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

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.