Well here I am, Kerobokan prison, or “Hotel K”, or “the notorious Hotel K”, as the Aussie media, in particular, like to call it. I left Polresta remand jail on Wednesday morning, it’s now Saturday, and what a few days it has been.
Leaving Polresta was bitter sweet. The inmates gave me a guard of honour, the guards all insisted on selfies and a young Indo-chinese kid I’d taken under my wing burst into tears.
Nine of us left at the same time, but I was the only one who’d been given a 24-hour heads up (chalk one up to my lawyers) and friends had brought me smart clothes so I’d look respectable for my first appearance at the prosecutor’s office. We were handcuffed in twos and threes and in typical Indonesian style they at first tried to handcuff the two foreigners together, but I refused to be locked to Joe and the Boss inmate, who was also leaving, told them to put me with him.
With no prior notice, Joe was unshaven, wearing a Bintang beer-style wife-beater singlet and flip flops! He’d been taken to the cleaners on his way out. I’d sold my phone for what I paid for it the night before, but he couldn’t get rid of his apart from “on credit”, which he’ll never see again. They told him he wasn’t allowed to take his bedroll or pillow, so they went for a song, and he was relieved of all his tea, coffee, snacks etc. His face when he saw me all turned out and with all my gear was a sight to behold. Revenge is incremental, continuing and provides great satisfaction.
I thought my meeting with the prosecutor went well and the lawyers said afterwards it had. The guards had already relayed my handcuff protest to great amusement and she clucked sympathetically as she read through how I’d been set up. It was a day-long wait in a holding cell for all of us interrupted by local media bribing their way in every hour or so to try to snatch pics of us behind bars. I don’t think they were too successful.
We landed at Kerobokan at around 7 pm and after a thorough frisking (the head told us we brought the population to 1,304… it was built for 350) we were divided into the narco cases going to “Block Ubud” and the “criminals” to “Block Sanur”. My pimp cellmate went to the latter.
I’ve seen some shitholes and carnage in my time, but nothing prepared me for Ubud. There were eight cells, around 4m x 4m opening onto a corridor around 32m x 2m in which 120 people were packed. There were no guards to be seen – we were taken by a trustee – and it was a sensory overload. The head inmate was already aware of our history and so kept us apart. There were lots of faces I recognised from remand, but I was disappointed to see that despite all their pledges to go straight, everyone – and I mean everyone – was on the gear. Over the next few hours it was clear there were only a few activities – smoking meth, cleaning your pipe, preparing your pipe, buying or selling. It was non stop. I came under a lot of pressure for a couple of hours to join in. I was told it was part of compulsory initiation to ensure I couldn’t snitch, that it would help my case because I would test positive, that I faced a beating, but I refused and eventually my “story” had gone around the whole block and the pressure stopped.
The consumption went on until around 3 am, but I managed to snatch some fitful sleep even though it was spaghetti legs – I shared a cell with 22 others. “Doof-Doof” music was blaring, everyone was openly using their phones, but getting wasted was the priority. It was really feral – some wild folk shouting and being idiotic, but the Boss kept his eye on me and I felt safe enough.
Everyone stirred awake at 7 am for the count, and either crashed immediately afterwards or started on the meth again. Inmates make a pretense of “hiding” their phones, but nothing more. There are chargers plugged into every outlet and apparently the rule is just don’t let your phone be visible; letting them see it is a sign of disrespect and they’ll either smash it on the ground if it is a cheap one, or you’ll have to buy it back if it is expensive. You are supposed to stay in “Ubud” or “Sanur” until after your trial, but you can buy your way out, which I already had in progress, but it would be another 24 hours before I left.
The grounds were much nicer than I expected. There are 10 blocks with a partially shaded walking/running track of around 1 km between them. There is a tennis court, basketball court, six-a-side grassed footie field. The blocks are populated by affiliation – strict Muslims only, drug free, different gangs, Hindus, and of course foreigners. I discovered workshops where one of the Bali nine boys has started a screen print school, there is a little catering school, wood and metal shops, a couple of shops and restaurants.
You hardly see a guard apart from the four counts per day. It was an amazing pleasure to walk round and round for a couple of hours and to see the sun. this ain’t too bad, I thought, until another night in Block Ubud.
That was the same again, except no pressure this time to join in, and it was interesting to see the evening unfold and talk to some of the characters, who seemed far less threatening second time around. It was really sad to see all my “friends” from remand in such shit shape – clearly addicts without much hope. I couldn’t think of a worse place to send anyone.
On Friday morning confusion reigned. Joe, it seems, was so terrified that I was going to do a number on him that he had arranged to pay a bikey gang 20 million rupiah ($2,000) to protect him and for him to move to their cell block – something unprecedented. I walked past their block and was given a good “glowering” by some nasty pieces of work. The Nigerian and Iranian guys who run the foreign block had asked me to pledge not to do him any physical harm – which I’d agreed – and so were expecting him in “our” block too, so confusion reigned.
I was chatting to the Nigerian lad when Joe and his two heavies arrived, scowling and puffed up. To my pleasure, the three Balinese gang leaders (they stabbed a cop) I’d befriended in remand showed up, and suddenly the bodyguards were all deferential and then were told to scamper. It seems their gang is subservient to “my” trio – who really are at the top of the food chain. They told Joe he no longer had bodyguards, he’d forfeited the protection money and he had to move to the foreigner block whether he liked it or not!!
Once Joe had gone they said I had nothing to worry about, I should leave him alone and that he was such a wanker that someone would eventually fill him in on their own merit without them even taking him for the grass treatment.
The foreign block is relative luxury compared to what I’ve had for the past three months. It is octagonal with 14 cells opening to a high vaulted inner courtyard with a diameter of around 10 metres. Each cell holds 4 people in bunk beds with the overspill (14 people) sleeping in the courtyard. My cell is earmarked for renovation, so until then I’m in the courtyard, but it is airy and pleasant. The place is spotless and while it is full of strange (and sad) people, it is by far the most comfortable I’ve been since my arrest. There is lots more to write about, but I’ll leave it at that until the next installment.