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
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
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