I don't have an alternative. Even if my only choice is high risk, I have to choose life. Somehow, it's a life that has drifted off course and out of the mainstream, into what can only be described as a maelstrom. My own fault? That's not for me to say, but I do feel I've been hung out to dry by everyone who should care, who should be helping me. I find myself in a police cell in Bangkok, accused of drug trafficking - bringing five kilos of heroin across the Burmese border, facing a certain death sentence in my trial, which starts tomorrow.
My wonderful Australian government washed their hands of me immediately. One small conviction for cannabis possession when I was a student and I'm labelled as some kind of drug baron. What bullshit! Everyone smokes a bit of dope. No bloody justice, that's what I say. My family have abandoned me too. One visit from my older sister this morning, no message from dad, I've been just left here to rot. I heard he's upset because his black sheep daughter has spoiled his chances of re-election. I hate him so much, I hope he loses the bloody vote.
'Hey!' I shout to the guard, 'Got a cigarette?' I do a smoking
gesture with my mouth
and fingers, 'A cigarette?' I repeat.
He walks over and takes a pack from his chest pocket. I show him
10 baht. He
takes the money and passes me a cigarette through the cell bars, smiles, and walks off. 'Hey! I
need a light,'
I shout again. He turns. I mime
lighting the cigarette, 'Light, Light.'
He walks back over and lights my cigarette. I look at the bunch of keys
hanging from his belt. He sees me doing so. Our eyes meet, he looks
like a man who needs the money I am about to offer him. I let my shirt
fall open and reveal
the large wad of Thai banknotes my sister gave me. I
have 50000 baht, it's a tempting
sum for
a man on a 100 baht
a day salary. Our eyes meet again and a silent agreement is made.
For the last few years I've been in trading. Buying Hill-tribe goods in Myanmar and Laos and bringing them back to Melbourne to sell. It's been a great way of funding my travelling. Except this time, Thai customs found five kilograms of heroin in the hand-made wooden ornaments in my rucksack. I tried to explain that I had no idea the drugs were in there. I was an innocent victim, I pleaded. But they brought me to Bangkok three months ago and I was rotting in a prison until this morning, when I was brought here.
It's now 3am and the guard is alone. His mate has gone for a sleep somewhere. 'Hey! Cigarette!' I beckon him over. He picks up his wooden baton and walks across the brightly lit room. He passes me the baton through the bars of the cell and then holds out his hand. 'Baht, baht.' He looks desperate but can I trust him? What choice do I have? I pass him half the money through the bars and he smiles, puts the cash into his underwear and turns around. I hit him hard on his head with the baton and he falls to the floor. I take the bunch of keys and open the lock. The window leads out onto a low roof. Within minutes I am on the streets of Bangkok - a free man. I take a tuk-tuk to a small guesthouse just off the Kaosan Road. I have an understanding with the owner. She passes me the bag I keep there, I pass her some cash and head out to catch a taxi. In my bag I have a false passport, more cash and another ten kilos of pure heroin.