In the Presence of My Enemies (11 page)

They began sorting out the ID materials they had swept out of our rooms, and in fact, returned many of them. They never gave back Martin’s pilot licenses, though. He had worked his way through layers of Philippine bureaucracy to get those little slips of paper, and now they were gone. (At a later point, we happened to notice a bag in the wheelhouse, and when we peeked inside, it was the leftover documents. We promptly snuck these out, keeping some things, including a 2001 pocket calendar, and shredding others into the ocean.)

* * *

A sober, moon-faced captor named Musab established himself as the Abu Sayyaf’s spiritual leader and began conducting Koran studies up in the bow of the boat. Those who attended were soon bored to death with his lengthy orations.

They had Korans, but only two in the whole group had read the book all the way through. One day, after listening to them read in a distinctly nasal, singsong tone, Martin asked one of the guys, “What did that say?”

“Oh, we don’t know,” he responded. “We just learned how to pronounce the words in Arabic, but we don’t know what they mean.”

“Really?”

“Of course not. We don’t know Arabic.”

I asked, “Why don’t you translate the Koran into Tagalog, then, so you know what you’re reading?”

“Oh, no, no—then it would be corrupted. The only true Koran is in Arabic.”

Our captors, however, seemed eager to show us the similarities between Christianity and Islam. In fact, we do share a number of the same personages, such as Adam, Abraham, Moses, and David—they termed them all “prophets.” When they found out that our youngest son was named Zachary, their faces lit up: “Oh yes, Zacarias!” they said, and congratulated us for naming our child for one of their prophets. They even began calling Martin by the name “Abu Zacarias” (father of Zachary).

One of the captors was named Zacarias as well—the short, stocky one who had ransacked our room. He had a unique personality and really liked to make people laugh, especially with his fractured English. Sometimes he excitedly combined phrases into fanciful sayings, like, when it started to rain, “The rain is coming and the people are running!” Everybody just stared at him and then cracked up.

On Tuesday afternoon, our third day in captivity, the sat-phone batteries went dead. This greatly upset Sabaya and the others. How would they keep making their pronouncements to the outside world? Soon Martin and Chito came to their rescue by showing them how to line up six D-cell batteries and pack them together securely enough to recharge the sat-phone battery.

“You know, you guys really ought to think about getting a solar panel,” Martin suggested. “That way you wouldn’t be so dependent on these batteries that run down.” They thought that was a great idea and promptly called one of their buddies on land to order one.

Watching all this, I said to Martin, “Maybe you ought to keep your bright ideas to yourself, you know? You’re going to become so indispensable to this group they’ll never let us go!” On the other hand, it was to our advantage for them to continue communicating. So maybe Martin’s advice served our purposes after all.

Somewhere along the line—perhaps in appreciation?—they finally got Martin a white T-shirt with sleeves, so he wouldn’t be so cold at night. I tried to help out by sharing part of my
malong
with him.

One other provision came along: a few toothbrushes for the group. Martin and I were glad to get one to share between us. It was our only possession besides the clothes on our backs. No toothpaste, however.

Letty, the Chinese-Filipino businesswoman, was a middle-aged person of means. I could tell she was very worried for the safety of her young daughter and niece; she almost never took her eyes off them.

She moved over by me one afternoon with a second concern. “I’ve started my monthly period,” she whispered, self-consciousness written all over her face. “What am I going to do?!”

I looked around the boat in vain. “Uh . . . I don’t know what to tell you,” I replied, hopelessly. I walked around a bit, trying to think what I would do if it were me.

Then I came up with an idea—a bad one, to be sure. But at this point, I was scavenging for any option. “Over there on the floor of the engine room, there’s some cardboard. Maybe we could soften it up somehow if we cut it up in pieces and played with it awhile. . . .”

“Oh, no, no, that won’t work,” she said, and went off to search the boat.

Not too many minutes later she came back with cardboard in her hand and began to rip it up quietly. The rest of us ladies silently joined in the effort, kneading it with our hands to smooth out the rough edges.

(I don’t know why I didn’t think to mention Rizza’s stash of extra clothes! That would have been a much better answer.)

Pretty soon a little knot of girls began to laugh uproariously at something. What in the world could be funny? I went over to check them out, and they were dreaming up commercials for this new kind of feminine hygiene product—ideas on how to package it, how to advertise, sales slogans to use—it was hilarious. As I watched these girls giggling, I thought to myself,
Isn’t it amazing how the human mind can find humor in even the darkest situations?

Sssssst! Sssssst! Sssssst!
The Abu Sayyaf began to hiss at us, using the typical Philippine sound that means “Cut it out! Shut up!” Too much humor was not appropriate in a climate of jihad. But our funny bones were all thoroughly tickled by then and we couldn’t calm down regardless of their scolding. Eventually, we asked Solaiman if we could start making a list of things we needed, not just Letty, but all the women. He agreed and gave us a piece of paper.

Now most people in this situation would probably stick to the basics: soap, shampoo, etc. But oh no—our list looked like we were headed to some kind of mall: Sunsilk for oily hair, Rejoice shampoo with conditioner, Secret solid deodorant, Colgate toothpaste, Close-Up minty fresh toothpaste, Dial soap, various pieces of underwear by size—it was crazy! I sat there chuckling to myself and thinking,
Shouldn’t we be just a little more realistic here?

Finally someone turned to me and said, “What do you want?”

“
Any kind of soap would be good,” I replied, “and I think we ought to have a box of amoxicillin.” With sixty of us on this boat built for only ten fishermen, I knew it was just a matter of time before someone got sick.

They then took this long list, which included everything from cologne to bras, to Sabaya. He gave it one glance and handed it back, saying, “Well, figure up how much all this is going to cost.”

Janice took charge of the accounting effort. The estimate came to some 14,000 pesos ($280).

Back to Sabaya again. “Well, you don’t have that much,” he announced. “Of the money we took from your rooms, you get 10 percent, which is only 2,000 pesos. Go back and cut it down.” Faces fell all around as we headed back to try to write a more down-to-earth shopping list.

When that effort was finished, a messenger was sent on a speedboat to head for shore and bring back supplies. He left but never returned. We heard later on the radio that he was spotted in town by the authorities and arrested. We also wondered if perhaps he had defected. Anyway, we got nothing from our list!

* * *

The hardest part of those early days on the boat, of course, was every time my thoughts turned to Jeff and Mindy and Zach. We knew that the mission policy was to evacuate our kids out of the country so as not to leave opportunity for further mischief. But we kept wondering who had told them about our capture, and if they’d flown off to the States yet.

Everything in our lives had been snatched away from us in one swift moment. No one cared that Martin was an excellent pilot, or that I could make a great pizza. We were no longer defined by our ministry or careers; we were just two human beings in the middle of the Sulu Sea with no idea of what would happen next, and no way to influence it.

I sat there and watched the Abu Sayyaf talking to Martin, ordering him around, and thought to myself,
You guys don’t even realize what a neat person he is. You’ve got this great guy sitting among you, and you don’t even care.

The boat’s engine conked out from time to time, and guys went below deck to fiddle with it. Sometimes only after they let it cool off did it start again. One night during low tide, we ran aground on a sandbar. It took a lot of work to free us, and I worried about getting stuck there indefinitely. Another night it rained hard for a short time, so all twenty of us hostages retreated to the engine room.

One afternoon, the hostage group amused itself with more singing. “Somebody think of a Disney musical. . . .
Mary Poppins
? Okay, what are all the individual songs?” And then we’d sing “A Spoonful of Sugar,” “Let’s Go Fly a Kite,” and anything else we could remember.

Chito, who came from a similar church environment as Martin and me, joined us in singing hymns: “Praise Ye the Lord, the Almighty,” among others. The Abu Sayyaf tolerated our singing, for the moment anyway; they assumed it meant we were happy and content, whereas they hated to see us cry.

Sometime that day, dolphins began to follow the boat, jumping gracefully into the air. The blue of the water was exquisite, almost metallic. It was such a beautiful sight. We oohed and aahed with each leap. I couldn’t help thinking that under different circumstances, this would be a wonderful cruise. The only problem was that Martin, without his glasses, couldn’t see the marvelous show of nature at all.

At last on Wednesday evening, we found ourselves drawing close to land. The lights of a big city loomed on the horizon of one island. We hostages still had no idea where we were.

We began trolling up and down the coastline, looking for a flashlight signal from the shore that would indicate to the Abu Sayyaf a safe place to disembark. But the signal never came. So far as we could tell, we were truly alone.

7

Hospital of Horror

(May 31–June 3, 2001)

The Abu Sayyaf seemed convinced that they were in the right area, and so they maneuvered among some small islands to wait out the daylight hours of Thursday. Getting off the water after five days and four nights would indeed be a relief for us all. But what would we find once we stepped onto firm soil? Would conditions be better or worse?

During the afternoon, some Abu Sayyaf support people came out in a small boat. They found out what we needed, went back to shore, and then showed up again with cookies and Coke. Later that evening, we went back along the coast to search again for a flashlight signal. This time it came—two lights, in fact.

The shoreline at that place was rocky, and the fishing vessel couldn’t get all the way in. So we all unloaded into water that was about chest-deep, like marines hitting the beaches of Normandy or something. Only we didn’t feel nearly as brave.

More Abu Sayyaf were there on land to greet the comrades. Once again the cry of
“Allah akbar!”
went up, accompanied by the traditional double-kiss greeting, one to each cheek.
“Salam! Salam!
[Peace! Peace!]” echoed through the air. There was a lot of laughing and talking in languages I couldn’t comprehend.

Then they started us up the hill in the dark. Not a house, not a campfire—nothing pierced the darkness at all. For some reason, Martin had lost his
tsinelas
in the boat; he was now barefoot. It was just as well, because I found that the steep trail was too rough for my
tsinelas
anyway. They kept sliding around to the top of my feet, so I finally took them off. Most others did the same.

At the top, we came to a little shelter built for coconut husks, elevated about a foot off the ground. These structures are made so that a fire can be built underneath, in a pit, and the husks can be cooked into a form of charcoal. Meanwhile, the coconut meat inside the shelter is smoked, which preserves it for transporting to market.

This one was maybe twelve feet square. We climbed inside and lay down to sleep for the night on the split-bamboo floor. It had just a little give to it—a small improvement over the rigid deck of the ship. However, now that we were back on land, the mosquitoes were back with a vengeance.

We were all grimy, and when the morning light broke, we were thrilled to hear that we would be taken to the river, a few at a time, for baths. Letty, Kim, and Lalaine were the first to go, while the rest of us waited in the forest.

I need to stop here and clarify what the word
bath
means in this context. Put out of your mind all images of hot water, bubbles, or privacy. What I mean instead is stepping into a cold river fully clothed (so as not to be indecent before the watching guards), washing yourself under your clothing as best you can, coming out looking like a drowned rat, pulling a
malong
up around yourself to the point that you can hold one edge in your teeth, then fumbling around underneath trying to shed the wet clothes and put on dry ones—assuming that you have any. Otherwise, you just dry off gradually in the sun.

Letty and the girls had just started bathing when suddenly, without warning, gunfire erupted. The Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) had found us within just a few hours of landing onshore. I heard someone scream, “Drop!” and we all hit the jungle floor. I began to crawl on my stomach, using my forearms for traction, back toward the coconut shelter. The Abu Sayyaf immediately began to return fire, running into the forest to press the battle.

“Run, run, run!” came another command, and I stood up and began to run with my head down. I was petrified, my heart thumping through my chest. Several times we were interrupted with the order to drop; then we got up and ran again. Back in the shelter, we flopped down to catch our breath. Soon Letty and the girls stumbled in, absolutely panicked.

As the shots continued to ring out, Sabaya came into the shelter, looking specifically for Tess. “Come with us,” he said. “We want you to call the radio station and give a message to President Arroyo. You tell her to call off the troops on Basilan and stop the indiscriminate shooting of the Abu Sayyaf, because they’re going to injure innocent hostages.”