THE PRICE OF LIFE
Nigel Brennan grew up near Moree in country New South Wales. He developed a passion for photography in his early twenties and studied at the Queensland College of Art, Griffith University. He has worked as a photojournalist for APN media. Nigel is currently based in Bundaberg and works as a freelance consultant, advising companies and NGOs whose employees are sent to hostile environments.
His sister, Nicky Bonney, is married to Simon. They have three kids and run a nursery in Bundaberg. In 2011 Nicky returned to study.
Nigel’s sister-in-law, Kellie Brennan, is married to Matt, and live in the Hunter Valley with their three children. Kellie runs a busy café and gourmet catering business in the tourist town of Morpeth.
THE PRICE OF LIFE
A true story of kidnap & ransom
Nigel Brennan
Nicole Bonney & Kellie Brennan
MICHAEL JOSEPH
an imprint of
PENGUIN BOOKS
To those who love us:
our families, and our friends, who are the family we choose
The events in this book are true to our experiences and have been recorded as we remember them. The content has been derived from conversations, meetings, diaries, emails and other correspondence, both official and personal. As such, it is a subjective account, and thus is susceptible to the vagaries and elisions of memory.
In the process of writing we have altered minor facts, condensed time lines and simplified events to help make the narrative more understandable. In order to maintain their anonymity in some instances we have changed the names and identifiable characteristics of individuals.
CONTENTS
Prologue
August 2008: Hanging on the telephone
2006—August 2008: Into Africa
September 2008: Bring Blackie back
October 2008: Team Brennan
November 2008: It’s kidnap month in Somalia
December 2008: Walking on eggshells
January 2009: A very dirty business
February 2009: Back-pocket strategies
March 2009: What if?
April 2009: Stuck in Groundhog Day
May 2009: All pitch in
June 2009: Limbo
July 2009: Blink and you’ll miss Vancouver
August 2009: Keep calm and carry on
September 2009: Big squabbling families
October 2009: Trust
November 2009: Sometimes you just have to take a chance
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
PROLOGUE
Kellie
Newcastle, NSW
Sunday, 24 August 2008
Oh god, I missed the phone. I hate clients calling on a Sunday. It’s around 10.30 a.m., and I think to myself, If it’s important, they’ll call back, just as the home phone starts ringing. Arrrgh.
‘Hello, Kellie speaking.’
‘Hi, Kellie, I’m sorry to call you on a Sunday morning.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I say. I’m curt but not rude. I just don’t like discussing work on a Sunday – it’s the only day my family spends time together without any interruptions. Besides, I’m a little hung-over and I haven’t yet had the caffeine fix I need to get me going.
The woman on the end of the line has an Asian accent. She doesn’t sound like a regular client who wants my time; she sounds genuinely apologetic for calling me, yet probing, wanting something.
‘My name is Glenda Kwek and I’m from the Sydney Morning Herald. I’m sorry to call you about this as I realise it must be a terribly distressing time for the family but …’
But what? What the hell is she talking about? She must have the wrong number.
‘… but can you confirm the kidnapping of Nigel Brennan in Somalia?’
‘What?! Are you serious?’ I ask. She must be having a laugh.
‘Yes, I am very serious. There are reports that an Australian man called Nigel Brennan has been kidnapped in Somalia with Canadian journalist Amanda Lindhout.’
Oh, holy crap.
There is a long pause.
I feel the blood drain from all parts of my body; my knees buckle underneath me and I slump into a nearby chair. My armpits start to prickle and I can feel the adrenaline building in my body.
Matt is looking at me, questioning me with his eyes. On a nearby notepad I scrawl the words ‘Nigel and Amanda have been kidnapped in Somalia’ and pass it to him. He disappears.
I am numb to what Glenda is saying so I ask her to tell me exactly what she knows.
She does so, and it all becomes a bit too real. As Glenda repeats Amanda’s name, I know it’s true, even though I hadn’t heard that Nige had hooked up with her again.
My mouth is dry and as I go to talk, I have to try a couple of times before I can peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
‘Look, all I can confirm is yes, Nigel Brennan is my brother-in-law; he was going to Kenya last I heard. And yes, I know Amanda Lindhout.’
‘Is this the first time you have heard this?’ she asks, sounding more shocked than I am.
‘Yes. I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
The penny drops for her. Glenda has just realised that she, a journalist from a major daily newspaper, has informed our family of their son and brother’s kidnapping. Not the cops, not the Australian Federal Police, not the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, but a journalist.
Matt appears in front of me with a map, showing me that Somalia is next to Kenya.
Oh my god, this is really happening. Matt starts to pace the room and I can see what he’s thinking. How? Why? When? By whom?
Glenda informs me that it happened yesterday, 23 August. Nigel and Amanda were reported missing when they didn’t return to their hotel after a day out taking photographs of refugee camps. DFAT is presently unable to confirm exactly what’s happened to them.
She asks if she can speak with Nigel’s mother.
‘Ah, no,’ I say. ‘I will take your number and get her to call you.’ Glenda gives me her number and we say goodbye.
I have never forgotten the sound of Glenda Kwek’s voice.
I’m not sure whether it is adrenaline or instinct, or both, that takes over at this moment, but I turn to Matt and say, ‘Right, I need to call your parents to let them know. Your mum needs to phone Glenda Kwek, and we’ll go from there.’ I feel like I could run a marathon, yet my legs are like jelly.
The knot in my stomach feels as big as those in the fastening ropes of an ocean liner and my head is starting to pound. I dial the number and wait.
Part of me is hoping Matt’s mum, Heather, won’t pick up because then she will have just a few more minutes of normality before I turn her and Geoff’s life to shit. Another part of me is willing them both to the phone so that we can find out exactly where Nigel is and whether he is okay.
Why did he go to Somalia? This question keeps going over and over in my head.
Heather answers the phone in a bright, cheery voice, a voice that sounds like a beautiful sunny Queensland morning. I am about to deliver a cyclone right into her house.
‘Hi,’ I say, trying to sound like my usual self. ‘Is Geoff with you?’
‘No, he’s outside. How are you?’
‘Ah, good. Can you do me a favour and go and get him? I’ve got some news to tell you both.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, nothing. I just need you both to be there together.’
The last time I did this I told them I was having another baby. How do I tell my in-laws this kind of news? And why does it have to be me? I figure it’s best that it comes from a family member and not the press, as I have jus
t experienced. And it’s too much for Matt to handle.
‘He’s here,’ she says. ‘Now what’s wrong?’
‘I need you to sit down.’
‘I don’t need to sit down. What is it?’ Her tone is anxious.
‘I’ve just had a phone call from Glenda Kwek. She’s a journalist with the Sydney Morning Herald, and she told me that Nigel has been kidnapped in Somalia with Amanda Lindhout.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! He’s in Kenya,’ she says.
‘Heather, Kenya is next to Somalia. Glenda said they haven’t returned to their hotel and are feared kidnapped.’
‘Oh, that’s ridiculous. He wasn’t going to Somalia.’
‘Look, here’s her number. You need to ask her all the details. She’s waiting for your call.’
‘You’re serious about this, then?’
‘Yeah, I am. Just call her and find out as much as you can and we’ll talk again soon.’
Matt and I stare at each other in silence, and then he starts ranting.
‘The stupid little fucker!’
I let Matt continue for a bit as I can’t seem to move. All I can feel are vibrations through the chair legs as Matt stomps around on the floorboards. He continues to pace.
‘Matt, we don’t know anything yet. We need to wait for your mum to call back to see if she can confirm if it’s Nigel or not.’
‘I don’t need it confirmed. How many other Nigels do you think Amanda knows who would do something this fucking stupid?’
What happens next can only be described as a barrage. I hear my mobile first and when I don’t answer it, the home phone starts ringing off the hook. On the other end are journalists who’ve just discovered the news on the wire, and are desperate for a comment. If you look up ‘Nigel Brennan’ on Facebook, you find me. My mobile number is listed on my profile, along with my business details and email address.
I have never been involved with the press in any way. I am a media virgin. As the day unfolds, I learn very quickly that nothing is private, especially when there’s a story in it.
The phone is ringing again and thank god for caller ID – it’s Heather and Geoff’s number.
I pick up the phone, still hoping that it’s all just a horrible misunderstanding. Heather tells me she can’t get hold of Nigel’s girlfriend in Scotland to find out where he was going, as it’s the middle of the night there, and that DFAT cannot confirm what’s happened to Nigel at this stage, only that he is missing. Heather gives me a number for DFAT so I can call someone called Emily, our newly appointed media liaison officer. Emily will provide me with a blanket statement that family and friends – anyone who might be contacted for a comment or background information – can give to the press.
So while Heather calls Nigel’s friends to see if he told anyone where he was going, I set out to phone people to give them the official statement, just as the 11 a.m. news has the first hint of the story.
By 3 p.m. I’m still on the phone, calling everyone I can think of to warn them about what they will see in full detail on the 6 p.m. news. The phone is ringing again and I pick it up.
It’s the phone call Matt and I have been dreading. Confirmation.
To the world this is just another news report about some unknown people in a dangerous country. Most are immune to this sort of story. The war in Afghanistan has been raging for years, and images of men in jeeps with machine-guns are disturbingly familiar. But the gunmen’s home country is different this time.
In the news story there are no US troops, no villages are annihilated by rogue bombs. This story involves us, the Brennans, and a member of our family. This story is about to become our entire world.
AUGUST 2008
Hanging on the telephone
Nicky
Moore Park, 23 kilometres north of Bundaberg, Queensland
Sunday, 24 August
Sunday afternoon is marching on normally enough. My husband, Simon, and I are clearing out weeds and cutting back shrubs for some farming neighbours, who have gone to Malta for a few months. The kids are spread all over the local community: Jacinta is with my best friend, Ange; Monty is with his best mate from primary school; Atti is with Dylan, who has been his negative-image twin since they were three.
Work done, we head off to collect the kids, starting with Jacinta. When we get to Ange’s, she asks straightaway if we’ve seen my dad.
‘No. Why?’
Ange takes a deep breath. ‘Okay. Geoff has been here looking for you. It appears – and we don’t know if this is definitely the case yet – that Nigel has been kidnapped.’
‘What? Nige? Don’t be ridiculous.’
Ange goes on to tell me that it seems my youngest brother has been kidnapped in Somalia, which hits me as unlikely enough to dismiss, until she says the words ‘with Amanda’.
Then my blood runs cold and in my heart I need no further confirmation.
Ange knows what she’s told me will send me into a spin. She’d met Amanda briefly when she visited here from Canada, and Ange has about the same level of tolerance for cheerleaders as I do – that’s just one of the reasons we have been best friends since our uni days.
‘Nic,’ she tells me, ‘just go and see your folks. They should have more information by now.’
So with that, Si and I head over to Mum and Dad’s place. Ange lives two blocks away from me, and my parents are less than a kilometre down the road.
We arrive to find the oldies looking shell-shocked. They have been talking to DFAT, who still can’t confirm the story. There is some confusion: it has come down the wire that ‘Michael’ Brennan has been kidnapped.
We are all at a loss – Nige had told Mum he was going to Kenya on his way to Australia from Scotland. He was coming home to photograph the weddings of a couple of his mates.
Mum has been trying to get hold of Nigel’s girlfriend in Scotland to establish exactly where he is. Eventually someone tracks her down and she confirms that Nige had flown into Somalia with Amanda, from Kenya. All the pieces are clicking into place.
Shortly after we arrive, a James from DFAT calls. I explain that Nige’s girlfriend has established he is in Somalia with Amanda. James’s response is that DFAT has not yet received confirmation that Nigel has been kidnapped. I wonder what it takes to get confirmation. A dead body?
Si heads home because the kids have school tomorrow. We decide that I will sleep over with the folks – we both want to support them as best we can. James has given me his private mobile number, saying I can call any time if something happens.
By the time it gets dark, DFAT has confirmed that Nigel has been kidnapped and told us they believe he and Amanda are being held somewhere near the animal markets, in what used to be the Italian sector to the north of Mogadishu, the capital city.
I want to be near Mum and Dad so I fold out the lounge in the office opposite their bedroom. That’s where I sleep until the call comes in.
Kellie
Newcastle
Monday, 25 August
I wake on Monday morning with a throbbing headache. Actually, I don’t think I even slept, only dozed between thoughts of Nigel being tortured or executed at the hands of his captors. I look at the clock: 5:33 a.m. I turn to look at Matt – he is staring at the ceiling. I reach over to hold his hand and he turns to look at me. I start crying.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this has happened to you and your family – our family. I don’t know what to do next. I feel so helpless.’
He pulls me closer and kisses my forehead, and I snuggle into him, trying not to choke on his chest hair. He holds me there for a while, squeezing me tighter and tighter.
‘Honey, you’re going to suffocate me.’
As Matt lets me go, the phone next to the bed rings. We both jump. Matt grabs it and I can just hear that it’s my father-in-law, Geoff, on the other end. I watch Matt, hoping that he will give me some sort of clue as to what’s being said, but he just keeps saying ‘Right’ and ‘Okay’.
&n
bsp; ‘Did she get a chance to talk to Nige?’ Matt asks.
Wow, sounds like something has happened. Maybe he’s been released and it’s all over.
No such luck.
Matt hangs up and tells me that the hostage takers have rung and asked for a ransom payment of US$3 million for both of their captives. That’s US$1.5 million for Nigel.
‘Who took the call?’ I ask.
‘Nic.’
‘Did they say anything to her about Nige?’
‘No, they said, “We have Nigel Brennan; he has given us this number and this is a ransom call and we want three million dollars.” ’
Three million! Where does a family like ours find that sort of money?
We both lie there without talking, staring at nothing. I turn on the TV at the end of our bed to drown out the white noise in my head. Eventually the 6.30 a.m. news bulletin starts and there is Nigel on screen. They’re using his Facebook profile photo, and he looks like a drunken idiot; he’s at the races, his arms thrown around two girls.
Matt and I both break into laughter.
‘Your mum would hate that photo,’ I say.
‘I know.’ Matt’s still chuckling. ‘So would Nige. It’s one thing to have it on Facebook but another to have it all over the news.’
I get out of bed and throw back the curtains. It is a beautiful winter’s day. This is what it must feel like after someone gets sick or dies, I think to myself. The world still goes on.
Over breakfast Matt and I discuss Nigel with the kids – I need to make sure they are okay to go to school today. I want to protect them from this as much as I can. Gigi keeps asking questions about Nige. Callaghan doesn’t really understand and Stirling is too young to realise that anything has happened at all.
Matt and I tell them that some very bad men have taken Uncle Nigel to their house to stay.
‘Like a sleepover?’ Cal asks.
‘Sort of, but without the lollies and all the fun,’ I reply.
The Price of Life Page 1