The ides of March

Kerobokan has reached bursting point and even the longest-serving prisoner in here, Bali Nine member Matthew Norman, can’t recall it as crowded in his 11 years.

Built in 1979 to house 350 inmates, the prison now holds nearly 1,500 — including 160 women — and something has to give.

Rumours swirl that a major transfer of prisoners is imminent and authorities are just waiting for budget clearance.

When they happen, transfers are sudden and dramatic.

Armed guards will burst into the block around midnight and order all prisoners out of their rooms. Those on the list are not given any opportunity to pack and are immediately taken away in whatever clothes they happen to be wearing. Their belongings will be forwarded to them in coming weeks — after being picked through by their “friends”.

Kerobokan is a so-called Class II facility and anyone serving a sentence longer than 10 years is supposed to be held in a Class I jail. There isn’t one in Bali, so a transfer means a move to Java, Sumatra, or some other island.

For some, it’s a welcome move. Many of non-Balinese don’t have a support network here and are dependent on rare visits from friends or family members for home comforts.

But for the foreign prisoners, being moved is to be avoided at all costs. Many rely on the kindness of friends, strangers or even tourists for creature comforts and luxuries, and the more isolated prisons on other islands simply don’t get the traffic that Kerobokan attracts.

A handful of prisoners have dodged several transfers by either bribing their way out of it or making themselves invaluable to the administration.

Matthew is one of them. He is easily the most popular prisoner in here, and I think any attempt to move him would be met with an immediate riot.

Another is “Ketut” a swarthy Balinese reputed to be the island’s meth king, who has just paid to have the prison football pitch resurfaced. He has been here on remand for two years without appearing in court, and continues to run his empire with impunity.

Several prisoners in my block, however, are on tenterhooks.

Austin, the Nigerian de facto block leader in year nine of a 15-year sentence has twice been moved in the past but managed to pay his way back each time. The Iranian Massam is another; having cleaned up his act, he fears being reunited with other members of the heroin trafficking gang he was arrested with six years ago and who were moved last year.

If you’re on the cut line, the key to avoiding being transferred is to make yourself invaluable to the guards, so several inmates have suddenly developed a social conscience. Brett, the South African lifer, is helping out at the guard’s English class, the Ugandan Ronald is trying to improve the prison’s garbage collection system and German Patrick rekindled his cooking classes.

Others are resigned to their fate. “Oom Schalk Lourens” has been caught stealing so many times in the past year that he is sure to be transferred, as is suitcase killer Tommy “Clyde” Schaefer, despite his claims that as an American he will be protected. Two other Nigerians, a pair of Russians, and several Malaysians are also reputed to be on the list.

Depending on who goes, there is likely to be a power vacuum in the block, which adds to the tension. Even though I only have two months to run, I’ve been co-opted onto the committee, and learning just how much they have to negotiate with the guards.

I now get a say on who gets a room, or who shares with who, and other privileges include not paying rent and having the bathroom cleaned daily — a task I redo anyway given the job is done so shoddily.

From being dominated by drug cases, the last eight arrivals in the foreigner block have all been thieves.

Last Monday three Peruvians arrived — two brothers and a friend — having being arrested following a string of heists on ATM machines in Java and Bali. They have been “adopted” by one of the few truly international criminals here, an affable Bulgarian named Dmitry who runs global ATM skimming syndicate.

Dmitry, who has previously served short sentences in the United States, Canada and Germany, was extradited from Serbia to Bali after his gang here implicated him, and he is now in year three of a seven year stretch. The Peruvians will leave before he does, but when they go, they’ll be set up with the latest technology and form part of Dmitry’s empire.

Three Turkish ATM robbers arrived last Friday, but Dmitry has turned his nose up at helping them given their modus operandi was brute force sledgehammers rather than electronic.

“I don’t deal with thugs,” he said.

The other two arrivals are both Egyptians, caught lifting handbags from bars and restaurants for credit cards, which would immediately be used for Internet fraud. It seems to be a particularly North African crime, and they’ve swiftly formed an alliance with an Algerian already jailed for a similar offense.

Three more traffickers are due to arrive this week — a Russian, Indian and Malaysian — bringing to 64 the number of foreign men in our block, which has a capacity of 33.

That means 31 people are now sleeping in the aula, or hall, and you have to weave you way through them on your tiptoes at night.

I thank my lucky stars to have the sanctuary of my room, although the dynamic has also changed.

The Indian-American coke dealer, the Indian jewel smuggler and I have now been joined by a Russian trafficker and heroin addict who is in year five of an 11-year sentence.

He was previously in the squalid crack den, but is trying to quit and so has moved in with us on probation. Ours is one of six cells declared completely drug-free, and so if he uses in here he gets kicked out into the hallway and forfeits his place in any room. The committee think its money for old rope, but I’m determined to help him get straight.

So far he is doing well. He hasn’t used heroin for a week, although he is on methadone and takes enough Xanax to quieten an elephant in must.

Like all the other Russkies, he has a tendency to walk around in what I call “Russian underpants”, and it is not a pretty sight.

I think I will never be able to eat a rambutan again…