by Lee Barnett
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Frankfurt, Germany. Please remain seated until the captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign.’
I considered the hundreds of times I’d recited almost exactly those words and wondered if any fugitives had been on my flights. And if so, what had they been running from? And had they been as scared as I now was? I knew that our future and my daughter’s safety depended on how I managed the next several minutes in not drawing attention to myself.
‘Sweetie,’ I whispered, ‘it’s time to wake up.’ Her groggy eyes opened and seeing me, a huge smile filled her beautiful face. The two of us snuggled quietly. At last the door opened, the fasten seatbelt sign was turned off and people jumped from their seats to claim their carry-ons. Then the PA crackled with a last-second announcement – first in German then in English – ‘Passenger Alexandria Maria Canton and child, please remain on board.’
I felt nauseous and tried to control my shaking. I dry-heaved into the sick bag. People turned to look, clearly the announcement was about us. I dabbed my mouth and sweaty forehead yet still couldn’t manage my fear or my shaking. Panic made me feel like a caged animal but the only way out was at the nose of the plane. I ran through all the possible scenarios: I would be arrested; my daughter would be given to those who wished her harm; I would be locked away in a mental institution. My thoughts raced on and on. I wanted to shout, to cry out and run, but was paralysed with fear – and clearly out of options.
I waited until the plane was nearly empty then reached for the baby bag under the seat. I dropped it and the plastic cylinder of baby wipes – and all my money hidden within it – rolled under the seat. As I scrambled to retrieve it, my knees gave way. I closed my eyes.
Get a grip, Lee. Slow, deep breaths …
I tried again and had the baby wipes and bag. Standing once again, I reached into the overhead compartment for the stroller, slid the baby bag up onto my right shoulder, and rested my most valuable possession on my left hip. We started walking. I had taken so long I passed the cleaners who seemed to stop and stare.
At the door were three uniformed Delta Airline agents. They smiled at Savanna and me. It’s funny how seconds seem like minutes in a moment of panic or emergency. I glanced down the jet-way, anticipating a posse of law enforcement officials waiting to snatch Savanna from my arms. Nothing … just three smiling ladies, baby talk and adoring eyes. I knew then that I had a prize bargaining tool. And just as I was about to beg them to look the other way while we passed, one of them spoke. ‘We were told there was a mother travelling alone with a baby. Do you have a lot of luggage, ma’am? We’re here to help.’
‘Oh …’ I said, confused and introduced myself as Alex and Savanna as Nic. In my six years with USAir not once had I been asked to help a passenger with their luggage, even if that passenger was in dire need, and so I still thought it might be a trap, that they were waiting until I got off the plane so they could nab me inside the airport without a fight.
Outnumbered, and with no escape, I had no choice but to follow this smiling trio. I scanned the concourse but still saw no police. Savanna itched to stretch her legs and the three women took turns holding her hand and keeping an eye on her. One of them asked where I was going next. I told them Paris, which was true, and then gave them an explanation, which was not. ‘Yes, my husband is working with the embassy, and we’re meeting him there.’ They all nodded.
The next hurdle was immigration. When we finally got there the lines, especially for non-German citizens, were incredibly long. We looked at one another and one of the younger attendants suggested they take us through the crew line. ‘It will be much faster,’ she said. I held my breath not believing my ears. But they all agreed. As we passed through, I remember noticing how white my knuckles were. I fiddled with the baby bag and kept my head down and when I next looked up, I saw we’d made it … zipped straight through!
While waiting for our luggage I detoured to the bathroom. I pushed the stroller into the handicapped toilet, locked the door and slid down it to a crouch. I put my hand against my mouth to stop the combination of hysterical laughter and scream. Savanna looked at me quizzically and I hugged her tight. I didn’t need any more proof. I knew that this sequence of events was being guided by a force much more powerful than me. For the third time in the past twenty-four hours we had been saved, and I like to think it was by my guardian angel, better known to my brothers and I as ‘Daden’, my father.
The three ladies were waiting for us with our bags and asked again where we were travelling to. ‘Paris, by train,’ I replied, and they offered to walk us to the station and help us catch the correct train. Once there they would stay with us until they were sure Savanna and I were safely on the train. That remarkable incident from landing to being put on the train taught me a very valuable life lesson: ‘Don’t say anything to anyone until you are sure of what they want.’
The six-hour train ride was a tremendous contrast to the claustrophobic flight and Savanna made full use of it, running up and down the aisle, making new friends at every seat. Towards the end of the journey I had our passports ready and, after watching the officer with the other passengers, knew all was routine procedure.
Checking into our closet-sized hotel room near the airport gave Savanna the chance to play happily in the tiny space, using all our luggage as a jungle gym. I had decided not to waste any time getting our tickets to Malaysia even though one-way tickets there for the next day were $3000. Waiting a few more days wouldn’t make the price any cheaper so I sighed and handed over the money.
I had chosen Malaysia because about six years earlier, family friends had hosted a dinner party where the couple’s daughter and son-in-law had just returned from living there and had mesmerised us with their stories. They told us how friendly the people were and how English was widely spoken, how cheap the cost of living was and how stunning the seaside environment was, but more importantly no one would ever suspect Savanna and me of going there.
The morning before we boarded our next flight, I wrote in Savanna’s diary about how lucky we had been so far, but also about another change that she would have to get used to:
I made the decision for your new name. It’s been such a difficult decision because I love the name Savanna, but now that name is impossible to keep, and it will only draw attention to us. Before you were born, I also loved the name Samantha. I remember calling your uncle Cliff, who is a veterinarian, and telling him, ‘I’m thinking about naming her Samantha,’ and he said, ‘NOOOO!’ Every one of his clients who were cat owners called their cats Samantha. I still love it (even if it is a cat name), and it sounds a lot like Savanna. I want to make the transition as easy for you as I can … so, Samantha it is.
After about nine hours on the plane from Paris, we landed. People started to disembark and I asked the nice businessman next to me, Frank, to hold Samantha while I gathered our things, then said goodbye. Inside the airport I struggled to find my way to immigration, then I heard an announcement for a last call to board the flight to Malaysia at Gate 4. How could that be? I wondered. I just got out at Gate 4! I ran to the first official I could find and he told me I had just landed in Bombay, India!
It was a relief to be safely back on board. Frank thought my mistake was hilarious and reached for Samantha. He explained we still had to stop in Bangkok before Kuala Lumpur and asked where we were staying. I randomly chose a motel’s name from The Rough Guide. He shook his head and after I rattled off a few alternatives, he thought one might do. After saying goodbye to Frank a second time he gave me his business card and touched my arm. ‘I want you to know that you’ve done an amazing job so far in raising your son. He is incredible!’
Even though we sailed through immigration at Kuala Lumpur, I was a nervous wreck until I heard the familiar thumping of the officals stamp on our passports. Once we collected our luggage we caught a taxi that crept along the motorway at a snail’s pace, giving us a chance to see the kaleidoscope of colours
, sounds, smells and energy that radiated from this major metropolis. Samantha cheered with delight at the illuminated buildings and music around us. I too was astonished by the city’s diversity – of its people, sure, and its architecture, a kooky mix of ultra-modern skyscrapers, centuries-old colonial mansions, shacks and street stalls. And oh, the mouth-watering smells!
We checked in, dumped our stuff and raced back onto the street to experience KL on foot. It was after 10 p.m., but there were people everywhere. We came upon a luxurious mall around seven storeys high made of glass and marble. We stepped through the automatic doors and left the noise of the streets behind us. Samantha immediately wanted to ride the escalators, which we did until we reached the sixth floor where we discovered a children’s playground filled with kids. Samantha jumped right in with all the children. It was then that I noticed she was the only child with a bald head covered in fluffy white fuzz.
The next morning I rented a safety deposit box and once my cash was safely stored we did a little window-shopping. That same day a crown came off one of my teeth. There I was in the middle of KL holding my, thankfully, intact crown looking blindly around for help. I asked at a shop where I might find a dentist and the Chinese shopowner smiled and took us out the back and pointed to a rickety Dentist sign, with an arrow pointing up some even more rickety stairs. His cousin was a dentist on the floor above. He glued the crown back on and it cost a couple of dollars!
The next week was spent looking for apartments. We were taken to see one on Jalan Ipoh, a major road, and although the area didn’t seem to be the best, my guide Linham assured me there was good security and that he and his family lived right next door. We followed him into a three-storey, tiled, clean and sparsely furnished condo. It was more than okay and more than we could want. Samantha loved the stairs, of course, and started her sandcrab crawl up to the top. Linham also told me that we would be the only expats and would have the pool to ourselves as Malaysians didn’t really use it.
Now that we had somewhere to live, I reckoned that after two weeks of running, and months of pain, Sammy and I needed some time to rebuild our lives before we began our new chapter together. I settled on Tioman Island. It was where South Pacific was filmed and its coral reefs and tropical rainforests reminded me of Belize. We arrived the day after Samantha’s first birthday and it was perfect: a cluster of rustic shacks on the beach with an open dining area where we ate most of our meals. Everyone was helpful and everyone loved Samantha. The sheer joy they got out of rubbing her head was hilarious. The locals would double over in laughter while they moved their hands over her smooth head, giggling, whispering, ‘Botak, botak.’ I wondered if it was similar to westerners rubbing Buddha’s belly. Was it supposed to bring good luck? When it kept happening, I asked what the word meant.
‘No hair,’ they told me.
‘Bald?’ I asked.
Yes, they nodded. Bald.
As well as being an instant mascot with all the resort workers, she was an irresistible attraction for the many monkeys that roamed the beach. Their curiosity was such that they would sneak up on Samantha while she was building her sandcastles, stop just a metre away from her, then sit and stare, nothing more. It was only when she got up and chased after them clanging her bucket and spade that they finally, reluctantly, moved.
Samantha quickly started to master swimming and every free minute we had was spent in the pool. One weekend we were invited to a party to celebrate the first birthday of a neighbour’s daughter. It’s an interesting tradition with working families in Malaysia that after a woman gives birth they hand the baby over to the grandmother to raise, sometimes in a village far away, which allows both mother and father to work full time. It is also common to have a huge celebration for the baby’s first birthday with its natural mother. This particular party had amazing food and beer, and everyone was having a wonderful time. My little angel was playing on the large step in the pool, which was now filled with children. About an hour into the party, I saw a boy about nine years old pulling another much younger boy face down through the water to the pool’s edge. Everyone ran over and lifted the boy out of the water and laid him on his back. He was not breathing. I didn’t want to intrude but after a few seconds, which felt like hours, no one was helping the boy and his mother was cradling his limp body. I pushed forward and took the boy from his mother, laid him down and started CPR. Within a minute the boy had started to cough and spit out water. Everyone’s relief was palpable. The father then picked up the boy and carried him towards his car.
‘Hospital?’ I asked.
‘No, home.’
I shook my head vigorously. ‘No, he needs hospital.’
The boy, still in his father’s arm, started choking again. I asked my neighbour to watch Sammy and took the boy from his father, adjusting him in my arms with his face to the ground. With charade-type motions and simple words I insisted we go to the hospital. Foamy water seeped from his nose and mouth on the way there and once we arrived he was rushed into emergency. Even so, the state of the hospital was appalling, just so unbelievably run-down. A Chinese doctor asked us what had happened, then returned a couple of hours later to say that the boy seemed to be recovering; however, some of his functions were not yet normal and he still had fluid in his lungs. I asked him if this was a typical hospital and he nodded. Then I asked him why, out of all the people at that party, I was the only one who knew CPR. Most Malaysians had no idea about CPR, he explained. On my taxi ride home I started to wonder whether I had made a mistake moving my baby daughter here where access to proper emergency medical care was not up to par.
On our first weekend trip to Singapore, Samantha and I travelled by car with our neighbour Ann. When at immigration an officer started to yell at me in Cantonese, Ann came to my rescue in translating the woman’s rants. ‘She says your baby’s passport was never stamped when you entered the country three months before!’ ‘What?’ I said, ‘That is impossible: I heard the stamps.’ But she was right. Somehow Samantha’s passport was not stamped. After a lot of arguing, the officer finally conceded and stamped the passport. No doubt my guardian angle was working overtime, as this meant there was no record of mother and child entering the country together for over three months!
I was lucky enough to get a job really quickly with a Chinese media firm and was given two publications to oversee, the International Herald Tribune and Newsweek magazine. We also found a live-in Filipina nanny, Lady, who took great care of Sammy while I worked. Things were pretty good for a while until my boss told me that she needed documents for my work permit. ‘What documents?’ I asked. Birth certificate (check), passport (check), and university degree (oh no!).
I asked if she could put them off for a couple of weeks as I needed to send off for my degree.
Shit! Shit! How was I going to conjure up a university degree out of thin air? I hadn’t completed my course at Auburn. After much thinking about this I could only come up with one possible solution and it was a stretch. I called Auburn University and said I was Nancy Stevens, Dr Cliff Barnett’s secretary and that Dr Barnett, a graduate of Auburn’s veterinarian school was presenting a paper in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, and needed a copy of his undergraduate degree at once. ‘Wouldn’t he want a copy of his doctorate?’ the receptionist countered. I knew not to oversell this and said that the undergraduate degree would suffice, but to make sure it had all the proper headings and seals. ‘The fancier the better for Asia,’ I explained.
Ultimately once I changed the names and made a copy, I realised a copy wasn’t good enough, as it wouldn’t have an original raised seal. I walked right into the US Embassy to have the degree certified as a true and official document.
Since the embassy bombing in Lima and attack on New York’s World Trade Center in early 1993, security had been heightened at all US embassies. I had a long wait during which I faced a wall with many many photos of people who were wanted and people who were missing. I almost forgot to breathe as I scanned each and ev
ery one of them, but I couldn’t see any of myself or Samantha. At last I was directed to the consul notary’s office where I handed over my doctored copy of the degree and my passport – my passport that surely by now the FBI was aware of. A minute or two later the notary asked if I would like a gold clamp to hold the papers together and make it more official, I smiled and said yes please. Grabbing my official-looking document I high-tailed it out of there.
But in spite of clearing that hurdle, as the months passed, several other things started to happen to make me reconsider our lives in Malaysia. It was a deep and painful absence, and not having similar cultural connections and touchstones over time made things harder. Added to that, I started to struggle a little financially; my pay didn’t always come on time, and after a while I had to let Lady go, although she still lived with us and babysat on occasion. Also around this time, gifts of beer and chocolate started showing up at our door and it didn’t take long to work out they were coming from our married landlord and next-door neighbour, Linham. He had also started saying inappropriate things that made me more uncomfortable by the day. We needed a new plan.
I had met Dan, an Australian who worked for another media company, and I shared our secret with him. He offered us a place to stay in Australia with friends of his but the security checks for Australia were tight. I felt we needed to be able to slip in somewhere undetected, and decided South Africa was a better bet for that. I had met many South Africans over the years and liked them, and of course my stalwart friend Gordon was from there. From all accounts, too, the country was relatively inexpensive. So with $3000 left to our name, on 24 November 1994, we boarded an aircraft for Cape Town, South Africa.
15
Brisbane Women’s Correctional Centre
Queensland, Australia
2014