Prison Night

                To start with, this is not a “I’m such a victim post”. I think I was a victim in some respects, but I also was to blame. So, let’s say, I did something wrong, and ended up paying for it – more than I think it’s fair. Also, Laos is a great country and this is not to put it down, just to share my story, most of all to warn people and ask them to, well, be careful. Finally, perhaps you’ve hear stories like this, but I still think we should report it, even if in such an unofficial way as this.

                So the other day I went tubing in Vang Vieng. Went alone, but immediately found random groups of nice people that would instantly become friends. The whole experience was great, even in the end when we, not knowing how to get “home”, went down the river till the last stop. The guy that was with us knew where it was – so never do this unless you’re with someone that knows where you’re going. Otherwise they might find your body in some other town a couple of days later.

                Needless to say, few were sober, but everything was ok, nobody was “all over the place drunk”.

                When we arrived back in Vang Vieng, some went for dinner, others went to the bar. I was one of the latter, and that was, I believe, a tragic mistake, not being pleasant to myself enough to put some food in me. In the bar, carried on drinking. From this time on, everything is a big blurry movie of images that pop up every now and then. I know I kept on changing friends, talking, drinking. The first thing I remember is bumping into something. Then I remember have my hands cuffed, caught by someone in plain clothes that put me into a random car. I didn’t know they were the police, so I thought I was being kidnapped. It wasn’t a good feeling. Especially when I see myself in a four by ten meters cell with twenty one other locals. I was sitting at a corner, trying to think about what the fuck was going on, and I realized I was going to die. I didn’t want to talk to anybody – I kept thinking of those movies and how the kidnappers never want the guys to talk to each other, so as not to plot. I was the only foreigner there, maybe I was going to be the first to die. I heard some girl shouting in the next cell and I thought she was another foreigner that had been kidnapped. I wanted to save her. I wanted to break free and help her.

                I waited till everybody fell asleep, I cried a little bit, said goodbye to everyone in my head and decided to do something, I didn’t want to go down without a fight. So I kicked a guy, people woke up and I just screamed “let’s rebel, let’s rebel” over and over again. But nobody did anything. I couldn’t get it, how could they have such apathy facing their fates?

                I was lucky not to be beaten up, actually. They could see I was scared, I said I was sorry, ask them not to turn me in, and sat quietly. “They’ve accepted it”, I thought. It’s stupid that I never thought that was prison. Maybe this helps – it was one cell for twenty-two people. There was a door with one small hole in it, two windows fully covered. Everybody was sleeping on the floor, and some of us were also soaked in piss, since the toilet was not working very well. There were no fans, no mirrors, no nothing. Just space, a bunch of people and a broken toilet.

A guy started talking to me. I didn’t want to talk to him but he talked to me. And I thought he was working for them. I thought he could be like those guys that have been there for so long that they become one of the members with the kidnappers – the bridge. I didn’t trust him. Until he started making some sense by saying that was jail. And they weren’t going to kill me. Till this time I had no idea what was going on. Somebody had picked me up from the street, cuffed me and kicked me inside a dirty smelly cell. I could sleep now.

                When I woke up I kept to myself for a while, till Ola came and talk to me. “I will be your friend”, he said. He explained me what was going on, and told me I would probably be out by the end of the day. He was a nice guy and I could see he didn’t belong there. I mean, in a way no one belongs in that dirty awful place, but I could see it was being harder for him than for some other of the guys. And maybe that’s why, even if he said he would be my friend, that’s pretty much the only conversation I had with him. Soon after this, someone from the outside called for the falang. I put on my t-shirt, got outside and was met by the guard. He said I “broke everything” and that “everybody saw it”. I knew that I hadn’t broken anything. In twenty seven years I never had an angry burst from alcohol. But my head ached so maybe I fell on something, like a table, and broke it, I knew this much. But is that “everything”? And is it worth three hundred euros, which is what he was asking? He sent me back inside when I insisted I hadn’t broken anything. Another one of them told me I’d stay in for a month – not cool.

                I was sure of nothing, but I thought maybe I’d go out the next day. Maybe the one after that, who knows. I tried to loosen up, but it was difficult. People started approaching me, especially two very nice guys, La and Kamlao, the ones that spoke the best English. And the other one, whose name I forgot, who told me I had a good heart. I tried to sleep, to make time pass faster, but there was no more sleep in me. People were quite friendly inside, passing around cigarettes, giving me some water without me asking, passing me some rice. The rice… I’m all for trying new food, and Lao has been my favorite country in terms of food. But what they have in prison… Well it keeps you alive, that’s it. You have a ball of sticky rice in your hand which you dip in some sauce. It was quite interesting for me to see how people gathered around the food in groups of five or six and passed around different “extras” like one egg or something. I soon learned the procedure and passed around a bit of fish someone was kind enough to give me. And, I was told, that’s not the state food, but rather food that the families send and they all share together.

                That day was a special day. Maybe because the toilet was broken, the wooden door was open, so there was only a metal bar door between us and the world. The guys sat around it and I stayed in my corner, trying to see the funny thing about it all, but I couldn’t. Kamla talked to me every now and then, and I see in him a friend, today. His father had put him in jail for a month because he was doing too many drugs.

                - The first two days I was so angry!... I even kicked the door and made a hole in it… But now I’m ok, and I’m not angry with my father. I thank him, you know?

                - Are you gonna keep doing drugs?

                - Just weed and alcohol. No more amphetamines, opium, chemicals – he replied. I had worked with drug-addicts in the past, and actually lived in the same house as them for half a year. Now I was among them as an equal. Something had gone terribly wrong the previous night.

                On the next cells there were girls, all of them prostitutes, and the guys would entertain themselves by saying those things to them, or picking through the hole in the wall that probably took months or years to dig.

                - They are saying they want to have a drink with you – they told me.

                Tried to sleep, nothing.

                Time. Time stretched like never before.

                Eventually it’s shower time. We all gather around a big tube outside and take turns to use the cup and try with it to wash away our sins. I noticed how a group of four was taking the opportunity to fill the bottles of water. No Evian in jail, my friend…

                Got back in, sat. Sat. Sat.

                We weren’t allowed to have cigarettes inside, but as long as the cops didn’t know, the guard would let them in. Oh, and of course, as long as we, and by we I mean they, paid some fee. Well cigarettes and other stuff, like a bottle of water, some whiskey or… that’s it, nothing else comes to mind.

                Sometime after the door was shut, I was called outside again. Again the guy wanted my money. When I repeated I hadn’t broken anything and for sure not worth so much, he sent me back in again, this time not without kicking me as I turned. I got in, for the second time in some hours, and sat.

                - I’m not good, man – I said. And I wasn’t. I was bad. Quite bad. I took a couple of deep breathes and decided that I’d give in the day after the next. And that’s what I had in mind for the next eight hours, till I thought of my family, who had no idea what was going on. I hadn’t spoken to them in some days. So I decided to give in the next day.

                - Don’t think so much – they’d tell me, looking at my still look.

                - The first day is the worst, right? – I asked Kamla, who serenely agreed.

                - Don’t worry, don’t think so much falang…

                So I didn’t. I surrendered to the facts. I was there, fuck. In that particular instant there was nothing I could do. And I repeated to myself “this too shall pass”. As it did.

                The music sessions started soon after. They gather around near me, the drummer got his drum kit ready – a spatula and a toothbrush as his sticks, and a dirty pillow and a bottle of water as the drums – and began playing. He was quite good, and so were the other ones who sang to his rhythm. Komla had told me they play and sing a lot, but that day not so much because the door had been open for a while. They asked me to sing. Fuck it, I’ll sing. So I sang a traditional Portuguese song which they tried to follow. The last time someone asked me to sing in such a setting (excluding the whole jail thing) it was in Iraq, and I sang the same song. I tried to spell everything carefully and beautifully so they were appreciative of my language. Why not, right?

                 Every now and then that guy would come to me. At a point I thought he was the third best in speaking English, but as the day went by more people would talk to me and I realized actually there were more people speaking English than I had thought. But this guy, the “Used To Be” Third, was an interesting character. Sometimes I didn’t understand what he said, and after asking him to repeat two times, I’d politely nod. Other times he got so close to my ear that I thought he was about to ask me something weird. But it didn’t happen. Like most of the rest I asked, his reasons for incarceration were not the clearest. He told me he was broken hearted, and his girl’s parents didn’t like him. He was very sad, and so was she. He became emotional while telling me this, and I felt so sorry for him, this guy I had met in jail a few hours back. He had been in for seven months, and still had about three to go. Long time, if you ask me. Oh and as for the reason for being there, all he said was that his girlfriend’s parents didn’t like him. I didn’t want to push it.

                When I saw people moving in an organized manner, I realized it was time to eat again. The same procedure. This is when I was handed a small piece of fish. I took a bite, passed it around, and noticed the receiver’s surprise. And then it was over. Having nothing to do, I wanted to eat slowly, to make it last and this way have a difference in routine for a longer period of time. But it wasn’t possible. It’s not like everybody else was taking handfuls to their mouths and devouring everything in a second. But they weren’t exactly slow either.

                For the whole day I had been basing my assumptions of time by a crack in the ceiling that allowed a small light in. I was wrong, that was artificial light. I realized this when I took a look at what I think to be about seven, and it was dark outside already, but that light… well it was still there.

                After dinner we had three new members. I learned they were the big bosses in jail, and that we should do everything they said. Not good, I thought. During the day they did some jobs outside and spent the night inside.

                - He’s saying last night when you started shouting he wanted to kill you – Komla translated. I nervously smiled and apologized. This same guy was leaving the next day, so we were all about to witness a party like never before, in Komla’s words. The music came back, and so did the whiskey. They told me to try, I thought I was already in enough trouble and said no. They said it would be ok, so I tried some. I never tried gasoline, but I’m sure this is the same. But colorless. Komla said he was already a bit drunk, and so it seemed, since he couldn’t stop dancing, and occasionally inviting me. I’d get up, dance a little bit, and go back down again. It was noisy. It was quite cool as well. There’s something about sitting around with almost two dozens of half-naked men from half the way around the world in a dirty hot jail cell at the song of toothbrush drums that makes it a very interesting experience. I know Komla wanted the girls to see the falang, because sometimes just before he asked me to dance he had been talking to them through the hole. Whatever.

                One of the big guys asked me to sing two or three times. I wasn’t really keen on it, but I sang Bob Marley, to his request. I think they were expecting someone who knew more lyrics than those of the chorus.

                When things started to quiet down, I lied down. All day I had been waiting for nighttime in the hope that it’d be cooler. But it was actually hotter. How was that possible? Could the addition of three men be of such importance to this?

                As I was lying there, waiting for sleep while some still sang and most of the others chatted, Komla said I should give one of the big guys something as a sign of respect. Bummer. I didn’t have anything I was willing to give so I didn’t give anything. He’d had a go at my ring before, but I said a friend had given it to me and had it back. Then Komla said every new guy should show his dick.

                - I’m just translating… People are curious about falang’s dick, ‘cos they say it’s big – and as he said this, the big guy who wanted my ring, who was lying on my right side, started playing with my nipple. It seemed to be all in good spirits, but some adrenalin started to kick in.

                - Sorry man, but I’m not gonna show my dick – I said, as I gently swept the other guy’s hand away. I have no problem with nudity, and most of my friends have seen my Portuguese dick at some point, either at the river, sea, toilet, shower, whatever. But when it is a request that you show it, that’s when you think “Hum na, I ain’t gonna show anything today…”.

                I think Komla noticed my uneasiness, because he told me not to worry, not to worry. So I didn’t, and I lied down.

                I was almost asleep when they told me I had to move. So I went to another spot across the room, and tried to sleep. And I was managing, until I felt a hand in my penis. I pushed it away, and this time I wasn’t exactly nice, polite or gentle.

                - Don’t do that! – I said, affirmatively, to Komla. What the fuck? He apologized three times, made sure I wasn’t angry, and said “it’s just because everybody is talking about your dick”. Fuck, is that supposed to make me feel better?

                I slept. And no one else shared, at least to my awareness, their interest in my guns.

                The next day, one of the first things I remember is being called outside. “We’re we go again”, I thought. But this time was different. They told me to get in the van. I tried to go back and change back to my own shorts, and give La his, but the police couldn’t wait.

                They drove me to my hostel, searched my room. They told me to shower just before they took (the equivalent of) sixty euro from my wallet. I wasn’t sure what the next step was. They told me to get dressed, something not used, because of the smell. When he said this I thought I was going back in. But I didn’t. We drove to the police station, I drank three or four glasses of water, and waited. After a while the guy told me to get in. Always the same guy. He told me I got in some house to sleep, and broke everything, and everybody saw me, and I was shouting. I was powerless. I could see myself falling asleep somewhere. It almost never happened, but it could happen. But I know I would never go on a breaking spree and start shouting for no reason. He told me I had to pay five hundred euro. Not cool.

                I went to withdraw some money, and when I came back, a lady was there. Supposedly, it was the lady whose house I had visited. She was all dressed up, and we sat together, the three of us, in the interrogation room. She was speaking in Lao, and he was translating. The first thing she asked was how I opened the door. I said I didn’t know, because I didn’t remember any door. What door? What’s this? Was any of that real? It was about to get worse.

                - She wants you to pay ten thousand dollars. Because she said you tried to have sex with her son – what the fuck?! Here I panicked, I have to say. I was caught totally off guard, and that bitch wanted to suck everything she could from me. I said there is no way I did any of that, and that I didn’t have that money, he had to talk to her, because I would never do something like that. He talked to her, and then she claimed it was her daughter. Again I was quite firm here, and then he took her outside.

                - She can say what she wants, no one knows – he said, once he sat down. Even this dirty policeman was kind of siding with me in this tiny space in time. So it’s like that. Then he said she wanted three hundred euro. Well I had just been to the ATM and I had two hundred on me, but I couldn’t withdraw more because of my heavenly card limit. She called her husband and she settled for that. When I asked what the money was for, he said it was to pay for the glass I had broken and clean the rest of the house. Just as a side note – I was wearing flip-flops, a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, could I really break a glass (especially one worth three hundred euro – must be an enormous one) without hurting myself? As for the two million that I had to give to the police, “it’s for Lao law, you were making too much noise”. What can a brother do?

                The lady left, after I apologized for, well, whatever it is I did.

                Since I couldn’t pay the rest for the “Lao law”, I had to go the next day.

                - You have to pay two hundred euro more – he said.

                - But I already gave you sixty! So I have to pay only one hundred and forty – I replied, remembering how avid he was to take those sixty from my wallet back in my room.

                - But you have to pay two hundred more – he repeated. Fortunately, I was able to bring it down to the number he mentioned before. He drove me to my place, took my camera and my ID and driver’s license as deposit and left again.

                The next day I called him, went to the police station. He was in Vientiane, and he had my ID card and driver’s license with him. I paid the rest, they gave me my camera, I asked for a receipt, they told me they couldn’t give it to me because the guy who was in Vientiane had the keys to some drawer. Fuck it, I was happy just to leave.

                And then I had to get to Vientiane and arrange a meeting with the last person I wanted to see on earth, so he could give me my documents. Luckily he just swung by on his truck, handed me the stuff and it was definitely over.

                So from this I got an expense of four hundred euro plus withdraw taxes (about seventy euro), and thirty hours in jail. As I said before, I asked for it, in a way. There is something I did wrong, but I am sure the wrong I did is not bad enough for all of this. It crossed my mind the fact that I could have been drugged. Could be, but I don’t think so. I think I was an opportunity for dirty cops and a greedy woman to make some money. I was even accused for some minutes of trying to rape somebody. I thought I was going to die for some time. All unpleasant feelings. It’s going to take me a while to be able to laugh about this, hopefully not in a long time.

                So with all this, is traveling dangerous? Is Laos dangerous? No, not at all. But you have to watch yourself. Don’t protect yourself from all the bad things that can happen, otherwise your LIFE will be boring my friend, very boring. But watch yourself, and be wary of the police. Some Men don’t know how to use the power some government gives them in humane ways. That’s LIFE. Faulty beings.