I don’t want to believe it. If this happens, our chances of survival will dramatically reduce. I think of having my head cut off – I’d much prefer to take a bullet than to go out like that. The boys have taunted me enough over the months so that I know Al-Shabaab means business. Feeling sick, I make myself read on. ‘This is not going to happen in weeks but possibly days.’ She says Romeo has given her this on good authority.
For the next few hours I can’t stop my mind racing; I’m feeding my own anxiety, and wishing that Amanda hadn’t dropped this bombshell. I begin replying to her but I’m interrupted by Ahmed’s appearance in the afternoon. He confirms that they are, in fact, toying with the idea of on-selling us and that Al-Shabaab is the only buyer. Ahmed says they are sick of being treated like fools.
‘Your families have offered $560 000. Al-Shabaab have said they will give us half a million for you now; they will then keep you until they receive two million dollars,’ he explains. He is getting great satisfaction from relaying this to me, watching me squirm as he draws it out.
‘When they get the two million dollars, they will give us another half a million. What do you think about this?’ What do I think? I want to scream at him that he is fucking insane and nothing but a liar and a thief, but all I can manage is, ‘Please don’t sell us to another group; they will kill us.’
He laughs straight in my face as though I’ve just told him a great joke, shaking his head again.
‘They will not kill you, you are Muslim, no one can kill you, understand? Now is already one year; we can no longer afford to keep you, but Al-Shabaab they will be able to keep you for years until they get what they want, they have a network that they can pass you around, is easy for them.’
I’m too angry to even look at this punk. The only positive spin I can put on it is that they seem to have dropped the asking price by a million.
‘Ahmed, please, you are my brother. I can’t stay here for years; I will die,’ I say, snivelling like a child. ‘You have to help us, please.’
‘No, I want this finished. Everyone wants this finished. I cannot do anything if the commanders decide this,’ he replies.
It’s a sleepless night.
Shortly after breakfast, Ahmed reappears, telling me there might be a solution that the commanders will accept if we agree to five conditions. I’m hooked already – any solution is better than being sold to an extremist group – but I won’t agree to anything unless Amada is with me.
‘The commanders want one million dollars for your release —’
I jump in. ‘One million each?’
‘No, one million together. Currently your families have offered US$560 000. If we accept this, you have to agree to pay the remaining amount to make up the one million dollars after you have been released.’
It has to be a trick. They can’t seriously think I will hand over money once I’m out of this shithole, can they? But I run with it.
‘There are four others that you have to promise to keep also,’ Ahmed says. The second is that we are never to speak about the treatment or conditions we have been held in. Third, we must promise to never leave the religion of Islam. Fourth, we have to promise to learn the Qur’an, to speak Arabic and invite people to the religion of Islam. No problem. I assure him that my mother will become Muslim as soon as she reads the Qur’an. The last condition is that we must promise to pray five times a day, each time saying a prayer from Ahmed to Allah.
I can’t help thinking how self-indulgent this arsehole is – the only thing I’ll be praying for is that he gets hit by a truck. He has his stupid smile spread across his face, like that of a vanquisher after defeating its enemy. I can see that he is pleased with himself. ‘Inshallah, if you can promise all this, then I might be able to convince the commanders to let you go.’
It’s a massive relief when I’m finally alone, exhaling as though I’ve been holding my breath the whole time. Ahmed has almost certainly walked next door to offer Amanda the same deal.
Later that afternoon Ahmed comes to cut my hair, accompanied by Jamal, Young Yahya and Donkey. They all seem to be in high spirits as they take turns with the scissors. The boys explain to Ahmed my nickname for Captain Yahya, that being Captain Muufo. The simple rationale behind this name is that muufo – bread – is all he seems to eat, so unfortunately that’s all we get too. They laugh.
Ahmed explains that because he is from the bush that is his staple diet. I reply, ‘Muufo, muufo, every day muufo, I’m starting to look like muufo.’ The boys piss themselves, as does Ahmed. It seems both weird and wonderful to be laughing with them, and I realise just how deprived of laughter I have been for well over a year.
Before Ahmed leaves the room, he asks if I’d design a house for him, telling me about the block of land he owns in Mogadishu and giving me its dimensions. I’m happy to keep myself occupied even though I know that construction will be funded by my family.
I spend the next day on a number of designs for Ahmed. In the afternoon he pays me a visit, looking cheerful.
‘How is your situation?’ he asks. I have grown to detest this remark. ‘I have very good news. Adan has spoken to your family and has agreed to accept the money they have offered. I think in one or two days you will go to your country.’
I try desperately to hold back tears – I know how pissed off Ahmed gets when I cry – but I can’t stop myself.
‘How will this happen?’ I ask. I want details.
‘It will be a handover. We get the money then we release you.’
This scenario doesn’t sit well with me – they could get the money then kill us, just as Ahmed said they would in back in the first week. If it’s true, why haven’t I spoken to Nicky? Things don’t seem to add up.
‘Soon you go to your country. Inshallah, it is finished,’ Ahmed says. His attention now turns to the house that I have drawn.
‘Is very good, quickly you must finish before you go, also one last thing you must write these promises down on a piece of paper and sign it as proof, then give it to me.’ He walks out the door.
I want the promise of release to be true, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
Abdullah and a few of the boys come to me throughout the day. They’re in high spirits as they explain that it will soon be finished.
I am starting to believe that I will get my freedom back.
Nicky
Moore Park
Sunday, 1 November
Finally we have a deal. Adan has wrangled a massive amount for himself, completely screwing over the kidnappers but none of us cares. All we care about is getting the deal.
We can barely keep up with the phone calls.
Adan says, ‘The gang, they are agreeing to US$548 000.’ However, Adan wants US$135 000 for himself. It’s actually more than we have and I feel financially overexposed. JC assures us that this manipulation and squeezing out just a little bit more is how kidnapping and ransom always happens. Regardless of his assurances, I still feel anxious. But it’s so close now, so very close. The thought that makes me sweat and my skin prickle with nerves is, what happens if the kidnappers get wind of the fact that Adan is asking such a large amount for himself?
The way I see it, we are relying on Adan’s greed to get Nige and Amanda out, and if the gang finds out we have done this deal surely Nigel’s life will be forfeited. This extra cash is making Adan wary. He doesn’t want us to say anything to the rest of the gang. He has to trust us to a degree and we have absolutely no trust in him. It’s an awkward existence – nerve-racking and more than a little bit mad. I make it quite clear that no money will change hands till we get a proof of life from Nige and Amanda.
It’s a crazy rush here in Australia to get our flights booked. We send passports down to Canberra to get visas for Nairobi. Mum and Dad go into the bank to organise Kel to be a signatory so the money can be transferred to Dahabshiil while they’re away. Their biggest but unspoken concern is, I believe, if the bank moves the money to Dahabshiil and the governme
nt confiscates it for any reason before it leaves the country, where does that leave the bank?
It crosses my mind more than once that the Canadians are really not taking a stand. Why are we the ones who keep stepping up to the plate? It would have been so easy for us to throw our hands in the air and cry, ‘It’s against the law! I could go to jail!’ But that would get us nowhere. I guess it’s just lucky for Amanda that we are so determined to get Nige back at any cost and she is part of that package.
Kellie
Sydney
Monday, 2 November
There is nothing I hate more than money. It is a parasite, attaching itself to people, and once we have it we cannot live without it. The host wants more and more of this parasite, sometimes going to extreme lengths to get it. Now I’m a money launderer, the money parasite has well and truly taken hold and it’s showing as desperation, obsession and gratitude. I am desperate for more, as I know the ransom is not the only cost involved in Nigel and Amanda’s release. I am obsessed with how much I have in my control and how I have to get it to the other side of the world. And I am constantly grateful to Dick Smith, Bob Brown, Aunty Alison, and all of the friends, family and strangers who have donated money to our cause.
It is my job to move the money from Australia to Somalia via any means JC and I can find. I am the one who has a tally on all the comings and goings of every cent. I know who has given what and how much needs to be paid back, and exactly how much money – right down to the last cent – is ransom, the Dahabshiil commission, and Adan’s cream on the top. Never have I been so in tune with currency, its origin, its destination and its value on any particular day.
All the money is here in Australia, in Heather and Geoff’s bank account, so really the only option is to move it from Australia in whatever way I can.
Once Adan agrees to a price, there’s a chain reaction, and everyone’s energy levels lift. However, as great excitement starts to stir within the CMT, I am feeling waves of panic because my role is about to come to the fore.
Today the money is to be moved from Dahabshiil Australia to Mogadishu. As I’m driving to Sydney, Nic, Heather and Geoff are getting ready to board their flight to Nairobi. We’ve been waiting months for this. Nic and I knew this time would eventually come, but we still don’t know exactly how it’ll play out. JC is giving us instructions on a daily basis; it’s crazy to try to plan ahead. The plans change all the time, depending on the mood of the kidnappers.
All week JC and I have been trying to organise insurance for the ransom money through an underwriter who used to work with AKE. No company will touch us, though, because we’re not insured with a K&R group. So on Monday, 2 November 2009, I will be moving around AUS$800 000, the majority of which is someone else’s money, to a third-world country to pay kidnappers. Without insurance. Whenever Dick Smith asks me if the money is insured, I reply, ‘Yes, Dick’, with my fingers crossed behind my back. Sometimes you just have to take a chance.
I go to the Dahabshiil office and I am even more self-conscious than last time. Today the street is busy: there are prams, young children, women dressed in western clothing. I don’t stand out like before. It’s 9.05 a.m. and the little community is abuzz.
I make my way to the Manager’s small shop and am greeted by four men, all Somali. Why are all these men here? I sit in the patched-up vinyl chair and look up at the Manager.
‘This is a good day, yes?’ he asks.
‘Yes, today is a very good day,’ I reply, nodding.
Then from the back corner of the room one of the Somali men steps forward and takes my hand and apologises for the actions of his compatriots. Then the next one does the same, then the next.
The Manager sits next to me and explains that in the beginning, he was not going to help me.
‘I help you because your country has been very kind to my family, and now my countrymen have not been kind to your family. I am very sorry that my countrymen have done this. I love Australia and I am very happy and lucky to be here, and I am very sad for you.’
‘Thank you, thank you so much. With your help my family can get our brother and son back.’
The Manager puts a sheaf of paperwork in front of me. I need to provide exact details of how much money will be transferred along with who will pick it up on the other side. The ‘other side’ details haven’t been set in concrete yet – everything will lock into place this evening – so I put down John Chase’s name and passport number and a security password JC has set.
I sign my name on the document that could land me in jail. However, this is also the biggest piece of the pie, the money, the bit that will seal the deal and get Nige and Amanda out.
I can’t believe this is happening. The first part is done. Un fucking-real. Now I need to go to the Bank of Queensland to transfer the money from Heather and Geoff’s account to the Manager’s Dahabshiil.
The big problem we have is the ransom money amount is in US dollars not Australian. To move this money into Somalia it has to be in US currency and nowhere in Australia can you exchange AUS$800 000 into US dollars. So we have no choice but to move it in Australian dollars and convert it through Dahabshiil, which costs more. And once it’s converted, you can’t get it back.
The bank manager knows I am coming, and he knows why. He has a broad and gentle-looking face. He speaks to the girls behind the counter and they both move into action. I’m not sure what he says but it is probably a polite version of ‘this is the woman moving shitloads of someone else’s money to a group of kidnappers without insurance. What a wacko!’ Or maybe that’s my conscience talking.
I sign the documentation: the transfer will take approximately one hour. As soon as the Dahabshiil Manager receives the money and converts it to American dollars he will notify me, and once that is all done I will tell JC. Then he can arrange a drop-off point for Nige and Amanda and a pick-up location for the money. If all goes to plan, Nigel will be out by Thursday.
As I sign the paperwork I start crying. These are tears of happi-ness. I’m happy that this nightmare is nearly over, happy that this pile of money the family has been working so hard for is finally going towards getting Nige back. The manager offers me tissues and comforts me. ‘It’s okay,’ I keep saying, ‘this is good, it’s all good.’
He escorts me out of the bank and up the ramp and onto the street. I am now in broad daylight, crying like a child. I am on the street and walking away from the manager, saying goodbye and thank you at the same time, heading towards the city. Then I stop. I have forgotten something. Oh, the getaway car is in the car park.
Last night I booked a stay in the city as JC told me I can’t leave Sydney until the money hits Mogadishu. If it’s stopped at any stage, I will have to ask Dick for a really, really big favour – to fly me and my backpacks full of his cash into Nairobi to give it to JC.
My secret lair is the Hilton. Not bad, I think to myself, I suppose if I have to spend a few stressful days in Sydney waiting for this to happen, then it may as well be somewhere nice.
I walk into the elevator and for the first time in ages I look at myself in the mirror. What I see is not the Kellie of sixteen months ago. The one I see now has sadness in her eyes, furrows between her brow and dull skin. Her face is fatter from bad eating habits acquired over the last five months. She just doesn’t look like me.
I push the heavy hotel door open, drop my handbag and collapse on the bed from exhaustion. I must have nodded off immediately, as the luggage boy is suddenly standing in my room placing my bag on the luggage rack. He apologises for disturbing me and quickly leaves. I drift off again, while waiting for the phone to ring.
The Manager calls me to let me know he has the money and it has been converted to American dollars. It is ready to go.
‘I will call the Mogadishu branch this evening when they open and confirm they will accept the money.’
‘What did you say?’ Suddenly I’m wide awake.
‘Mogadishu, I will call them when they open
to confirm they accept.’
‘I thought you had already confirmed with the Mogadishu manager that the money could go there.’
‘Yes, I said I would help you get money to Mogadishu.’
Oh, crap. Another communication problem. JC is going to kill me for not having this sorted.
‘Okay. You let me know.’
I look in the mirror and I see that I also have grey hair. As soon as I get that little shit of a brother-in-law back into the country he is paying for a lifetime’s supply of botox and hair appointments.
I phone JC and drop the Manager’s bombshell on him. He is remarkably calm. ‘That’s fine,’ he says, ‘as long as we get it here.’ We’re not quite sure where we want it yet anyway.’
I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m pleased I don’t have his job. I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, so I don’t.
Some time later I am woken by my mobile ringing. It’s the Manager.
‘Ah, hello, Kellie. Yes, they will take the money at Mogadishu branch.’
I punch the air and dance around the room. I haven’t felt much euphoria over the last few months so I happily let this feeling wash over me. This is all going to be okay.
Now all I need to do is record our CMT call tonight since I’m the only team member left to do it. Nic, Jon, Lorinda and Kelly are all in transit to Nairobi and JC will be heading off as soon as our CMT call tonight is finished. Once tonight’s phone call is done, the location for drop off and pick up will all be confirmed.
I am suddenly starving. I can’t remember the last time I ate. I know I have drunk a lot of coffee, but I feel that if I don’t eat something soon, I might just pass out. Not eating for long periods has become the norm during the last four months. I get too busy and caught up with work, kids or Nigel stuff that I forget to eat and then I usually crave sugar and I eat something incredibly unhealthy, hence my horrendous weight gain. I have also discovered I am a comfort eater. When things go bad I eat. I don’t gorge myself, I just eat really bad food like chocolate or chips or something I can get my hands on quickly. This has done terrible things to my metabolism. I order room service.
The Price of Life Page 34