It has been a big week, dominated by my first court appearance, a drug test I actually have faith in and sleeping on a mattress for the first time in over three months. I’ve also cut my head open (twice), taught my lawyer how to smuggle and got a “fridge”, as well as squared off with a Bulgarian and accidentally helped win a Hindu over to Christianity.
All in all, a good week, but first things first.
My first court appearance on Thursday was entirely procedural, the indictment was officially read, but will likely set the tone for a trial likely to last around 6-9 weeks, with just one afternoon session per week. About 60 of us were handcuffed in pairs and crammed into two prison buses, escorted at high speed by motorcycle outriders on the 30 minute trip to court. Within seconds of the bus door closing, everyone started picking the locks on their cuffs, and by the time we arrived, the manacles were off and fastened instead to the bars of the windows, like gang decals.
Apparently this is very much a tradition and the guards think you very lightweight if you arrive at court still shackled. We were crammed into two hot, small cells, virtually open to the public, and called one-by-one to have our indictments read. It lasted about 5-10 minutes per person. There was a lot of media attention and while Joe (different cell) tried to cover his head with a towel, I knew if you let the photographers have at least a couple of decent shots, they’ll leave you alone after that. You also look less like a criminal with something to hide.
There is some very good news from the outset. I’m not going to go into detail for obvious reasons here, but the prosecution has decided not to seek sentencing for charge 111 (class 1, max 12 years) or charge 115 (supplying/encouraging, max 5 years) but only 127 (abuse/addiction) which carries a maximum four years. The official indictment says I am a long-term abuser with otherwise good record who would benefit from rehab, so this give the judges a lot of justification for an even more lenient sentence. Nothing is certain apart from the possibility of the maximum, but I have confidence in the “powers of persuasion” of my lawyers that it will be more manageable than that. The trial proper starts on Feb 2 and the prosecution will present 5-6 witnesses (police, Joe and my maid) after which they present a pre-sentencing recommendation. My defense then calls witnesses (doctor, shrink, ex-missus) before the judges pass sentence.
It was a fascinating day, rounded off by a young couple separated since their arrest three months ago effectively bonking in the bus on the way back, oblivious to everyone else.
The authorities continue to prohibit us from renovating our cells, so a couple of helpful inmates helped me at least make my section a bit more presentable with a lick of paint. My amazing friends have brought me a few home comforts and I now have a fantastic kapok mattress from one of my day beds as well as a large “eskie”. I can get ice here for about 10¢ a block, so now I have cold drinks and can even store things such as cheese and cold cuts! Luxury.
I persuaded someone to bring my phone in – he was sweating like he had a kilo of smack stashed in his nether regions – and this week we’ll try my iPad, so I should be really well connected soon and able to write other than by hand. I know I still have a few important letters to send to some of you and they are coming. Thank you so much for your support.
I thought I was going to have my first fight on Friday. A Bulgarian inmate who I hadn’t yet spoken to leaves his cell every morning and spends the entire day sleeping in a hammock slung between two fence posts. I have taken on the task of sweeping our block outdoors every day, and on Friday the Bulgarian was driven by rain into a “bale”, or covered sitting area, where he proceeded to drop litter and garbage at his feed and stub cigarettes out in flower pots. I called him to task on this and he erupted saying, “You’ve been here two weeks; who are you to tell me what to do? I’ve been here six years!” “Yes,” I replied, “but I’ve swept this floor every day for two weeks and you haven’t moved your arse from that hammock in that entire time.” He squared up asking, “are you going to make me?” and I said, “no, but when I pick up any garbage in future I will dump it straight in your hammock.”
It was all a bit tense and uncomfortable for a minute or so, but he backed down, muttering in Vulgarian and picked the mess up before stalking off. Those present said “well done” etc, but I also bought him a coffee a couple of hours later which he begrudgingly accepted, and the next day put all his garbage in the bin without prompting. That sort of tension is commonplace but I’ve quickly learnt you can’t back down. Being my size helps, but not, I have discovered, in other ways. I have now twice gashed the top of my head open on a beam that supports a covered path around the grounds. It is right outside the mosque and at a point where a ramp dips. I’ve also done it twice in my cell, where I’ve now added padding, but I think I’ll have to do the outside one too.
I’m still going to church on Sundays as you get to ogle all the female inmates and there is also a sing-song with karaoke style projector which is great for practicing my Indonesian. My ex Remand cellmate, the pimp, asked me to take him as it meant he could be with his Christian wife. Well blow me, but after two songs he had a massive man cry and was blubbing into my shoulder before announcing he wanted to convert!! I must be a really rubbish atheist if I’m actually unwittingly winning souls for Jesus.
On Friday I was summoned to the clinic for a random drug test and much to my amazement the place was equipped with state-of-the-art (or rather science) instant testing kits. I of course asked why they didn’t have such kits at police stations or the narcotics HQ (remember my two ‘failed’ drug tests?) but of course I was trying to apply first world logic, so I gave myself a metaphorical slap around the head. After 3½ months off the booze and weed I was confident of the result, and sure enough my urine was as pure as a one-year-old’s.
“That’s not good,” said the doctor.
“What?”
“It would be better if you test positive, then in two weeks you test negative and I will tell the court you are an addict but have reformed,” he said.
Even my lawyers were shocked at this – the doctor is supposed to be testifying on my behalf – and he “re-assured” them by saying “it doesn’t have to be his urine…”.
I really feel I’m negotiating a minefield here. After two negative tests that should have definitely been positive, I’m now expected to make a genuinely negative test positive!!! Anyway, my legal team are considering the implications and I guess I’ll have to follow their counsel, but there is no way I’m using again. I’ll borrow someone else’s piss… I’ve also suggested to my lawyers that they get hold of some of these testing kits to administer to their clients for the next time – a suggestion they say they’ll take on board.
My friends continue to amaze me. I’ve had visitors every day since arriving here and I begin each morning by thanking my lucky stars for being the most fortunate convict in Kerobokan. I am (perhaps annoyingly) trying to draw some of my fellow inmates out of their shells and cells, but it seems to be slowly working. I’m determined to help others the way I’ve been helped – not just the foreigners – and whatever my final sentence I want this to be a positive experience.
I couldn’t have got this far without you.