Fery looks forward to the future

Tiarma Siboro, Jakarta

Fery Santoro has come to terms with the months he spent as a hostage of the Free Aceh Movement (GAM), and does not feel any resentment nor regret for his ordeal.

Born in Purworejo, Central Java, on Feb. 18, the 36-year-old has only taken the brighter side of his recent predicament, and it seems nothing angers him except for one thing: that nearly one year was taken away from him, time he could have spent with his family and toward his career as a television cameraman.

The costly and devastating experience of being held captive by GAM guerrillas and losing a friend and colleague, RCTI reporter Sori Ersa Siregar -- who was tragically killed by the Indonesian Military (TNI) in a crossfire -- has woken him to the realization that life and simply being alive are precious.

"There was nothing that I could do (when Ersa was shot), except to surrender to God and keep on believing that He, with His unconditional love, would not leave me," said Fery, whose skin is darker from exposure and who has lost at least 17 kilograms.

Good-natured and composed, Fery has passed the point where his life was tried and tested in the deep jungle hideouts of the GAM fighters. Escaping bullets from fierce gunfights between the guerrillas and TNI soldiers was a daily exercise. He was basically forced, by the nature of survival, to be like them.

It all began on June 29 last year when Fery, Ersa, two Acehnese women Cut Farida and Cut Soraya and local driver Rachmatsyah were on their way to a refugee camp. The entourage was intercepted by GAM on the road connecting Peureulak and Langsa in eastern Aceh.

It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, as GAM was on the lookout for Jakarta-based journalists who were part of the TNI's media program. The journalists had undergone special training for covering the war zone as embedded journalists.

To compound the situation, the women were the wives of Indonesian Air Force officers.

"I never thought that giving a ride to these Acehnese women would endanger myself. No one understood that these women had asked us for a ride to go to a refugee camp in Peureulak because they wanted to give food and clothes to the refugees," he said.

The separatists took them to a remote area and interrogated them one by one. The situation was immediately clarified, but that did not mean freedom for the five. The commander, Ishak Daud, told them that their release would likely take more time, because "the situation is getting worse outside there and we do not want to let you go before the right time".

Fery had never expected to confront such drastic changes in his daily life and feared what was to come.

He did not understand what Ishak meant, but he guessed it was all about the government's integrated operation.

"It was Ersa who comforted me. He even advised me to kill the time by writing everything that we felt in a diary," Fery said, adding that the rebels allowed them each to have a book, so they could write their experiences during their time as hostages.

"I wasn't as sentimental as Ersa. He was so expressive, he wrote in the book that he truly wished to see his eldest son grown up and that he wanted his wife to do anything she could to send their three children to school.

"I sometimes joked with Ersa, saying that we were going to write in hundreds of books because we were not going to be freed and Ersa was angry...," he recalled.

His captors also gave him clothes after his were worn out and a pair of sandals in place of his tattered shoes. The GAM guerrillas were also his best instructors in teaching him how to survive gunfights. He was usually told to lie down and crawl into mud or a swamp until it was safe enough for them to run away.

"As a hostage, of course, I didn't have any other choice than to follow the guerrillas' commands. I couldn't scream for help from the soldiers in hope that they would recognize me as a civilian hostage. I was scared the soldiers might think I was one of the guerrillas, anyway."

Food and water was always scarce, as the guerrillas preferred to carry firearms instead of meal rations, and they drank water from nearby rivers.

"It looked so good, it made you feel like you had drank a glass of hot chocolate," Fery said.

"So I thanked God if I could eat a plate of rice with a piece of salted fish once a day -- this seemed to be the guerrillas' daily fare, beside cigarettes."

But the most painful episode came in February, when he got sick, and the rebels had no rice to cook. Fery's condition was deteriorating.

"My high fever made me wake up frequently in the middle of the night and hear delirious sounds of bullets firing. When I realized that it was only a dream, I laid back down on the mattress and thought that this might be the end of me. I was so depressed and suddenly remembered my wife and son. I missed them; I missed my home. I missed everything and eagerly wanted to eat meals cooked by my wife," Fery said, smiling at his wife.

"At the time, I also wondered whether I still had friends outside who would do anything to help release me. Did people outside still remember me? Deep down inside, I believed that my friends would continue facilitating negotiations between the military and the rebels, but I couldn't help my doubts."

The guerrillas cured him, treating him with medicinal plants and herbs they found in the jungle.

Now, as he breathes the air of freedom, there are many things that Fery wants to do, including writing a book or perhaps even making a movie on "anything that I think will be useful for journalists in covering conflicts across the nation". But before that, he wants to take some time to heal.

Asked whether he was still dreaming about Aceh, Fery replied, smiling, "I really want to return to Aceh -- but as a free man, as an independent journalist."