The Price of Life

by Nigel Brennan

  Feeling that it would be a chance to say thank you to those involved, we decide to go ahead with it. So, under heavy security, we make our way down to the back car park of the hotel to the waiting vehicles. In convoy with a massive security detail, we make the short drive to the presidential palace. It turns out to be a complete circus, and we have to wait over an hour before Prime Minister Omar Abdirashid Sharmarke is ready to accommodate us.

  The boys are edgy and want to get us to the plane pronto, and we eventually get ushered into a large room that quickly fills with elders and government officials. Most of what is said during the course of discussions is in Somali and I feel a bit lost, then someone asks us if we would like to say something. Amanda doesn’t feel confident and leaves it to me to thank everyone involved in our rescue.

  As soon as I’m done, the boys wind things up and prepare to roll to the airport. The president is still unavailable, but the boys make the decision that we have already wasted too much time.

  Again under heavy guard and in convoy, we travel at high speed towards Mogadishu International Airport, and just as we get there a phone call comes through from the president requesting us to come back as he is ready to meet with us. The boys completely brush off the idea. They want to get us on the plane. The Ugandan troops controlling the airport make it difficult, not wanting to give our vehicle access to a side gate that would allow us to drive right up to the plane. There is a furious argument between Nur and another MP in the vehicle with the Ugandan soldiers until finally they give in.

  The car screams into the airfield and up alongside the awaiting Cessna. The boys bundle us into the five-seater within seconds, Jack drawing the curtains so as to shield us from the media, who are now running from the terminal towards the plane.

  Everything happens so quickly. The pilot fires up the engine, which roars to life, the media are stopped in their tracks as the plane swings around and we plough head-on towards them, both Amanda and I keeping our heads down as we taxi onto the runway. Then there is complete and utter ecstasy as we bounce down the runway, the wheels lifting from the ground as we’re pulled back into our seats. Everything slowly becoming miniature as we gain altitude.

  When I see the breathtaking deep blue of the Indian Ocean, I know I am finally going home.

  Weirdly, there’s a tinge of sadness as I look down at the beautiful country below us, the waves smashing along the coastline as we track down the coast. The bitter memories of the last fifteen months are left behind for a moment, and I can’t help wishing that I’d had a chance to see more of this magnificent country.

  I haven’t slept for over twenty-four hours, I’m running on pure adrenaline and I can’t wipe the smile from my face. Sam is sitting next to the pilot and explains that we will stop at Wadjir airport, just across the border in Kenya, and that we should try to get some sleep as it will take over two hours. I’m now completely wired, talking with Jack and taking the piss out of Sam when I find out he’s afraid of flying. This big tough guy white-knuckling the control stick is so hilarious.

  Jack informs me that our bags and belongings are behind my seat. I pass Amanda’s over, then open mine to find bags of Allen’s lollies, a disposable camera, with which I start taking pictures, and a manila folder.

  The folder contains letters and pictures of my family all together from last Christmas. Just seeing it, the magnitude of it all finally hits me, and tears stream down my face. I struggle to read the letters, sent with the care package, which we never received. I’m an emotional wreck. Jack hands me a handkerchief.

  Amanda and I share these the things we’ve received from our families, and we can’t quite believe that we will see them so soon. We slowly glide down onto the tarmac at Wadjir, and getting out of the plane I do a little jig, I’m so happy to be out of Somalia and in friendly territory.

  We go through customs and immigration before jumping back onto the plane to make the two-hour journey to Nairobi.

  I don’t get an second of sleep, talking non-stop with Jack about anything and everything, even though my speech is still slow.

  Then finally we begin our descent into Wilson airport in Nairobi, circling low over the game parks, and I’m almost jumping out of my skin as Jack points out the wildlife sprinting across the dry plain. On landing we taxi to a hanger, where two ambulances and a throng of government officials from both Australia and Canada are waiting for us. Amanda and I are split up, which is slightly unnerving, and we’re taken to our respective consular cars. The ambulances are obviously decoys for the waiting media. A DFAT official explains that we will be transported to the Aga Khan University Hospital, where Mum and Nicky are waiting.

  The cars fly out a side gate of the airport, sirens wailing as we speed through the afternoon peak hour. At one point I ask the driver to slow down, terrified that I m going to die as he crosses a median strip to get around the traffic.

  After ten or fifteen minutes of feeling like I’m in a dodgem car, we finally come screaming into the hospital. We pull up at the private entrance. I can see Nicky but I struggle to see Mum. Then as I get out of the vehicle I spy her standing in the crowd, her face full of joy but at the same time showing the strain of the last fifteen months.

  I fall in to Mum’s arms and at the same time pull Nicky into a three-way hug. I’m lost for words to describe the joy I feel to be in their warm embrace.

  I’m introduced to a throng of people, consular officials, hospital staff and finally to Lorinda, embracing her like she is my second mother, before we’re whisked upstairs.

  Kellie

  Newcastle

  Thursday, 26 November

  It’s Thursday and I know the plane is going in, and should be coming out with Nige and Amanda. It’s Wednesday in Nairobi, but tonight at 10 p.m. I will know if they are out or not.

  Ten o’clock comes and goes and I am watching telly with my mobile next to me. Every half hour I get up to check my emails, but nothing comes through. I start texting JC but he sends a message back, ‘Keep the line clear we are waiting for news’.

  This is killing me.

  Matt and Geoff head to bed. I want to tell them what is happening, but I don’t want Geoff to be disappointed if nothing happens again. I head into the office and wait. I open up iTunes and surf the net, just filling in time and trying to empty my mind of the goings-on in Nairobi and Somalia. It’s way past ten and I haven’t heard a thing. ‘The final countdown’, a huge song in the eighties, comes on via iTunes. You have got to be joking, the countdown has well and truly finished. It’s not happening tonight, it’s too late and the plane can’t leave. I go to bed with a splitting headache from crying and an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Friday, 27 November

  My mobile phone rings by the bed. It’s 4.20 a.m. It’s Nic.

  ‘Kel, Kel, we got them.’

  ‘You’re fucking joking?!’

  ‘No, no I wouldn’t joke about this.’

  I can hear people in the background, laughing and cheering, and I think this has really happened.

  ‘Oh my god, Nic, that’s fantastic. Does anyone else know?’

  ‘No one. Can you call them? But, hang on, they’re not out of Somalia yet, they will be flying out at first light.’

  ‘Do Jack and Sam have them? ’

  ‘No, they are in a hotel with the Somali government officials who got them out.’

  When I hang up, for a few selfish seconds I hold this information to myself and just let it sink it. Matt is already sitting up in bed, looking at me with the biggest smile on his face. I haven’t seen that in a while.

  ‘They’ve got them, they’ve got them, they’ve got them. So it’s not quite finished but the kidnappers have handed them over. They are still in Somalia, I have to tell your dad.’

  It’s dark, the sun is yet to rise. I walk down the hallway; 462 days ago I was the bearer of the worst news any parent wants to hear and today I get to do the opposite.

  In the spare room, Geoff is as
leep on his stomach, facing away from the door. I gently pat his shoulder.

  ‘Geoff, Geoff.’

  He stirs and lifts his head.

  ‘Geoff, they’ve got them.’

  ‘What?’ he yells through his sleepy daze, half jumping up.

  ‘They’ve got them, they’re out!’

  He slumps back onto the bed and I can hear muffled sighs and sobs of relief coming from his pillow.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  He nods.

  ‘I’m going to call Heather; I’ll meet you down in the kitchen when you’re ready.’

  Heather will be getting on a plane back to Nairobi shortly so I need to let her know before she leaves.

  ‘Hello, dear.’ She sounds flat and tired.

  ‘They’ve got them.’

  She sounds like she is about to burst into tears. The fifteen months of anguish is released in her initial response, it’s like a giant exhale. I fill her in on the little I know and she heads off to board the plane.’

  I turn around and Geoff is up and dressed, Matt is making coffee and it has just gone 5 a.m. I need to phone Ham and Amy, and let them know the good news.

  Ham answers. I have woken him up.

  ‘Ham, they’re out. Well, they’re not out of Somalia yet, but they have been handed over and are safe.’

  ‘Well, they’re not out yet, are they? Call me back when they’re out.’

  I am not going to let Ham’s bad mood deflate my excitement, or anyone else’s. Today is an amazing day and I am going to enjoy every bit of it. It’s one I will remember forever.

  Matt and Geoff are online, watching the Google alerts come rolling in. I need to call Mike at KGA and get ready to head to Sydney for a press conference.

  ‘Hi, Mike, they’ve got them. It’s all over Google and I imagine my mobile will start ringing soon.’

  ‘Okay, call me on the way and I will let you know the plan. Great news, Kel, well done.’

  All the way to Sydney my mobile phone is going crazy. The boys from KGA were right – I need a separate mobile to call family members, Dick and Bob because my regular number is being accessed by most of the world’s journalists.

  I phone Dick, and Pip answers the phone and gets Dick.

  ‘Hi, Kellie. Isn’t it wonderful news?’

  ‘I wanted to call to make sure you knew, and say thank you again.’

  ‘Yes, I saw it on the early news, it’s great news.’

  ‘You will probably be bombarded soon by journalists, and I’m on my way to Sydney to do a press conference now, but we will talk throughout the day.’

  He hands me over to Pip, who is just as gorgeous as Dick – they are both amazing people. Pip is over the moon at our news, and expresses her feelings freely. It feels so wonderful to have such great people on our side.

  At KGA we get the latest run-down from Brian and Mike. There are hugs, kisses and high-fives all round when we arrive, and staff are buzzing around everywhere.

  The boys give me the updated version of the press release and I practise it a few times before we head off in a taxi for the press conference in front of the art gallery. They want Matt to say a few words as well, so they bring him up to speed on what to expect.

  The taxi drives through the park near the gallery, the number of reporters, TV vans and photographers is unbelievable. I feel like I might actually stop breathing. I can’t lose control, not now. I’ve come so far under so much stress, I just need to keep it together for a bit longer. I can cry later, all the way home in the car if need be.

  Brian is giving me instructions during the cab ride, but the din that occupies my brain blocks out his voice. The cab pulls up in front of the media mass, and Brian leads us over to the microphone pit, as I call it. He announces who we are and then hands it over to me.

  All the confidence I had built up during practice disappears. I start to cry and can’t get the words out. Matt is beside me whispering, ‘Kel, it’s okay, you’re okay,’ then someone from the pack says, ‘Take a breath and start again.’

  It’s 10 p.m. Friday night and I am emotionally exhausted. I have seen myself on television more times than I can count. I’ve heard my voice on the radio and hope I don’t sound like that in real life. Matt, Geoff and I are waiting for the word from Nairobi that they are on the plane and heading out of Somalia, then this ordeal will really finally be over.

  At 10.07 p.m. a text arrives from Nairobi.

  ‘Wheels r up.’

  Nicky

  Nairobi

  Thursday, 26 November

  We are up early to find out if the boys have Nige and Amanda. Sam is seriously pissed off. They had to pull in Major Saad to sort things out but they finally made it to the airport.

  Then it is wheels up.

  My brother is really coming home.

  We all go crazy when this call comes through. Mum had arrived safely and we start letting everyone know. We Skype Si, Kel and Ham. Si was at Ange’s place, which turns into the biggest party in Moore Park. Damn near every person driving past pulls in and started celebrating.

  Back in Nairobi the day marches on. The boys send through another wheels-up message.

  We decide to meet them at the hospital, and half an hour before landing time we all head off to gather in the family visitors’ area. Richard from the Canadian High Commission calls to say they’re leaving the airport. They have sent out another ambulance as a decoy.

  Next call, they’re at the roundabout. We all charge downstairs.

  Bunched around the side entrance, we hear them long before we see them.

  The consular cars come screaming in – holy shit, they’re travelling fast! There is a siren too. I can see Richard grinning as the car comes screeching to a halt. I swear they laid down rubber.

  Where is he? Where is he? My heart is hammering in my chest

  Amanda races past. It doesn’t register it’s her till she’s passed. Her hair is dark and in a long plait. She has glasses on which also throws me – I’ve only ever seen her with contacts. Ooooooh! ‘I think to myself in a kindergarten-telltale way. The boys are going to be in so much trouble with Lorinda. They forewarned Mum and me that Nigel was thin, but they haven’t warned Lorinda about how undernourished Amanda is. She was thin before but now she’s scrawny.

  And then I see him.

  His eyes are red pissholes in the snow. The grin splitting his long bushy beard is maniacal. It’s stretched right across his pale, gaunt face. His hair is really short and that’s surprising – whenever he’s had a beard in the past, it’s been long and scruffy. And there’s some definite balding going on up there.

  But it’s Nige and he’s here and he’s alive and he doesn’t look too fucked up. I’ve got a high-pitched ringing in my head, eerily similar to the white noise that I had during the very first call, the ransom call. How weird is that? Things have come full circle.

  Nige sees Mum at the door and wraps himself around her. I’m now crying hard. Not heaving sobs, but tears are streaming down my cheeks and there’s no way I can stop them. I’m licking salt off my lips not knowing if it’s from tears or snot.

  Nige lifts his head and sees me behind Mum.

  He holds his hand out and as I move towards him he gathers the fabric of my shirt at my shoulder and uses it to pull me towards him. He gathers me under his arm. He is thin, I can feel his ribs and hipbone. The three of us – Mum, Nige and me – cling to each other, crying in the doorway of the Aga Khan Hospital in a very tight embrace.

  Nigel

  Nairobi

  Late November

  Over the first few days in Nairobi I undergo a raft of medical examinations, being poked and prodded in a few tender places.

  I meet more people and at times it feels like my head is going to explode, the saturation of information and sensory overload is almost too much sometimes.

  I finally remove my beard, but insist that I keep my moustache – due to the fact that it’s Movember – much to Mum’s horror, but she’s h
appy to see I haven’t lost my sense of humour.

  I can’t believe what it’s like to listen to music – I ask the consular officials if they would bring in some CDs, and when I’m alone in the room I put on ‘My Happiness’ by Powderfinger.

  Listening intently to the words while I’m in the shower, I have a complete meltdown. I’m in tears, curled up in a ball on the floor almost having a panic attack, terrified that none of this is real, that I’m dreaming again.

  Then I start reassuring myself that I’m truly free, that no one can hurt us anymore and that I can begin my life again.

  Brennan family holiday at Diggers Camp, NSW, in the late ‘70s. Left to right: Nicky, Heather, Nigel, Ham, Matt and Geoff.

  The kids at Marlow in front of the old peppercorn tree with Nigel’s dog, Gopher. Left to right: Nigel, Matt, Nicky and Ham.

  Nigel and Amanda, exploring Queensland, during her visit to Australia.

  Moore Park, 2006. This photo was taken on Nigel’s return from Ethiopia, after he first met Amanda. Back row, left to right: Kellie, Heather, Simon, Amy, Geoff. Front row, left to right: Matt, Nicky, Ham, Nigel.

  Mogadishu, a beautiful coastal city devastated by decades of war.

  Somalia’s ongoing conflict has created a food shortage and a humanitarian crisis. Nigel took these photos only days before the kidnapping.

  The streets and faces of Mogadishu.

  Next of kin phone with instructions for Nic when talking with Adan. This photo was taken downstairs at the Moore Park house while the AFP was still there.

  DFATs proposed ‘lost-dog’ poster. Atticus, Nicky’s son, on seeing it exclaimed, ‘What is Uncle Nigel doing? He looks like someone has cut off his head and pasted it onto a stick.’