Muhammad Ilham Malayu: Drugs took me somewhere I didn't want to go

Evi Mariani, The Jakarta Post, Jakarta

During his years of addiction, Muhammad Ilham Malayu experienced lots of "good trips" and "bad trips"; that is just about what his 50 years have given him: Good times and bad times, from a large embassy house with a garden in Pakistan to the largest maximum security prison in Thailand.

Now, six years after prison he got out of prison, he leads a new life as an antidrug activist who finds spiritual fulfillment in helping young addicts escape the incarceration of drugs.

His long, intermittent relationship with morphine, acid and heroin in the past has gained him respect from young drug addicts because he understands the pain of addiction. At the same time he gives them hope that, like himself, they might find a way out of their addiction.

He also understands the joy and hell that drugs can give to people.

"When I was young, I was curious about where drugs would take me," Ilham said, adding that some drugs could make works of art and songs more enjoyable, while others could boost one's confidence.

"But joy is only 5 percent of the effect. The remaining 95 percent is hell. One by one, anything you value in life crumbles; wealth, family, health, friends -- even life," he told The Jakarta Post. "Sometimes drugs took me somewhere I really didn't want to visit."

You had better believe Ilham. He knows what he is talking about.

A son of a diplomat, Ilham was born in Manila, the Philippines, in October 1954 and spent part of his childhood in Karachi, where his family of nine lived in a large house that needed eight domestic staff to run.

At eight, he saw falling snow for the first time in West Germany when he gazed up at the sky, letting the snowflakes fall onto his tiny face: "It was utterly cold, but delightful."

Later he reminisced about that happiness, writing a short story about his childhood while in prison.

Many might easily accuse him of being a "diplomatic brat" who had an easy life on his parents' money.

"In the 1970s I occasionally met Ilham when he joined our group on mountaineering expeditions," N. Palindih, an author, said. "He did not act like a spoiled child -- I didn't even know he was the son of a diplomat; he never brought it up."

Even so, Ilham belonged to a trendy group of long-haired, hippy-like, rock music devotees, Palindih told the Post in a phone interview.

In the 1970s, Jakarta, like other large cities in the world, experienced a wave of antiestablishment feeling and Ilham grew up in that milieu.

"I read Tolstoy, Kafka, Dostoyevsky. I listened to Bob Dylan and Jimmy Hendrix," Ilham said.

In France, he played music, walked in Paris past cafes with Edith Piaf crooning from a jukebox, and explored a vineyard.

Years later, life took him away from all these.

At 31, he watched in horror as fellow inmates in Thailand's maximum security Bang Kwang prison died after the most serious prison riot of that time.

With legs shackled to a three-kilogram chain, Ilham, along with 8,000 other inmates had to undergo punishment for the mutiny.

"We were locked up for three whole days ... only given red rice that still had dirt in it, stale vegetables and sometimes rancid fish known as pla rebet," Ilham wrote in his recently launched book of short stories, Chromatic Nostalgia.

Some of the inmates who had allegedly incited the riot were shot by snipers or beaten.

In 1984, Ilham was sentenced to 33 years and four months imprisonment by a Thai court for trying to traffic 80 grams of heroin from Don Muang Airport.

"I had been desperately hooked on heroin. I was in Paris, where the drug was so expensive. I was told that in Thailand heroin was much cheaper," he said.

In Thailand he experienced three overcrowded prisons, which he described as "not places for human beings".

The imprisonment separated him from his family in Paris, where he lived with his wife at that time, Frenchwoman Catherine Girault, and their five-year old son Kama Kelana.

"The most difficult thing was being far from my son who did not know I was in prison until six years later," he said.

Kama thought his father had abandoned him and did not want to see him anymore.

"When his mother took a photo of him to show to me, he deliberately scowled to show me he hated me for leaving him," Ilham said.

To retain his sanity while losing so much else, he wrote poems, some for Kama, and short stories about his previous happy life, mostly in English.

Twenty-six of his poems were recited by Indonesian celebrities at a charity performance titled "Survival of the Sanity (S.O.S)" in Jakarta in 2000.

"The fund was given to institutions working in the field of drug abuse," Ilham said.

After 15 years of imprisonment, when he thought he would die in jail, after his dreams "had become faded from too much washing and hanging", a warden at Klong Prem Central Prison, Bangkok, told him King Bhumibol Adulyadej had pardoned him for good behavior.

In his poem to King Bhumibol Adulyadej, who later invited Ilham to his birthday celebration on Dec. 5, 2000, he described the pardon as "heaven-sent".

"It was beyond delight. It was ... I couldn't describe it with words. I immediately got dressed, wearing only a shirt and shorts and left all my belongings in prison to fellow inmates," he said.

"There was a long corridor toward the prison exit, where inmates were not allowed to walk without guards, so I waited for them to escort me out," he said.

"No. You can walk out alone now -- you're a free man," a guard said to him.

And so he walked along the empty corridor, passing fellow inmates, waving them goodbye.

That was in 1999. It took only six years for Ilham to stand up and seize what he has now: A new family and spirituality, to name but a few.

"I find Ilham's story inspiring. People stumble and fall. We should not be ashamed unless we refuse to get up. Ilham fell and he did get up. That's inspiring," Palindih, who wanted to write a biography about Ilham, said.

"In Indonesia, attempts to tackle the drug problem are just not enough. That's why I think Ilham's efforts should be supported," Palindih added. "Sharing his story would be an inspiring move."

However, after reading Ilham's works, Palindih thought that it would be better if Ilham wrote his own story.

"His writing is good. If he writes the story himself, he could convey his emotions better than I," he said.

Ilham now works as an addiction counselor at the Recovery Center for Drug Abuse at Marzuki Mahdi Hospital, Bogor, West Java. He also hosts a radio talk show about drugs on Delta FM.

In 2003, he married Tini Hadju, who already had two daughters, thereby giving him a new family, after his divorce from Catherine in 2001.

He wrote in his second book, Spring on the Calendar, Autumn in My Heart: "Time has brought me this far. A journey never to end ... I'm thankful for these blessings that never cease to guide me. I was and am never alone."

"I'm really thankful to my brothers, sisters and friends. They helped me a lot after prison," Ilham told the Post.

Although he can be considered to be in much better circumstances now, there are still things he wants to do.

"I want to record a blues album with my friends," he said. "I've seen a lot of sadness in society."

"That's why I'd like to play the blues -- it's obvious," he said, smiling.