THE NEXT morning, the military began its "probing" operations. It had rejected our request to cover the offense, and had cordoned off the surrounding area where the hostages were being held. But public transport loaded with civilians could come and go and it was pretty simple for us to just hide our cameras in boxes, wear scarves around our faces and pretend to sleep as the vehicles we were riding went through checkpoints. We tried to sleep in a schoolhouse three kilometers from the Abu Sayyaf camp, amid the sounds of sporadic shooting of small arms and mortar fire.

The next day, we attempted to get nearer the camp but were met by the same colonel who had been first shown the cameraman's footage of the Abu Sayyaf. The officer told us to turn back. When we asked him about the gunfire we had heard the night before, he said there was no gunfire and again told us to leave. He added that he had ordered his men to shoot on sight anyone in their area of operations, including journalists. It was damn easy anyway, the colonel said, to make up a story to cover up our deaths.

Two days later, another local TV station was able to get video footage of the hostages huddled under mortar and machine gun fire. As a consequence, the military was told to stop its operations and pull back. Manila was also sending Presidential Adviser on Economic Affairs Robert Aventajado to Jolo. Misuari decided to join him there.

One morning, Misuari announced that Renate Wallert would be released. He took Aventajado, truckloads of armed men and all the journalists he could find for a ride. He showed everyone a bridge that he was building and a hotel that had been under construction for years. When his captive audience asked about the hostages, he denied every saying anything about any release.

Misuari left Jolo soon after this. Aventajado continued working with local officials, represented by Sulu Governor Abdul Sakur Tan and former Libyan Ambassador Rajab Azzarouq. They held press conferences every afternoon and even issued press accreditation cards that said, "Government negotiating panel for the Sulu hostage problem…PRESS." Filipinos got cards in yellow while the foreigners got theirs in red.

By this time, the foreign journalists were coming in by the planeloads, jacking up prices of food and accommodations. It didn't take long before the foreign journalists were themselves being kidnapped. A jeepload of French journalists were taken, and then released without ransom - and without their TV equipment. It was about this time that the Abu Sayyaf decided to rename itself "Al-Rakatul Islamiah." It also said it was not a group of bandits but of rational armed men fighting for a legitimate cause.

ON MAY 26, I went with ABS-CBN cameraman Val Cuenca and his wife, researcher Maan Macapagal, to another Abu Sayyaf camp in Jolo, in Patikul. Cuenca and Macapagal had contacts within the group and had invited me to go with them because I had previously gone to an Abu Sayyaf camp.

We left in the afternoon and arrived at the camp before sunset, just in time to see the Finnish hostages and Loisy grilling fish beside their hut. Walking a bit further, we saw the Strydoms retrieving their laundry from a clothesline hung between trees. With them was Renate's son Mark Wallert and his girlfriend, Marie Moarbes, a Lebanese. The other hostages were preparing their meal of dried fish and rice. They all looked tired and weak, and ate with their hands. The Abu Sayyaf allowed us to shoot footage and interview the hostages. We were also invited to spend the night.

I met up with the Strydoms like we were long-lost friends. I knew from the previous visit that Monique was pregnant and asked about her condition. She became sad and said she may have lost the baby, and to please not tell anyone because it might complicate their situation. (Later, a national daily paper would claim she hadn't been pregnant to start with.) We talked about their work. She said she was into desktop publishing while Callie worked for a bank. Monique also said there had been clashes among the hostages because of the lack of space and cultural and language differences. This was why the Asians were now separated from the Westerners.

The Finnish hostages complained to Robot that one of the Abu Sayyaf had opened their mail and taken an enclosed $100. The hostages needed money so they could ask couriers to buy them food. I decided to leave all the money I had with the Filipina hostage. She had been receiving marriage proposals from some of the kidnappers and was very, very scared. One of the Malaysians asked me to slip him some money as well.

I was told one that every day, one of the hostages would break down and start crying or screaming. But Commander Robot seemed to be in good spirits. He took my scarf, which I used to wipe my sweat, and wound it round his head. He then asked me to photograph him while he was praying.

Robot said they were mujahideens, that they respected the Geneva Convention and would not harm civilians, journalists and medical personnel. He played a tape recording of the camp being attacked by the military, prompting Renate Wallert to start crying. Her husband and son pleaded with Robot to stop the tape as she had been traumatized by the attack. But Robot said she was just acting up. He said Renate did that every time anyone from media was around but was otherwise in good shape. He next played a tape of Arabic songs, which he said the mujahideen listen to in times of battle.

I slept in the balcony between the Abu Sayyaf ideological leader, Mujib Susukan, and Robot and his AK-47. It was a cold night, so they gave me a smelly army jacket that I dared not shove away. Cuenca and Macapagal stayed in the hut with one of the other commanders. Throughout the night, I could hear screams from the hostages suffering from nightmares.

I kept my shoes on as the hostages had warned me that once I removed them, I'd never see them again. But when I was about to leave the next morning, one of the commanders suggested I leave my shoes behind. When I refused, he said that since I was so attached to my shoes, why don't I just stay behind with them? I walked out wearing a pair of sandals that had belonged to one of the commanders. I discarded the footwear as soon as I was out of sight; I didn't want to take the risk of imbibing the commander's bad vibes.

Before noon of the same day, I flew to Zamboanga. I stayed long enough to transmit my pictures to Singapore. Then I took the last plane to Manila and by dinnertime, I was ordering pasta and lemonade in a noisy restaurant.

At about the same time the night before, I had been sitting on the steps of a hut in the Abu Sayyaf camp, chatting with Monique and Callie Strydom. Monique had told me, "It's such a beautiful country. We would bathe in the waterfall just 20 minutes from here. When we first arrived at this camp, it was so beautiful we actually asked the rebels not to cut down the trees for firewood and to pick up their litter. They just laughed."

We talked about dogs, South African wine and Apple computers. I said I hated the fact that I've met them and that now they were more than pictures and names in news reports but that I couldn't do much for them. They said they didn't envy my job because of what I have to cover. Then I told them I would see them soon once they were released. Their reply was heartbreaking: "That's what you said the last time and we're still here."

As I write this, Renate Wallert has been home in Germany for sometime now, and the Malaysians and the Filipina have been released. I've heard ransom was paid for each of them. The rest were supposed to be freed in mid-August, but the Abu Sayyaf changed its mind. Cuenca and Macapagal were themselves kidnapped in July, but have since been released. Me, I've been busy covering other stories in other parts of Asia, including Westerners dancing half-naked under a full moon in the beaches of Koh Phangan, Thailand. I have been told the Jolo story no longer holds interest for much of the world.

But we who were there still talk about what it was like. Just recently, I bumped into a Serbian colleague who was also in Jolo. This was someone who had seen everything, but he told me, "That place was absolutely crazy."



Copyright © 2000 All rights reserved.
PHILIPPINE CENTER FOR INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISM