualise her small frame and tearful eyes. I preferred it when she didn’t write. I could not handle the thought of her going down on her hands and knees, praying for me and crying. I also discovered that my sister had had two nervous breakdowns. It killed me that my family was going through so much pain because of me.

About three years before, I had submitted one of my poems to a competition in England, and it was chosen to be published in an anthology. If it was to be included, though, I was told that I would have to purchase the book – which cost £65. I couldn’t believe it. What a scam! Even in the world of literature there were criminals. I wrote to the publishers, saying that if purchasing the anthology was a prerequisite to having my poem published, rather than the merit of the poem itself, then I didn’t want my poem to appear in their anthology. They were unmoved. They responded by saying that the poem was on the internet and would be published in another anthology called
Poem of the Century
. They also asked me to send them another poem. I don’t know why, but I sent them one called ‘The Seagulls Cry’. I never heard from them again, so that was where my career as a poet started and abruptly ended.

Back home, my family was struggling. Malcolm, my brother-in-law, had attempted one business after the other, none of which had succeeded. I wondered whether it was just bad luck or whether it was his destiny to fail. It was a cruel world out there. I prayed for their financial situation to improve, but thinking about them battling made me feel sick to my stomach. Joan and Malcolm had supported me over the past six years even when they could not make ends meet themselves. I was so grateful. All I could give in return was to make them proud of who I was becoming. It was five years now that I was drug-free, and my art compilation stood at 140 pieces. My sister was collecting money for me from people all over the world. The Jewish community of Johannesburg was also rising to the occasion. Still, that feeling of helplessness kept tugging at my conscience.

Thailand had become a popular holiday destination for people from the UK, and there were quite a few British citizens in Thai prisons. Britain was one of the countries that had a prisoner transfer treaty with Thailand, but the conditions of transfer were so unjust – when sent home, prisoners would have to serve half the sentences imposed by the Thai courts – that some British inmates refused to transfer. A group of British guys approached me to draft a letter to their prime minister, Tony Blair. Although we South Africans had it worse, with no prisoner treaty at all, I could empathise with them, so I wrote a letter which I smuggled out to my sister. Joan typed it up and posted it to the parents of the British inmates. After describing the horrendous conditions in Thai prisons, I pointed out how randomly sentencing was done and how ridiculously long sentences were routinely handed down for drug offences. It was absurd that a first-time offender arrested as a drug courier could be given a life sentence, but even more so that the same prisoner, upon repatriation to the UK, would have to serve half of the absurd sentence handed down by the corrupt Thai justice system:

… There can be no argument that crime cannot go unpunished, but there can be equally no argument that the punishment must fit the crime. Does our system of justice support the view that sentences ranging from fifty to one hundred years are appropriate for first offending drug couriers? Of course not! The enlightened objective of penal experts is that incarceration should rehabilitate and prepare prisoners for re-integration into normal life. Prolonged sentence[s] in a Thai prison and/or the continuation of such sentences in a British prison would certainly destroy any prospect of being assimilated into any society. The British public does not need protection from repentant first time drug offenders. To throw the key away on us is an untenable sin and cannot possibly be an action of a society that claims to respect human rights and justice. We are not hardened criminals deserving of such savage treatment that requires us to be kept out of society. Our incarceration in an atrocious concentration camp in an alien country has wrought havoc and suffering upon our families. Most societies allow offenders a second chance …

Meanwhile, it had increasingly become my view that our South African embassy in Bangkok was actually working against us prisoners. The ambassador himself, JG Janse van Rensburg, had been quoted as saying that we deserved what we got. I suppose if I was in his position I might have had the same sentiments, but to me this was the product of ignorance. Ignorant people have a preconceived notion of criminals, and, while I may have been a prisoner, I never saw myself as a criminal. Yes, I had committed a crime, but everybody deserved their second chance. I wasn’t asking for any special treatment. All I wanted was fair play in justice. One day, I vowed, when I was free I would visit this diplomat and enlighten him about the ways of honourable men. By 2000 I had started to understand and accept it was likely that I would remain in prison for a very long time. I had renewed my relationship with G-d and, besides my family, it was He who was giving me the strength to get through my days. Although I could claim to be content in prison, I could never be happy there. Contentment was a far more elevated state of mind than happiness. Happiness we feel from the heart, and it can change from moment to moment. My memories of my life before prison became a dream, and dreams were only for fools. I was alone, and that was my strength.

At the beginning of June about 80 names were called over the loudspeaker, my name among them. We went to the office, where we were told a list of names had come from the Palace. These were applicants for the royal pardon who were due for consideration. We were asked to sign if we still wanted our application to be processed. My name was in the first 20 on the list. If you consider that only three or four people were granted pardons every two years, you will realise just how slim my chances were. I thought the prison authorities were just playing with our minds. False hope had become an instrument of mental torture. I was learning very fast to see things for what they weren’t, but it was a difficult balance to maintain.

That same month I got news from home that Joan had been involved in a car accident when another car had jumped a stop street. She had been admitted to hospital with serious injuries to her upper arm, shoulder and knees. Even from her hospital bed my sister continued her campaign for my release. She was one brave and determined sister. One of the things she organised was for a South African television programme,
Third Degree
, to feature my story, and one of their journalists came to Bangkwang to interview me. The 2000 Summer Olympics, which were held in Sydney in September and October, came and went. I watched the closing ceremony on TV, which was truly spectacular. My dream was now to be free and among the spectators at the 2004 Olympics in Athens.

Even with all the publicity surrounding South African prisoners in Thai jails, the ANC government just dragged its feet when it came to a treaty. In January 2001 my sister managed to get a meeting with the Minister of Justice, Penuell Maduna, and she was told at that meeting that the government was reviewing the possibility and that they would keep her posted on developments. Frustratingly, there didn’t appear to be any developments or any progress to report. After thinking it over for a while, I proposed to my sister that we should change tactics. Perhaps we could put pressure on the Nigerian government. At that time, no African country had a treaty with Thailand. My thinking was that if Nigeria signed a treaty, then South Africa, the dominant political and economic power on the African continent, might follow suit. I drafted letters to the Nigerian president, highlighting the plight of the over 700 Nigerian prisoners languishing in Thai prisons. We sent copies of the letter to Pope John Paul II and once again to a number of human rights organisations. My sister even went so far as to meet with the Nigerian ambassador to South Africa. Not too long afterwards, we learnt that the Pope had personally contacted the Nigerian president, urging him to look into the situation.