In the Presence of My Enemies (33 page)

The guys took off running in a panic and managed to get away. But the soldiers had obviously seen them and could no doubt follow their footprints. We wondered if they’d be able to find us, and so we spent the next days on alert.

In this area were lots of
kalaw,
or duckbills—beautiful, big birds with bright red bills. Since we couldn’t go to town for food now, the Abu Sayyaf shot several
kalaw
for us to eat.

On a bright Sunday morning, some of the guys began building cooking fires so we could prepare the
kalaw.
But suddenly, a hand was raised and we all got silent. One of the guys thought he had heard something down the hill. We quickly began to pack up our stuff. Mirsab, the guide, spotted soldiers heading up the hill and again motioned for us to be silent. My heart began to pound loudly. I never did get used to these confrontations.

All of a sudden, shots were fired from one side of the ridge. Ediborah began running down the other side.

I thought back to a conversation she and I had had a few days earlier.

“What if this negotiation doesn’t go through?” she had asked. “What if we’re here for a long, long, long time? Can we keep doing this?”

“We have to,” I replied. “We don’t have any other options. Are you thinking we should try to escape?”

“No. I’m just asking if we’re strong enough mentally and physically to keep on.” Now that she was alone, without Musab, she seemed so much more vulnerable.

Later we learned that Musab was trying to get one million pesos ($20,000) from a Manila senator for her release, but the senator kept stalling. This made Sabaya look bad, since he had announced over the radio that Ediborah would soon be released as an act of good faith on the Abu Sayyaf’s part. Now he couldn’t make good on his promise, thanks to Musab’s wheeling and dealing.

I watched as Ediborah ran off, and I decided to follow her.

“Stop!” Martin called after us. “You need to stay here! We’ll get in trouble.” But we kept running.

Along the trail, I slid in the mud, scratching up my arm and wrenching my back. Martin stayed behind Ediborah and me, following us closely. Finally we reached the river, where we hid behind a rock overhang. I expected that the Abu Sayyaf would withdraw here as well and we’d all head upriver. I had assumed wrong.

“Hey, Martin!” came a call from high on the ridge. “Get back up here! Where’s Gracia? Where’s Ediborah?”

“We’re all here,” he called out. “Don’t shoot at us!”

We had to climb back up the hill, and by the time the three of us reached the top, we were spent. Nevertheless, we joined the rest in mobiling along the ridge. It proved to be a hard trek.

When we finally stopped for a rest, Sabaya confronted Martin. “Why did you run?!”

“I ran because the ladies ran.”

I figured I’d better speak up, too. “I ran because Ediborah ran.”

“Were you trying to escape?”

“No, honestly,” Martin replied. “I was just concerned about the women.”

Sabaya’s eyes narrowed as he said, “If you ever run again, I will shoot you.” Turning to his comrades, he added, “If he ever runs again, you shoot him.”

Everyone got quiet then, and from that point on, security was definitely tighter. After nearly a year in the jungle, Martin’s bravery and optimism finally began to crack. He wrote:

May 6, Monday

Slept on the ground. I’m so discouraged. Usually I’m not, but today I am. PTL [praise the Lord] for Gracia. She’s saying all “my” lines [of encouragement] and I’m thinking all “her” thoughts from the past. Only dif[ference] is (I guess) I’m too dumb to stop, but I really feel like I’m going to die here. I think the ladies will get out because it’s the “right” thing, but not me. . . . We’re going to walk and walk. God, please give us strength for the journey.

If I was any encouragement to Martin, it was more through the songs I sang rather than anything I may have said. I would go through the alphabet trying to sing a song whose title began with each letter: “Abide with Me,” “Blessed Assurance,” “Calvary Covers It All,” etc. One morning as the sun came up, I rolled out of the hammock to give him more room and sat on a sack of rice, singing songs for the occasion:

“When Morning Gilds the Skies”

May 7

A two-page article in People magazine features the Burnham plight.

“Precious Lord, Take My Hand”

“Reach Out to Jesus”

“When We All Get to Heaven”

Among the most uplifting songs was “His Strength Is Perfect” by Steven Curtis Chapman, which begins, “His strength is perfect when our strength is gone.”

I modified the words for a second and third chorus: “His will is perfect” and “His way is perfect.”

I had to sing quietly for two reasons: The Abu Sayyaf didn’t think singing was appropriate (although they had tolerated it in the past) and none of us wanted to be discovered by the AFP. So my singing voice, which in the past had been trained to project well, became quiet and quavery.
Will I ever get to cut loose and sing strongly again?
I wondered.

Assad had been wounded the day that we had run from the soldiers, but he was still able to walk. Good thing, because for a week or so, we hiked and hiked. Our captors had a destination in mind, they said, and when we got to that village, they would release us to the barrio captain.
Oh, really?
I thought.
I’ll believe that when I see it.

Meanwhile, food was harder to get here on the peninsula because it wasn’t a farming area. It was more given to logging. Whereas on Basilan we always knew that bananas and coconuts were nearby, here we were at the mercy of the
banca
deliveries. What this region lacked in food supply, however, it more than made up for in mosquitoes. They were ferocious.

We pressed on with difficult hiking, not sure where this village really was. Occasionally a guy was sent to climb a tree and look for it amid the sea of green. We mainly wandered through the forest.

Rumors abounded. Supposedly Malaysia was still going to pay a ransom for us.

On May 20, Martin got up the nerve to ask to borrow Sabaya’s shortwave radio. Searching the dial for Voice of America to get the news, he happened upon KNLS, a Christian station out of Alaska. A short devotional came on, only two or three minutes. The pastor, named Andy Baker, read from Romans 8:

If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. (vv. 31-34)

What an amazing selection—the first spoken Scripture we had heard in almost a year.

“If you are in the midst of a hard situation,” Pastor Baker said, “and if you could hear Christ in the next room praying, you wouldn’t be afraid of thousands of enemies. He would be calling your name.”

Martin and I looked at each other with tears in our eyes. The speaker then began to lead in prayer—for people who were oppressed, people on the West Bank and in Afghanistan, and people who were being treated wrongly because of their faith in Christ. It seemed like he was praying for us. We were overwhelmed.

* * *

One of the many target dates we had set in our minds for release was Saturday, May 25. We knew from a letter received long ago that my niece Sally would be married that day in Indianapolis, the first of my nieces to be wed. All the family would be gathered for the festive occasion. Earlier, we had hoped to be there as well, of course.

Instead, we passed this day in the jungle, praying repeatedly for Sally and Tom, that God would bless their new life together. We tried to imagine what all was happening. We knew that this was the last marker on our mental calendar; we had now run out of information about what anyone was doing back home.

The next Monday, May 27, marked our one-year anniversary of captivity. The day came—and went. Long ago, we would never have believed we’d be in captivity this long. But there we were.

By now we had heard that several shiploads of soldiers had landed on the Zamboanga Peninsula. It was clear that the noose was tightening around us.

One day while walking along, the leader of our group suddenly ducked down. Not knowing what was ahead, the rest of us ducked as well. Across the next hill, we spotted two soldiers eating their lunch, talking and laughing. From the conversation, it sounded like other buddies of theirs would be coming along soon. We quickly changed course.

With this change in direction, our supply line had been cut entirely. We were on our own to find food and even water. Life got very hard, harder than it had been our entire time in captivity. The hiking was tough as we tried to stay high in the mountains; the soldiers seemed to prefer the lowlands. Struggling along the trail with the heavy pack on my back, I silently recited from Hebrews 12:1-2 (
KJV
):

Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.

We were still carrying some rice, but we’d lost our cooking pots that Sunday morning when the
kalaw
meal got interrupted. Everyone was hungry. (Sabaya, in the same battle, had lost his cherished Colt .45 pistol. I silently rejoiced, because all along, I had figured he would use that to finish us off if he got into some desperate spot.)

Martin remembered that a year before, our son Jeff had gone on a survival week sponsored by Faith Academy. He had come home telling us how to cook rice in bamboo. We could take a section, he told us, drill a hole in the side, fill it with rice and water, then heat the bamboo over the fire.

Martin explained this to the guys. We got to a river where some bamboo was growing, but they were reluctant to try it because soldiers were all around and chopping down bamboo can get noisy. In the end, however, hunger overruled caution, and soon we had something to eat. Martin and I had to smile at this turn of events, thanks to the insights of our son now so many thousands of miles away.

However, at other times there was no bamboo available. We eventually came down to just our remaining salt and raw rice. When we couldn’t stand the hunger anymore, we resorted to chewing on the raw rice. It was supposed to be group food, but I confess I ignored the rules and helped myself more than once. I had adopted the excuse “If I need it, it’s not really stealing” at last.

Some of the boys ate so much that Sabaya grew worried about the dwindling supply. He gathered up everyone’s remaining stock and committed it to Martin to carry—the only person he could trust not to devour it. This meant Martin wound up with an even heavier load than before.

After several days, the leaders announced that we would have an easier time hiking on the logging roads than the trails. That concerned me; it meant that the chances of being discovered by a logger or other civilian were much higher. I voiced my reservations but was overruled.

We set out in the morning. Suddenly the two men at the head of the line wheeled around and came running back in our direction.
“Sundalo! Sundalo!”
We all turned around and began to run the opposite direction.

The soldiers must have had radios to communicate with each other, because off in the distance, we heard trucks start up the mountain, heading our way. We darted off the road, scrambling over the piles of leftover branches and brush, called “slash.” This wasn’t a fast process, of course. As we began climbing the mountainside, my heart was racing from both the exertion and the danger, but I didn’t dare stop.

By this time, Ediborah had lost her shoes and was walking barefoot. We ended up walking the rest of the day.

We were still in search of the village where, allegedly, more ransom would be paid, and then all would be well. That evening we came to another logging road. We sat in the forest waiting for the cover of darkness, then got organized to dash across, three at a time.

May 29

The United States offers up to $5 million in reward money for information leading to the arrest of Janjalani, Musab, Sabaya, Solaiman, or Hamsiraji Sali, another of the captors.

June 3

The Burnham children head to Arkansas for a summer visit with Gracia’s parents, her brother, and his family.

When it was Martin’s and my turn, we made our run, along with a guard named Sarin. In the middle of the road, I glanced up—and there was a civilian coming right toward us! I couldn’t believe it.

A commotion followed as the Abu Sayyaf took this fellow hostage; they couldn’t afford to just let him keep walking down the road. I felt so sorry for him, especially when he was chained to a tree for the night. As I lay down to sleep, I could just imagine what was going through his mind:
Why did I have to come along at just that moment? How did I get into this mess? Will I ever get out alive?
It turned out that he worked for the logging company and knew the area much better than Mirsab did. This qualified him to be our guide up at the head of the line.

* * *

It had now been nine days since our last true meal. We were reduced to eating leaves. I would pick a leaf and ask the others whether or not it was safe to eat. We tried to keep drinking plenty of water that we gathered from rivers or collected when it rained.