The Price of Life

by Nigel Brennan

  Lorinda and I are constantly on edge, waiting for the next call or text to come in. The respective embassy staff are pretty much relegated to spectators at this stage, their main job being to entertain Mum, Dad and Jon and Amanda’s friend Kelly.

  Kellie

  Newcastle

  Thursday, 5-Saturday, 7 November

  Mum and I drive home from Sydney in silence; I have way too much on my mind to talk. This is the end and I should be elated but ‘the end’ could take another month. I now need to slide back into being a wife, mother and a businesswoman and not let anything from the past four days have too much of an impact on ‘normal’ life.

  The next few days are frustrating. Everything is working on African time, which means not much gets done in a hurry. JC calls me with a list of instructions and I carry them out. Meanwhile, I am busy with the boys from KGA, preparing the statement we will release to the press when Nigel is finally out. I undergo a few hours of media training so that I am not too bamboozled by the press. The boys tell me I am doing a great job, but anything could happen on the day.

  JC calls me to explain we have a few issues on the African side and that I have to go back to the Sydney Dahabshiil. WTF?!

  ‘We need to move the money into someone else’s name so that we can pick it up. Jack has volunteered to go and get the money. You need to put the money in his name. Also, we need you to change the Dahabshiil branch in Mogadishu and transfer more money.’

  Here we go again.

  I call the Manager and update him on the goings-on in Nairobi – how we need to change the recipient, the branch and send more money. JC sends me all of Jack’s details and I fax them, and a blown-up image of Jack’s passport, to the Manager, along with a transfer confirmation from the BOQ for the extra amount. The Manager faxes back the paperwork; I sign it and send it back. So civilised, anyone would think this was a regular occurrence. The new branch is just on the border of the ‘safe zone’. Jack will go there, accept the money and collect the receipt. Nige and Amanda will then be brought to the airport and the receipt will be handed over in exchange for them. Simple.

  Now we just have to wait. Matt paces the house, mows the lawn, swims in the pool; we watch trashy pay TV to numb our minds, and keep us from looking at the ever-ticking clock.

  I am thankful that Matt gave up drinking many years ago as I wouldn’t need much encouragement at the moment. A drunken stupor would suit me down to the ground, but I need to be there for him, the kids and Nicky, if she phones. I’ll also have to face the almighty roar of the media when the news finally breaks.

  Nicky

  Nairobi

  Saturday, 7 November

  Last night we finally got confirmation from Adan that we can speak to Nigel and Amanda.

  We get a long list of things we can say; he’s shitting himself that we will spill to the rest of the group that he’s got extra money for himself. So he should, the greasy little slime.

  We call and get through. Our last POL. I get to tell Nige that we are here and that hopefully we will have someone to collect them in the next day or so.

  I get pretty upset talking to him. JC’s patting me on the shoulder in an ‘it’s fine, you’ve done good’ kind of way but I realise too late that I’ve given Nige too much information. Stupidly, I’ve raised his hopes when the gang could bring them crashing down again.

  Oh, so close, so close. Adan can’t get the money from Dahabshiil so we have to start looking at alternative drop-off points. Adan wants us to take the money to him at Bakaara market. He’s completely insane.

  We have a plane chartered so maybe we can fly the cash in and do a swap out of town, but it turns out there are too many warring factions and he and the rest of the kidnappers would not be able to pass through those areas as they do not have alliances with them. It’s becoming increasingly clear that this place really is a shithole.

  Adan starts threatening Nigel and Amanda’s lives, saying it’s our fault and that we should have organised it better. You’re right, sorry, Adan, I should be up to speed on the working methods of incompetent but dangerous Somali kidnappers. Because we can’t get the money to him in a way that is satisfactory to both of us, Adan gets sulky and things go quiet.

  Nigel

  The Bush House

  Saturday, 7November

  I’m aware that something’s going on in Amanda’s room. I hear her say ‘Mum’ and realise she is on the phone. There’s jubilation in her voice but I can’t make out what she’s saying. A minute later Ahmed marches through the door and hands the phone to me, telling me it’s my sister. Just to hear Nic’s voice is pure joy, then she tells me, ‘We’re in Nairobi, and if everything goes to plan then we should have you out by tomorrow, okay?’ I can’t believe what I’m hearing but before I get a chance to reply, Ahmed snatches the phone from my grasp then leaves the room. I’m confused. Why won’t he let me talk with Nicky? My body feels electrified yet it’s hard to fathom that it could be all over tomorrow.

  As the sun begins to set, Jamal enters the room and says, ‘Quickly, take everything, we go in five minutes.’ There’s a flurry of activity as the boys prepare for our departure. Stuffing my worldly belongings into two bags, I have to pinch myself to make sure it’s not a dream. I’m anxious as the minutes tick by. Assam comes in and drags my mattress out of the room. I walk over to the window to watch the last of the evening light in the apocalyptic landscape, and I feel the breeze against my skin – exquisite. Watching the horizon slowly fade to black, I can almost taste freedom – it’s so close, but butterflies swirl in my stomach because I know any number of things can go wrong once we’re on the road.

  I pace the room and it feels like an hour has passed even though it’s only minutes since Jamal came in. Then Assam appears, throwing my mattress back on the floor.

  ‘Assam, what’s going on, is there are problem?’ I ask with a quiver in my voice.

  ‘Ahmed will come to speak with you,’ he replies, before dashing back out the door.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I slump to the floor – something has gone wrong again. Ahmed makes me wait well over half an hour before coming to see me, and he gives nothing away.

  ‘Your families break their promise.’

  ‘What do you mean? you said everything had been agreed, that it was finished.’ My hysteria is building but his reply is blunt.

  ‘They tell Adan they would call by a certain time and they don’t do this, he tries to call them but they don’t answer, so we don’t go, we wait, tonight we stay here.’ I unpack my bedding, reluctant to admit defeat.

  I know Ahmed’s lying: I’m sure our families would be in constant communication and monitoring every call from Adan. Whichever way I twist or turn it, nothing makes sense.

  Sunday, 8 November

  It’s heartbreaking to wake up in the morning, feeling that it was just a brief flirtation with the idea that we’d get the fuck out of here. Shortly after breakfast Ahmed explains that they still haven’t heard anything and that we now just have to wait. Instead of dwelling on the circumstances, I spend the day putting a message together for Amanda. I tell her that Ahmed has confirmed my worst fears of being on-sold. I finish by telling her to stay strong, that we are together and that we will be with our families soon.

  Nicky

  Nairobi

  Sunday, 8 November

  J gets a text and its scary heart-in-mouth stuff. Someone representing a man by the name of Musla wants to get this sorted; he is getting tired of Adan. He knows we are in Nairobi and even has Lorinda’s correct room number at our hotel. In a mad rush we swap her room and decide to contact him.

  We all bundle into JC’s room and call Musla, who has very little English. He also has a really high voice so we wonder if he is really a woman. The whole conversation has the feel of the stoning sketch in The Life of Brian. It’s insane, I’m on the edge of maniacal laughter with all this intrigue, danger and espionage going on around us, while feeling sick about how confusing it all
is.

  Musla has an interpreter on the line who is translating for us. Musla wants to know the agreed figure. What to say? Does he mean the agreed amount with the kidnappers or the total? We hedge our bets and tell Musla and his translator the amount that has been offered to the kidnappers, guessing that Adan has not passed on that he has his own substantial sweetener. But it’s okay – US$548K seems to be the amount that Musla has heard. Phew. We ask Musla and his interpreter if we can speak to Nigel and Amanda. He assures us that we can talk to them the next day.

  We immediately call Alto in the UK and play back the conversation so he can interpret. We gather that the interpreter had reported pretty accurately what was relayed to us. Poor Alto – he was all excited and thought we were calling him to say we had them. He’s as disappointed as we are.

  Monday, 9 November

  Adan is constantly trying to call but we’re not responding. I’m in favour of telling him to go jump but JC warns me not to burn bridges. Bummer, I’m in a torching frame of mind. We try to organise with Musla a drop-off point for the cash. He tells us that he is still convincing the kidnappers to go with the amount. We are guessing that they’re holding out for a little bit more.

  Musla confirms they may have to get a government official to pick up the cash from Dahabshiil. I don’t really care who picks up what as long as we get an exchange. It’s all so dragged out and trying to organise these people is incredibly frustrating. Musla explains to Alto that the person acting as his interpreter is a go-between who also knows Adan. Finally, they get down to discussing some possible drop-off points.

  The boys become very motivated about finding neutral ground – expanses that are open and safe-ish drop-off points for Nigel and Amanda, somewhere that is neutral to both the AMISOM troops and Al-Shabaab. It all sounds extremely scary to me. I have visions of Nigel and Amanda being pushed out of a moving vehicle in some shot-up bit of parkland. Jack and Sam have a two-year-old map (the most recent available!) and pinpoint all the possibilities.

  Tuesday, 10 November

  We get Alto on the line. Musla is suggesting bribing government troops to do the swap at the hotel they were originally taken from. We explain that there is no more cash. If he wants to do this, it has to come out of the kidnappers’ piece of the pie. Musla tells Alto that there is a higher boss than him, but he is away fighting. When we all establish with Musla that no extra money is forthcoming, he goes back to the idea of a neutral drop-off point. After the phone call Alto tells us that he thinks this guy is pretty high up in Al-Shabaab and controls most of the northern part of the city. Great, so now we are dealing with the terrorists, and they are the guys who are helping us get Nigel and Amanda.

  Musla’s interpreter, Nur, starts to contact us directly. He is in Nairobi and would like to meet with Lorinda and me. He confirms that he is a friend to both Adan and Musla. He wants to finalise a couple of things to get this sorted. Once again we get Alto on the line. The poor man is up to his eyeballs with his uni work, the other head of his department is on sabbatical and he’s gained his workload, and now on top of all that, he’s translating more and more calls and sending the transcripts back to us.

  Nur tells that he has government connections and that we should talk face to face, so we organise a meeting at the tapas bar in the village next to the Tribe.

  JC, Sam, Lorinda and I head up there, and Jack is on another table, lurking as back-up. It’s like a scene out of a spy movie. Do not make eye contact with Jack. How can I not? He’s sitting there like a spare dick at an orgy. We all order juice. We people watch trying to guess which one is Nur.

  We finally spot him; he comes in wearing a brown leather jacket. ‘What does he think he is, a French spy?’ JC exclaims. Nur is slight and looks like Morgan Freeman. Once we’ve done all the introductions, Jack slinks off and does a recon to see if anyone else is around. Nur is all smiles and condolences for what has happened to our families. He gives us his history. He was a fighter pilot, he tells us, with the Egyptian air force. I only just pull myself up in time from eye-rolling the others. I look down and focus on the skin on the back of my hands so they can’t see me smirk. Get it together, I admonish myself. I’m going to need to remember this stuff. Nur is now a Somali MP, an honour that was thrust on him, rather than one he actively pursued. However, he is assisting us with the SNSA director, and the deputy PM.

  Nur says he will require AMISOM assistance by way of security, and that we would use the K4 Dahabshiil near the border for cash-transfer. K4 is so-called because it’s about 4 kilometres from the airport. This is a bit too open-ended for my liking.

  Nur tells us he has experience – he has already got one French soldier intel guy out. Interesting sales pitch. We wait with bated breath at the end of the meeting to be hit up for travel expenses such as taxi fares. We know this is standard practice but surprisingly he doesn’t want anything. For now.

  Nur then starts negotiations with Adan and Musla, as their go-between. Musla is looking for a respectable businessman to pick up the cash. It’s screamingly obvious that Nur wants to be that person but we have to go through the motions and dither back and forth for days before this happens. JC likens dealing with Somalis to ‘herding cats’ and he’s not far wrong.

  Wednesday, 11 November

  Nur suggests that Sam sign the Dahabshiil papers at MIA which sounds good to us, or at least safer, because then it’s Nur who has to make sure the cash is not stolen. Needless to say we will be stung for more hawala fees for this. Nur is unclear as to who is in charge, security-wise. Is it AMISOM, SNSA or the TFG (Transitional Federal Government)? Sam pushes for answers from all angles but it’s still about as clear as mud. We come to the conclusion, out of Nur’s hearing range, that security will be dictated by the colour green. At this stage Nur is going to fly into the Dish with a commercial flight from Djibouti, while Sam and Jack charter a flight with a pilot from Kenya.

  If the commercial flight doesn’t happen, Nur will fly in with the boys. He claims to be in contact with Musla who is busy fighting while keeping Adan in line. Because Musla and AMISOM are on opposite sides, everyone needs to know what the other is doing. Needless to say, there is a problem and Nur calls back later in the day. Musla’s boss (Jesus, who is that if Musla is Al-Shabaab?) is in Mogadishu on Thursday so that is not a good day for an exchange. Friday is out as it is prayer day. It looks like Saturday is going to be the day. He also organises for Sam and Jack to stay at MIA – the Dahabshiil branch manager will go there to sign for the cash.

  Thursday, 12 November

  Nur is going with the boys after all, but still hits us up for expenses. It had to happen. He plans to fly out of Nairobi on a commercial flight. He has stuff to do in Somalia.

  He calls later that day asking us to contact the Manager in Australia about the transfer. WTF? It would appear that even though Abdul is in charge of Dahabshiil in Somalia, he has some issue with the cash coming from K4. The man is really difficult to deal with, and I suspect he’s on the take. But who isn’t in Somalia?

  Nigel

  The Bush House

  Thursday, 12 November

  Late in the afternoon the boys seem on edge and I’m positive we are about to be moved. I have grave concerns as Ahmed isn’t with us – he’s gone back to Mogadishu. Each time we’ve been transported he’s been there. My fear is that the group has now split and that they are abducting us for their own gain, that Captain Yahya is now going to sell us to anyone willing to make an offer. I’m sure now that tonight we will be in Al-Shabaab’s hands.

  Just after dinner Jamal marches in. ‘Quickly, take everything, we go, five minutes. No talking, quickly,’ he orders. Fifteen minutes later, outside, I can see the boys are all geared up, ammo belts, grenades and guns hanging from them. I’m pushed around the side of the car and into the backseat, Abdullah ordering me into the middle. I hear Amanda’s chains as she is brought out and forced into the back of the land cruiser with Jamal. It takes about fifteen minutes before they
all clamber in, Abdullah and Captain Yahya on either side of me, Assam squashed next to Mohammad with the machine-gun in the front passenger’s seat.

  About five hundred metres up the dirt road we’re stopped, and surrounded by four gunmen guarding a checkpoint. Abdullah pushes my head down between my legs as the front passenger window is cracked. I’m certain there will be a bloodbath if these guys get a sniff of us. Finally Abdullah pulls me back up. It’s not a good start; I’m jittery as fuck.

  It doesn’t take long before the constant swerving and accelerating turns my stomach. Amanda, travelling backwards, isn’t coping and I hear her retching, and she eventually vomits in her lap. The smell makes me swallow that much harder so as to not do the same.

  We seem to drive for hours, jostled around like we’re in a washing machine – I no longer care where we’re going, I’m just desperate to get out of the car.

  We come to a large town and I begin recognising the IDP camps we had passed months earlier on our way to Kismayo. Now I’m sure we’re heading back into Mogadishu. I tell myself that this is a positive thing and that we may in fact be going home, all the time trying to get my bearings.

  Up ahead I can see Ahmed’s Subaru – the same vehicle that was used to transport us after the escape attempt – and we pull up next to it. I’m happy to see both Ahmed and Romeo get out of the car, even with their AK47s. There’s a quick reshuffle of people, and Young Yahya and the other man move to the Subaru before we set off again. I’m half expecting to end up in one of the houses that we’ve already been held in, but when we come to a halt we’re in a compound facing a house that is much fancier than the others. I notice there is actual glass in the windows, but I don’t get long to contemplate this before I’m ripped from the car. I’m pushed down the hallway, ending up in large room in the back right-hand corner of the house. I can hear Amanda being marched in the same direction and placed in the room opposite me.