The Angel of Bang Kwang Prison (7 page)

I stayed in Penang for a year or so. I would have to leave every so often for another place, like Songkla, because I hadn’t got a long term visa, so I would need to leave to get my passport stamped elsewhere. There was nothing grand or routine about our work. I wasn’t interested in getting involved and working through organised Christian groups or churches—they were too bureaucratic and narrow-minded for me and spent a lot of time debating denominational theories. Instead, I worked very informally: for instance one day I got a very strong feeling that I should go to the beach—Penang has the most fabulous beaches—and when I got there I got chatting to this Chinese guy who was utterly fed up with himself and his life. After a couple of hours in conversation I challenged him to come and help me out for a bit with my work, which he duly accepted, taking his mind off his problems and making him feel a whole lot better. Another time I got on a bus and happened to sit next to a woman who was practically suicidal. I got off the bus with her and we went for a coffee, over which we talked until she too felt better. This type of one-on-one work is perfect for helping me to assimilate myself into the culture of the country I’m working in. It’s like a backdoor in, which allows me to skip over months of trying to learn the ins and outs of that particular society.

Now you can call it what you will: woman’s intuition, something supernatural, a Guardian Angel or just plain weird, but this is how I have built up my career. I follow my inner voice, which always directs me to someone in need. One Sunday I headed into town and had the feeling that I should go into a hotel that I liked to have coffee in from time to time. It had a swimming pool but you had to be a paying guest of the hotel in order to be able to use it so I sent a little prayer upwards that I might be given permission to use it at some stage. I love to swim; it’s an excellent way to de-stress yourself. I went into the bar because, as with in many walks of life, that seemed the best place to start. There were a few people around reading newspapers or engaged in intimate chats. I took a table and ordered a beer from the waiter. A few minutes later a guy, Malaysian, walked in and took the table behind me. I had a feeling that he could speak English and asked him if he could. He smiled in surprise and said yes, asking me in turn how I could have known. I shrugged and said quite truthfully that I just had a feeling he did. He looked me directly in the eye and said, ‘I think God must have sent you here.’

I was delighted and replied, ‘And you too.’

We ended up having dinner and a few more drinks. He was a journalist with a local newspaper and wrote a political column. It was a very enjoyable evening and one I wasn’t to forget about quickly since he left my name at the swimming pool, which meant I could use it whenever I liked. So you see why I believe in miracles!

Once I stopped wearing transparent clothes I felt very at home in Asia. I adored the food especially. I developed a reputation for being able to eat an entire jar—and not suffer from any diarrhoea—of Sambal Blachan, which is a really smelly chilli paste made from shrimps. It’s only supposed to accompany meat, fish or rice but I just eat it by itself, straight from the jar. I also relish Beef Randang and a fried chicken dish called Nasi Goreng but I’m ashamed to say that the nicest meat dish I ever had was frog. They told me it was chicken, but it wasn’t, it was frog, and it must have been a big one because it was a fair sized chunk of meat. However, I’m not completely foolhardy about what I put it my mouth. I attended a Chinese business meeting once and refused to taste the main course, which was 10,000 Singaporean dollars, of seal’s penis and testicle stew. I could think of so many other ways to spend that kind of money. I also draw the line at eating turtle’s feet. Those majestic massive creatures always remind me of dolphins; they look like they have a soul and intellect—it’s hard to feel the same way about a chicken.

I kept in frequent contact with home through letters and was thrilled when my parents told me that they were saving to come and visit me. They flew in on a night flight so they were a bit groggy when they got off the plane. Dad couldn’t fathom why his glasses were all steamed up, but it was just the heavy heat, even at night time. It was an emotional reunion. For my part I got a bit of a shock at how much they had apparently aged in a year or so, while I looked taller and more grown-up to them. The three of us stayed in a plush 5-star hotel by the seaside. I think whatever worries they had about losing me were dispelled by our taking a holiday together and spending time re-connecting and catching up with one another. They were delighted with my fluency in Chinese and my bargaining skills with the local rickshaw riders. One ancient Chinese guy muttered to my father, ‘Uh oh, madam is very tough!’

I have to admit that I had developed a talent for bargaining, and a short time after arriving in Malaysia I was paying the local prices, instead of the inflated ‘tourist prices’, though when I have the cash I do like to tip, but it’s more usually the case that I just can’t afford to give ‘tourist’ amounts.

I had asked my mother to bring me over a list of things that I missed and she duly arrived with liquorice (which I sorely missed), Vegemite (but of course!), and lots of bras and pants. At that time, underwear was really expensive to buy in Asia, except for children of four, or for those huge granny knickers sported by grand old ladies past their prime; they were even bigger—the pants, that is—than the pair Renee Zellweger wears in the movie,
Bridget Jones’ Diary
, and they were made from a horrible plastic, nylon material. My poor mother sent me a mountain of cheap, colourful underwear over the years. Fortunately things have improved in that department, and nowadays the underwear that is made in Thailand is also sold, cheaply, in Thailand.

We ate out every night; sometimes we’d go to my kind of place—cheap, greasy with dodgy décor, and we’d also go to their sort of place—quiet, candles, and gorgeous western-Chinese food, which is much different from the local Chinese fare, unless you have a lot of money. I enjoyed a week of good food, beer, wine and swims in the hotel pool.

The weather was glorious and I believed them when they told me that it was the best vacation they had ever had. In hindsight, I think that Asia surprised them with its beauty and its gentle, friendly people. They could see why I loved it. They also didn’t feel too isolated thanks to the British bars, restaurants and tourists. I think they might have been hoping to hear me say that I was coming home with them, or in the near future, but to their credit they never said it to me. To this day I know they would love for me to return to Melbourne and get a good, secure job but they also realise that that is probably not going to happen.

Some time later I was eager to stretch my wings and move on from Penang. I think I always knew that I would be leaving at some stage and was just waiting to see where I would be directed to. We got a call from a wealthy Chinese guy who was a Christian and was living with his wife in Indonesia. I had met him about a year before and he had generously donated to various causes, which were not my own but which I felt were good investments, spiritually, for him.

He owned quite a few properties and wanted to donate one of them to be set up as a drug rehab centre for the troubled youth in Jakarta. The city had a particularly bad drug problem and its rehab facilities, as in most Asian countries at that time, were dismal to say the least. Drugs could be quite cheap to get; the likes of heroin and gancha were the poor man’s drug of choice. The addict was perceived to be the worst kind of loser and the solution, at the time, was to lock him, or her, up in an ugly cell and let them go cold turkey without any help or care. Someone was needed to help set up and run the project.

I jumped at this perfectly timed opportunity and packed my few belongings, ready for a new beginning and a new challenge.

Jakarta wasn’t as pleasant a place as Penang. As I’ve said Penang had the most wonderful beaches, making it the perfect holiday spot, and the people were incredibly friendly. I had always felt very safe there. Jakarta was different; it was a mad house—dirty, polluted and over-populated. It was also, at a moment’s notice, a hot bed of rebellion. One time I had to stay holed up in my hotel room while 10,000 people rioted outside my window as a protest against the government. There were a lot of under-privileged, poor people which made it a perfect place for me to do my work and stretch myself.

I spent the next few years project-hopping from country to country. As usual I had no particular plan or schedule and just set about being open and available to whoever needed me. I was beginning to make a name for myself; people would ask for me and send me plane tickets so that I could head out for short periods of time, though always within Malaysia. Once again I enjoyed the freedom and independence just like when Pete and I headed around Australia. I did make lots of new friends in the different Christian groups that I came into contact with but I had no real ties and wasn’t perturbed by the constant travelling and living alone, or bunking in with assorted friends.

But then I got a call from my friend in Thailand. Richard was working for the army and was given a few passes to the Southeast Asian Games and told to ‘bring goodwill’ to Thailand. A mutual friend suggested to him that he should ask me to accompany him since I spoke a few of the local languages and got on very well with Asians and would more than likely say yes to coming along.

The Southeast Asian Games is a bi-annual multi-sport event involving the current 11 countries of Southeast Asia. In 1985 the 13th games were being held in Bangkok, from 8–17 December. Richard rang me and begged me to come over and be an interpreter during the games. All along I somehow knew that I would end up in Thailand and the idea didn’t appeal to me. Realising your destiny is a two-edged sword in that it is both exhilarating and utterly terrifying. For now I considered his offer.

‘Nine days Susan, just nine days out of your life that’s all I’m asking for. You’ll have a great time, I promise you!’

How could I resist that?

It was great fun. Again there was nothing formal about my role. I just hung out with the athletes and their crews and the media crowd, befriending them and helping out wherever I could. After the nine days were up I was asked —as I knew I would be—why didn’t I just stay on for a while? I returned to Indonesia to once again pack up all my belongings. Then I flew to Singapore for a quiet Christmas. I rang my parents before dousing what was probably going to be my last Christmas pudding for a while, in brandy. Afterwards I headed out for a walk along the streets, taking in the bright lights and the hundreds of beaming Singaporeans and Westerners who were out celebrating.

This was it, I knew that my life was about to change forever; Thailand was where I was meant to be; I couldn’t deny or resist it any longer.

Chapter Three

One of my first jobs in Thailand was minding Richard’s kids. He had recently married his second wife, a Thai woman, and they were expecting their first child together. In the meantime he needed me to look after his four American children from his first marriage. Richard was also a member of a Christian group and managed to do as much voluntary work as he could in between his day-time job as a teacher and his full-time career as a busy father. Naturally, once I had settled in, I helped him out with his charity work whenever I was needed. I hadn’t got a long term visa yet and had to keep leaving the country every six months. I would go visit my friends in Penang and Indonesia and help out in any projects that I could.

One of the first projects that I set up on my own was teaching English to the Tourist Police. This branch of the police department was mostly made up of young recruits who had recently joined from up-country provinces. The vast majority had never been in busy Bangkok in their lives, never mind being next to near a tourist, and certainly did not know a word of English; therefore, if some enraged German or American had been the victim of a pick-pocket it would immediately become an impossible and frustrating situation for both parties. The tourist industry was becoming an increasingly viable and necessary asset to Thailand, so something had to be done. A course, including text books, had been specially written for them at Thammasart University but there was no one available to teach it.

I heard about their dilemma and approached the chief of the Tourist Police to offer my services. He was an interesting guy, with fairer skin than me, and a Clark Gable moustache. He spoke English fluently, having studied in England, and was an advocate of education and learning. He was the one who had initiated the university course and now needed a teacher. I recruited two other women to help and we began teaching classes early in the morning, before the officers’ shift.

It was a great experience for me, and it also got me my visa, which enabled me to stay and work in Thailand. In fact, on my first visit to the immigration office I was transported in a Tourist Police car, with two young guards in full uniform. I was in the back seat with two girlfriends; Renee, who would help deliver my baby a few years later, and Julie, who I had known in Australia. I had first met her when I was still a teenager, in the coffee shop of a Christian youth group. We all needed our visas stamped and were thrilled with our ride—more so when we realised that onlookers were staring aghast at us, obviously putting two and two together and thinking we had all been arrested.

I wonder what they thought we had done, since the three of us looked so harmless and polite. It became more comical when we reached the immigration building and our stern young escorts walked us in past the other westerners who were filling out their forms in the crowded office. People either openly stared at us in pity or avoided our eyes in pity; meanwhile, we were being treated better than any of them there.

After some years in Bangkok I was followed by the Secret Police—when they could keep up with me. I was a strange white face who was constantly on the move around the city, and seemed to spend a large amount of time popping into police stations. Was I a spy? Their attitude changed when they discovered that I was quite poor but genuinely happy to spend my day helping others. They called me into their headquarters to ask me if I would also teach them English in exchange for a donation for my purse.

One of the police generals asked me for my help. He wanted to send his son to school in Australia but knew little about the schools available. I agreed to look into and make the required arrangements. Later that week, it just so happened that I had to run into the 5-star hotel, in Siam Square, to use its pristine bathroom. On my way out I spotted a familiar face in the lobby—Mr Ross, one of my teachers from the private school. I couldn’t believe it. It’s weird enough to see your teachers out in the real world when you’re a kid, and it’s definitely astonishing to be looking at one in a fancy hotel in Thailand.

He smiled politely at me without recognising me but was obviously wondering why I was grinning insanely in his direction. His mouth dropped open when I introduced myself; I had been a right handful in his class and he had to battle me frequently over who was going to win the other students’ attention. I think part of his surprise was that one, I was still alive and two, I didn’t have as many facial piercings as I used to. He grabbed my hand warmly when I told him what I was doing with my life;

‘Oh my goodness! I’m actually dealing with a girl who reminds me of you. She called me the other day looking for help and I felt I had nothing to give her but now you are living proof that there is hope for her.’

He told me that he was now the principal of a boarding school, just outside Melbourne.

As we chatted, an idea formed in my head and I mentioned the General and his son. He gave me the registrar’s phone number and warned me to tell the General to act quickly as there were only a few places left for the next school term. We said our goodbyes and promised to keep in touch. The General had heard of the boarding school and had decided that it would be his first choice. It all worked out beautifully. We made the call and his son got the very last place in the school and at a reduced rate since we had rung the school directly.

I quickly discovered that Thais prefer to know someone. My involvement and the fact that I knew the principal of the school made it a lot easier for the General to enrol his son in a
farang
(foreign) school. It’s just the Thai way; you never do something cold with complete strangers; you always do business guided by who you know. It’s about security, especially when it comes to their kids, which I completely understand. This meant that not only was the son signed up for the school, but the family wanted me to come to Melbourne with them to settle him in, and also to settle any doubts that might have lingered. The General wouldn’t take no for an answer and my ticket was bought for me before I knew it. I was over the moon as it felt like such a long time since I had seen my home town.

I flew into Melbourne with the General’s petite wife and their smiling, polite son. It was a culture shock for me. Everyone just seemed so physically big, including their noses, and why were they shouting so much? Asian people are so contained in manner and stature that I had forgotten what your average Aussie was like. When we got into the taxi at the airport I sat in the front so that I could address and direct the taxi man. Up to that point I quite enjoyed having them depend on me and was doing my ‘Welcome to my country’ thing; my confidence was quickly shook, however, when the cab driver couldn’t understand my accent and point blank refused to believe I was as Australian as he was.

Australia had changed a lot since I had been away—including the telephone system and the money. I felt like a foreigner in my own country, visiting it for the very first time. It was strange to see so many white people and I found myself staring at men’s beer bellies and the cellulite-dimpled arms and legs of the women. I didn’t feel too bad when I caught the General’s wife doing the same—and she was much more ladylike than I was.

Money was no object on this trip; the General had us booked into one of Melbourne’s downtown hotels. I was being paid to be a chaperone so while I wanted to run off and see my family and friends that would have been rude and unfair, as neither mother nor son had much English and they would have been stranded if I disappeared. My job was to help the son get settled in the little time we had; I knew once he was happy his mother would be happy. Before we left Thailand the General had contacted the abbot of the Thai temple in Melbourne, who was delighted to help out. We met him and his 76-year-old sidekick the following day and they were anxious to show the General’s wife and son the sights, and brought the car. It quickly became apparent that they were going to be much better tour guides than myself.

They had been living there for the last ten years and knew all the short cuts and all the different sights that Melbourne had to offer. Everyone thought it was great fun that I was being shown around my hometown by a Thai monk. We were all in good spirits, laughing and joking in Lao and Thai—it was almost like we were on a little Thai island inside the car, watching an Australian movie through the windows.

I was re-united with my family later that day and kept busy fitting in as many visits as I could. I even caught up with my old boyfriend
Simon
. We bumped into each other on the street. He recognised me first and, like my meeting with Mr Ross, it took me a couple of seconds before I realised who this large, friendly, smiling man was. All his hardness and toughness had fallen away, thanks largely as I discovered, to his lovely wife and three little daughters that he was completely smitten with. He proudly introduced his young family to me and it was heart-warming to see him basking in the warmth and love of all these females. After the teenage anger and then the soul-searching, he was now a man happy in his own skin. I found myself envying him as I too hoped to have children and find that soul-mate that ‘they’ tell us is out there. Little did I know what the universe had planned for me.

On my return to Thailand I threw myself into my work again. I continued with the English classes and my police contacts enabled me to get involved in many different things. I had joined with a Christian group in Bangkok and we were starting to feel a way around to establish where we could focus our energies. Through the Metropolitan Police I became involved in the juvenile welfare department. I spent the next three years as an official instructor of activities and projects organised in conjunction with the police for the youth of Bangkok.

When I started this job there was a lot of trouble on the streets in the form of street battles between the student-gangs of opposing technical schools. I don’t quite know how it initiated; it seemed to have become the tradition—a tradition that began years earlier—that if you attended one school you were automatically the enemy of every other technical school in the district. And woe betide if a student of one college, easily recognised because of his school uniform, infringed on the territory of another; punishment was usually instant and vicious, with most of the kids armed with knives or using the buckle of their belts to beat the living daylights out of the opposition. These gangs would take, at the very least, the belt, with the school’s crest, of their victims as a kind of trophy to the day’s battle. The clashes were becoming increasingly more violent over the years until eventually the inevitable happened; some of the kids got their hands on guns and a student was shot dead. Bangkok was horrified at the turn of events, and something needed to be done.

While I would never describe myself or my Christian colleagues as miracle-workers, we worked hard to stay optimistic and make a difference, small or otherwise. The juvenile division of the police set up a programme in Saraburi, which is a beautiful location about 108km from Bangkok and capital of the Saraburi Province. There was a camp on the grounds of a temple. The police would rent it out to schools and youth groups. They decided it would be perfect for what they had in mind and set about bringing ten students from each of the troublesome schools. It was a bit of a risk but it was worth it. In fact this was just one of several camps set up for this purpose. The students underwent a tough military regime. If they had any ideas about forming mini-armies and inflicting harm on each other that first evening in Saraburi, they didn’t follow it through, out of pure exhaustion. They didn’t know what had hit them; we had them run blindfold through the forest at night, we had them helping each other to scale barbed wire and once we got the first day out of the way we could start to mix and match up different teams. Inevitably they began to forget about the territorial façade in Bangkok because it just wasn’t relevant in the forest in Saraburi. Conversations were, grudgingly at first, struck up, and little by little the kids started working together.

A frequent visitor to these camps was Niall, a volunteer worker and musician, and fellow Aussie. I had met him at a party in a friend’s house, in Thailand, a couple of years previously, but we hadn’t spoken to one another. He may have perceived me to be this big news voluntary worker and perhaps that scared him off—or perhaps it was my brash behaviour and loud laugh and my complete inability to look shy and enticing. Whatever it was, back then I was happily single and disinterested as far as cute guys who played the guitar were concerned. But now here he was again and this time it was different. He was fluent in Thai, hugely intelligent and creative—always a turn-on for me. He was in great demand as a composer of children’s songs, and was busy writing material and putting together Thai educational videos.

A lot of the friends I had were meeting people and falling in love and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t affected by it. I had been single for a long time at this stage and even though I was 110% committed to my work I was starting to feel lonely and would find myself daydreaming about my soul mate and the father of my future children. At our camp, we would often have meals together, in the company of maybe eight other people. Then, it happened; one evening we found ourselves having dinner alone and thus had our first real conversation ... and suddenly the sparks were flying between us. I felt a shiver creep up my back that I hadn’t felt for a long, long time. I suppose it was all inevitable when I think about it—you open yourself up for an experience and when the universe judges you to be ready it’s all systems go. We both shared the same goals; to live our lives helping others, and duly fell madly in love. There is simply nothing in life that is as incredible as the start of a relationship. People just take on a radiance when they are falling in love with someone new and the feeling is being reciprocated. I swear I hadn’t looked this good in years.