The Angel of Bang Kwang Prison (12 page)

I wasn’t always this understanding. I used to get so angry, in the early days, with Thais and their strange ways. Every society on this earth has something about it that you wouldn’t agree with. People act in a certain way because we are all prisoners of society. I also had a lot of anger towards the embassies here and was critical of them for not doing more or working faster. In the end I came to see myself as a team member who relied on everyone around me to pull together and do what they could do within their own restrictions.

A further example of the contradictions in Thailand is illustrated by the story of Talya’s hamster. I had got her a miniature hamster, which was the size of a ping pong ball. She was delighted with it at first but, perhaps inevitably, I ended up looking after it. Every morning when I approached the cage to feed it, it would run towards me wanting to be picked up and stroked. Then, one awful morning, I found him dangling from the top of the cage, its broken leg caught in the wire. My reaction caught me by surprise; it was as if this awful vision released me to react to all the horrible things I had seen in my job and not batted an eye-lid over. My tears blinded me and I was shaking like a leaf. I couldn’t allow it to live in agony and so I determined to have him put down. The problem was how. I thought of taking him to Bang Kwang with the idea of asking some relevant inmate to overdose him with heroin, but realised that no one would want to waste their precious drugs on a rodent. Instead, I headed to the vet’s office. The vet refused to help me, saying, ‘We are a Buddhist country. We can’t kill this animal.’

The previous day five prisoners had been executed at Bang Kwang so this seemed a little ridiculous to me and I told him so in no uncertain terms. He and his staff reacted in typical Thai mode to an outraged white woman—they got rid of me fast.

They organised, and paid, for a taxi to take me to Kasetsart Veterinary School, which is under Royal patronage and is suppose to be the best in the country, which explains the massive queue that met me. There were maybe 600 people waiting, with all manner of animals to be dealt with, from dogs to ducks. I took my ticket—number 614—and found a seat beside an elderly man who looked half asleep. I asked him what number he was. He replied that he was number 300 and had been waiting all day. Screw that! I decided to play the manic
farang
card and bustled up to the receptionist as dramatically as possible and bellowed at her:

‘Excuse me but I need someone to kill this hamster right now or I’ll kill him myself here in front of everyone.’

The din in the room quickly died and I thought I could hear the timid sniffle of a terrified child. The young receptionist gazed at me in bewilderment as I started to howl, and several of the onlookers looked like they might like to volunteer to put
me
out of my misery. I rushed into the nearest emergency room and tearfully pleaded with the staff to terminate my hamster. Predictably they also told me that they couldn’t fulfil my wish because they were Buddhists. I pointed out about the executions of the five criminals and the head vet pointed out, in turn, that this wasn’t the prison. I looked at him helplessly and decided to try another tack.

‘Please, please, please, I
beg
you. He’s in terrible pain. Can you not do something for him?’

The vet smiled and told me that he would do something; he would remove the leg. I was ordered to wait outside while they knocked the little guy out and amputated his useless limb. It was a long 30 minutes until the door of the emergency room opened again. I was handed the tiny thing that now had a plastic cone around its neck to prevent it chewing off the bandaged stump. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Men were shot dead in Bang Kwang prison while other inmates were racked by sickness thanks to an obscene lack of medical treatment, and my tiny, irrelevant hamster had just received the best medical attention in all of Thailand because they couldn’t bring themselves to ‘put him to sleep’. That for me summed up the contradiction that is Thailand.

Chapter Seven

All in all I didn’t do a great deal to improve the guards’ living conditions, or their personal life outside the prison, but what I could do was provide them with training courses, through the institute of learning at the Department of Corrections. I also, with help from sponsors, provided them with small luxuries like radios and fans in their offices, and even a new TV in the waiting room. I wanted them to know that I appreciated the job they were doing and any co-operation they could offer me. Some of them shyly asked me to teach English to their kids or translate documents concerning western inmates. I also translated speeches and met with embassy officials, mediating between them and the prison. At that time, my Thai work permit described me as a translator because of the work I performed for the drug rehab centre, and this allowed me to legally work with sensitive papers. But someone didn’t like what I was doing, for some reason, and resented the trust placed in me.

That ‘someone’ made a complaint that I had infringed on prisoners’ rights by reading their personal letters, which was completely untrue. Nevertheless, the Australian Embassy had no choice but to investigate the complaint and they called me in for an interview. It was a serious matter. In fact, it was a federal offence and could not be ignored. Fortunately, the embassy staff knew me and trusted me when I explained that the only letters I had ever read were the ones that they sent me. I also told them that this complaint was the result of plain old jealousy and I even supplied the name of the complainer, as it was obvious to me who it was.

I found the whole thing upsetting—it’s not that I expect everyone to like me, but I never thought that someone was going to especially stir themselves to cause trouble for me. I could have been arrested so I couldn’t afford to take this lightly. I told my interviewers that I only wanted to help people and I had zero interest in breaking the law and risking my projects, and certainly had no interest in exploiting any trust placed in me. I knew and appreciated my sensitive role in the prison and had no wish to jeopardise all I had worked for. The Australian Counsel General listened gravely to me, and was much perturbed that his embassy’s time had been wasted by a trouble-maker.

My accuser was a western inmate who had obviously taken a dislike to me and the work I did. He also didn’t like Garth or anyone else I was visiting. He was forever claiming his innocence and demanding better treatment over everyone else in Bang Kwang. Previously he had started a rumour that I was a spy for the Department of Corrections and only visited people to find out who was dealing drugs. He was an unpopular guy, who never bathed, and had accused a lot more people than myself—therefore, I couldn’t take his accusation too personally, I suppose. Anger at the world seemed to be his motivation to cause trouble for those around him. Even the people who visited him weren’t pleasant and I discovered that he had used one of his visitors to lodge the accusation against me, so the only thing to do was give him as wide a berth as possible. Later on, he was moved to Klong Prem where I bumped into him, as I had a temporary office there, scaring the crap out of him. I slapped him heartily on the back and gave him a loud, ‘WELL HELLO AGAIN, HOW ARE YOU?’

He paled immediately and looked about him nervously, wondering if I was going to get my own back by having him accused of smuggling drugs. I didn’t, however, obviously. It was enough for me to be able to inspire terror in him with my mere presence.

It’s all part of prison territory; jealousy, suspicion and rumours. One minute I was working for the government, the next minute the government were checking up on me because they thought I was smuggling drugs. Everyone thinks you’re after something. I find it really frustrating because there I am, busting my hump to help people and then I’ve to make time and effort to fight silly accusations and external influences.

Visiting a prisoner in Bang Kwang can be a noisy business with its own set of rules. Generally I maintain good relations with other visitors; they sit in their favourite spots and I sit in mine. Some of these other visitors act like they are afraid I will invade their territory and they are quite possessive about the inmates they visit. Some people definitely dislike what I do and who I visit—I’m only human after all. I’m not exclusive about who I help or talk to; whoever needs to talk, or needs help in any way, I will visit, and I will show them as much kindness as I can. In the line of work that I do I never know when I may need someone’s help.

One day I was at the guard’s desk in Bang Kwang registering to visit Garth when I found myself surrounded by a group of tall, loud African men. I was visiting very few Africans at the time as they had their own support system amongst each other. Additionally, they had their own church folk visiting them and looking after their needs. I had gotten to know some of their women visitors whose loud booming voices, huge bodies and unbelievably colourful outfits always cheered me up. My favourite was Mama Mafia who seemed to be the one in charge. She loved to wear the tightest black spandex pants and was never seen without her bright, blood-red lipstick. She was a great fan of ‘The Lord’ and loved nothing better than repeating His words and anecdotes. She also informed anyone who cared to listen that most of her problems were down to a lack of sex.

Back at the desk I was having a problem. One of the men was being overly flirtatious and pushy. By now I had had plenty of experience of these scenarios. I smiled politely and said, ‘Excuse me, now I have to be on my way.’

When I tried to leave he grabbed my wrist, saying, ‘Hey, I didn’t excuse you.’

Crap! This wasn’t what normally happened. I thought to myself that if I didn’t get away he could follow me. Just then the guard returned to the desk and I was able to pry my hand out of his and walk away. I went back inside the jail and told one of the guards there that I had had a spot of bother. I was a frequent visitor to the prison by now and this kind of behaviour had to be nipped in the bud; I had enough on my plate without worrying about this sort of thing. I hated myself for telling this particular guy because he was known to be heavy-handed with the inmates and had a terrible temper. He wanted me to point out the exact guy but I refused to. I didn’t want to be the cause of someone getting hurt. When I finally got to see Garth I told him what had happened and he had the brilliant idea of asking Mama Mafia for help. When Garth’s time was up I approached the grand old lady.

‘Hey Mama, I got bothered by one of your boys today. Could you tell him to back off please? I’m a one-man-woman and I don’t want to be hassled. Is that ok?’

She threw her head back and roared with laughter.

‘Oh I love it. A one-man-woman! Don’t you worry your head, girl, I’ll sort it out.’

She whispered a few words into a colleague’s ear and from that moment on those guys were as meek as lambs around me. I never had another problem with an African man after that.

Visiting the prison has certainly resulted in my meeting lots of men which, depending on the men, can lead to its own set of problems. A few years ago I used to visit a western inmate, a junkie who had been in Bang Kwang for 10 years or so by the time I got to know him. He was very insecure about himself and seemed to think that he had to be a certain way in order to attract my friendship. I found it frustrating when he would spout scripture at me, usually misquoting stuff or leaving out the best bits. He would also write to me using letters that he received from missionaries, only he couldn’t spell that well even with the original letter in front of him. It was all a front of course. It saddened me that he thought he had to bribe me with spirituality in order for me to spend time with him, but I didn’t push him about it. I just wanted him to be himself with me and kept hoping that after a few more visits he might drop his guard and allow us to have a proper conversation.

I visited one day and he was completely off his head. He was so stoned that he walked into the wall, and it then took some minutes for him to locate his seat, sit down and focus on me. I greeted him with a smile and asked him how he was. This time he hadn’t got the energy or concentration to quote the Bible, and the truth—his truth—just poured right out instead. He was angry and distraught and his eyes hardened with contempt for me as he spat out his words.

‘You want to know how I am? I’ll tell you exactly how I am. I saw a poor bastard Thai get beat up so badly here that he was crippled. Right in front of me. Then because he couldn’t walk anymore he needed someone to help him. But his mates got tired of helping him so they drowned him in the water sewer. You come here and visit every day but you don’t know shit about this place. You’ve no fucking idea what it’s like to be in here. So stop wasting my fucking time by asking me how I am.’

There was a lot more, and I just sat there and listened in silence. Exhaustion stopped him finally, and I was able to speak.

‘Thank God, you’re being honest with me at long bloody last! I was getting so sick and tired of your bullshit. This morning I thought to myself that if you quoted something at me just one more time I was going to scream until my hair fell out.’

A smile flickered across his face so I continued.

‘You’re right though. You’re absolutely right; I don’t really know what it’s like to be locked up in this place. Just like you don’t know what it’s like to give birth to a baby, right? But you can understand that it bloody hurts like nothing on earth and you could empathise with the pain. Talya nearly died when I was in labour with her, and you could try to imagine how horrible and scary that was for me, right?’

He nodded sheepishly and shrugged, ‘Ok, point taken.’

We continued on chatting for a while, our friendship starting anew without lies or imaginary walls. When the visit was over the guard, Bulldog, arrived to escort him back to his cell. I had nicknamed this guard Bulldog because he was particularly mean-tempered and liked to throw his weight around with a few slaps, here and there, to show the prisoners he was boss. He was well educated but I think he felt that he hadn’t lived up to his father’s expectations and this made him bitter and angry; his father was a government official. Quite a few complaints about his violent behaviour had already been filed against him by the foreign inmates and this served to make him even surlier in his attitude. His face was a permanent scowl and he looked like he was capable of growling better than any dog I’ve ever seen. He also thought of himself as someone who could speak English, and there he couldn’t be more wrong. When he believed himself to be communicating fluently in the English language his bewildered listeners just heard a nonsense babble that didn’t belong to any particular dialect. I imagine he thought foreign prisoners were being disrespectable to him, when, in reality, they genuinely couldn’t follow his orders because they were delivered in gobbledegook.

Anyway, as my prisoner friend followed him back to his cell, Bulldog asked him what I was to him. All the guards knew me because I was practically living in the visitor’s room. My friend was feeling happier after his outburst to me so he flippantly replied that I was his wife. Meanwhile I had made the long journey home and was feeling a bit under the weather. It had been a long week and I still had to make the dinner and do some laundry. My forehead felt clammy and there was a distinct tickle in my throat. I decided a cool bath and an early night would be the best. I literally did not have the time to be sick.

Talya and I had just finished our dinner when the phone rang. My friends try to tell me not to answer the phone every time it rings but I just can’t bring myself to ignore it, no matter what time of the evening it is. My head was fuzzy with tiredness when I picked up the receiver and said hello. Gobbledegook shot into my hot ear and it took me a while to identify my caller—Bulldog. On top of his usual strangeness he sounded very drunk and I was completely flummoxed as to why he was calling me at home. He continued shouting down the phone for several minutes until he slowly realised that I didn’t understand what he was saying. He stopped, took a deep breath, and began to count loudly—one, two, three, four—as if to calm himself down. After several more minutes of madness, while the top of my head was starting to pound with pain, I slowly began to get the point of his hysterical monologue. He had fancied me for some time and had long dreamt of marrying me, but I had betrayed him with my secret marriage to the western junkie.

He felt a fool. How could I have chosen a junkie over such a fine catch as himself? I had let him and myself down.

‘Oh Dear Sweet Jesus,’ I thought, ‘Now what?’

He began to count again, preparing for another onslaught. It was going to be a long night if I didn’t do something, and fast.

I sat down on the floor and quickly assembled some threads of logic in my poor pained head, before explaining it to him.

‘Would you get a hold of yourself? How could I be married to him? He has been in jail longer than I’ve been in Thailand. And I think you’d know if any wedding took place in Bang Kwang—it would be all over the newspapers for one thing. Think about it.’

He went quiet and I could almost hear his brain registering my words and, slowly, accepting them to be true. Thankfully I got him off the phone soon after. When I next visited the prison I was very wary of him. I usually like to joke with the guards but I immediately stopped that with Bulldog. His temper and mindset wasn’t to be trusted and I didn’t want him taking out his frustrations on any of my prisoner friends, especially Garth. A mean prison guard could make life extremely unpleasant for an inmate if he put his mind to it. He could plant drugs on an inmate or even me, so I had to be especially vigilant; I remained polite but distant. I regretted having to worry about him and watch my behaviour, so you can imagine my delight when Bulldog was moved away from having any contact with inmates in Bang Kwang after he hit a couple of British inmates who then, wisely, complained about him to the authorities.