96 - Jail Time (Kathmandu Central Jail, Nepal)
I WENT TO PRISON. I couldn’t help it. Curiosity overwhelmed me. An English couple I met in Sumatra suggested I do so. They’d visited a French prisoner incarcerated for drug distribution on a bizarre tourist recommendation whim. Kathmandu Central Prison allows anyone to visit foreign convicts regardless of connection or relevance. Need a “shits and giggle” diversion? Knock yourself out.
I was on the verge of a trek through the Helambu/Langtang region when I reconnected with part of my Sun Kosi rafting crew, two brothers named Alex and Nick. They, along with a friend from England, had just returned from an extensive hike through the Himalayas (Three Passes Trek). Prison is always more fun with chums, so I suggested we go together. They were as enthusiastic as I.
According to Miss Manners, visiting random strangers in lockup without bearing gifts is bullshit. We went with old faithful—Marlboro Reds. At check-in, all are required to surrender cameras, cell phones, and just about everything else. Then, it’s a quick pat-down followed by a short stroll to a room containing a list of foreign inmates. Malaysia, China, Holland, France, Germany, Poland, and America made the cut. Offenses included fraud, murder, rape, immigration violations (passport, visa, etc.), and drug possession. Pick name. Start party.
Yes, the situation was downright surreal. Inmates as a tourist attraction? There’s a lot wrong there. Was I ambivalent? You bet your ass I was, long before I arrived. The Brits in Indonesia said the gentleman they spoke with was thrilled for company. I tried to put myself in the same position and concluded I’d welcome any distraction, even a visit from a curious dipshit American. And so, I persevered, settling on a Geraine Bush from Texas detained on a “passport issue.” This bolstered my nerve as checking on the status of a fellow American was ample justification. And, who knows, maybe I could help. And yet, the name screamed “red flag.” Last name “Bush” from Texas? Um, ‘kay.
So, it was off to the woman’s prison, located around the corner and down a side road. I waited outside the modest, if not dilapidated, brick wall serving as the gateway. The doorless entrance led to a small foyer comprising the whole of the visiting area. At the rear was a door leading to the cell block. After a brief wait, I was ushered to sit. This “room” was nothing more than bench seating constructed of bricks facing each other. In between was a three-foot-high brick partition with a green iron grate to the ceiling. The porous grating had space to reach through.
I sat scrunched together with ten others. To my immediate right was a middle-aged woman and on the left two young female children, all Nepalese. The children were waiting for their mother, a woman who appeared minutes later. While waiting, I was mesmerized by the interaction between the free and the damned. And then it struck me—if I didn’t know better, it would’ve been impossible to discern which side was which. The cons wore civilian clothing and carried on as if all were normal. Although the female inmates were of varying ages (teens to upper fifties), there was no sense of desperation or despair. The atmosphere was relaxed if not borderline sedate. It could’ve been polite conversation among friends over tea. In fact, most inmates drank tea purchased for them from a female chai-wallah (vendor). I had no idea how long those women had been there, would be there, or what crime they had committed. Qualms dissipated in the relaxed ether.
Geraine Bush wasn’t what I expected, though, admittedly, I didn’t know what to expect. I did have some vague vision of a young star-crossed Texan in the wrong place at the wrong time or as a victim of unfortunate circumstances. The former was out, but the latter seemed apropos on a few levels. I couldn’t place her from an ethnic standpoint, my best guess being of Asian subcontinent origin (India, Nepal, Sri Lanka, etc.). She had a darker complexion, short black hair, and appeared to be in her late twenties, early thirties. Her syntax and diction indicated a background in North American English, but the accent was foreign. If she was from Texas, I was from Atlantis.
We exchanged “hellos” and thus began my trip down the rabbit hole… waaay down. She claimed to be the daughter of a German woman and American man. She, like her mother before her, was a soldier in the US Army. Her orders brought her to India where, as a representative of the US government, she was tasked to facilitate the sale of fissile materials to her Indian counterparts. This didn’t sit well with her conscience, such transactions being contrary to UN rules governing the exchange of nuclear materials. Hurried speech and erratic timelines blunted my comprehension, but, as I understood it, she refused orders to pass over the material and was detained, then drugged by Indian intelligence. Somehow she was released. No passport. No identification. MI5 (British intelligence) supplied her with new documents, thus allowing her to enter Nepal without a visa. Um, ‘kay, that makes sense. This explained her detention—illegal immigration. What happened to her MI5 replacement papers? Dunno, and I sure as hell couldn’t ask. Believe me, this was the rapid-fire round.
Before incarceration, she consulted State Department employees at the US Embassy, but they refused aid unless she apologized and withdrew her complaints to the United Nations and the Atomic Energy Commission. Apologies to whom, you ask? The Indian government, for starters. And also to Bobby Jindal, the then governor of Louisiana. Yep. Not only did she file against the Indian government for the illegal purchase of nuclear material, sexual harassment, and mistreatment, she accused Jindal of complicity in the 911 attacks (i.e. assisting Al Qaeda). She assured me there was proof. Um, ‘kay.
The United States was out, but British intelligence was onboard. Britain was fed up with international terrorism, especially as it pertained to its aviation industry. Terrorists had recently hijacked two civilian airliners and flown them to Ireland. MI5 kept a lid on it, ergo the conspicuous lack of headlines. So, why did they extend aid in India but not Nepal? No clue. What about friends and family? Dead end. All her contacts’ phones had been disconnected, including her mother’s. Foul play? You bet your ass. She mentioned her father, but I believe he refused to help… I think.
The price of freedom? The equivalent of five hundred US dollars. Five hundred smackers for illegal entry? A king’s ransom in the developing world but a modest sum overall, no? Was this fare set by statute or greed? Who knows, but she didn’t have it or any means to acquire it… almost. She did own a laptop the Nepali government “suggested” she sell. This was unthinkable. Even if she agreed, how the hell could she do it from inside? And technically, it wasn’t hers as it contained classified documents belonging to Uncle Sam. Also, it could be used to launch missiles, so there’s that. Sell the laptop, commit treason. And if she were released, then what? No visa. No money. No chance. Without US government support, it was a shit creek/no paddle scenario.
I feared where this was headed, but my concerns were unfounded. She never asked me for a goddamn thing. I mentioned I had to go, passed the cigarettes, then rose to depart. (Her time was up anyway.) She behaved as if we’d just had a gab session on her front porch and understood I had to be on my way. She thanked me for coming and left. I had to question reality. Had I just walked through a wormhole?
This woman was a delusional schizophrenic, a pathological liar, or both. The experience was so bizarre, I nearly lost sight of the tragic aspects of her predicament. Despite her devil-may-care attitude, she was in serious shit. Kathmandu Prison isn’t Club Med, and I’m positive the conditions are deplorable. If she was mentally divergent, Geraine belonged elsewhere. I did feel pangs of compunction, but, in the end, there was little I could do. I retreated with my head spinning, a confused blob of conspiracy theories and spy novel scenarios.
And what of my companions? They chose a murderer (French), a rapist (Dutch), and another immigration “victim” (French). Why choose violent offenders, you ask? Good question. Arrests aren’t convictions. We discussed the possibility of false accusations in a corrupt criminal justice system. Extorting expats isn’t unheard of, so we adopted the “innocent until proven guilty” attitude.
The Dutch rapist (Hendrik Otto Molhuysen) refused to engage. “Why would I talk to you,” he asked through the bars. Fair enough. He retreated without entering the visiting area. You’d think any chance to get away would’ve been welcomed enthusiastically. Nope, but with good reason as it turns out. “Rape” referred to the sexual assault of homeless children at a center he was running. (We discovered this later.) He was a 61-year-old monster preying on the weak and forgotten. No wonder he spurned visits. Fuuuuuck him.
Nepal court convicts 'Bikini killer' Charles Sobhraj of second murder
A court in Nepal has convicted a notorious alleged serial killer, Charles Sobhraj, of a second murder.
18 September 2014
Sobhraj, a French citizen, has been sentenced to 20 years in jail for the 1975 murder in Kathmandu of Canadian tourist Laurent Carriere…READ MORE
It’s a Secret: My Time with Charles Sobhraj, the Bikini Killer
September 5, 2014, 1:00am
By Gary Indiana
I often speculated that the Bikini Killings were a twisted, homoerotic death ritual triggered by amphetamine psychosis. I wanted to suggest this to the Bombay police, but since I was on speed myself, I decided that wasn't the best idea… One night in the winter of 1983, shortly before I left for Bangkok to work on a movie, a friend told me about a serial murderer known as the "Bikini Killer,"…READ MORE
And what of the murderer, a man named Charles Sobhraj? This visit was cut short as well, owing to an incoming call from family. Just enough time to claim innocence (as in detained, found guilty, and sentenced without a trial) and leave. I theorize once he discovered my friend was only a curious tourist looking to practice his French skills and not a member of the media or other well-known journalist, he decided it wasn’t worth his time. Why? Because Sobhraj happened to be the notorious serial killer known as “The Serpent” or “Bikini Killer.” We had no clue. He was chosen on a whim, mostly because of his French citizenship. Imagine my shock when I Googled the sick bastard.
His rap sheet is extensive and includes theft, fraud, and serial murder across Asia and beyond. The Hollywood script writes itself, peppered with twists and turns worthy of crime fiction. So, it’s no surprise besides four biographies, three documentaries, and a Bollywood film, Netflix, in conjunction with the BBC, produced an eight-part series titled The Serpent. He’s suspected of murdering at least a dozen (and as many as twenty-four) people between 1972-76, two of which he’s still serving a life sentence for—Laurent Carrière, 26 (from Canada), and Connie Bronzich, 29 (from the U.S.).
Sobhraj is a fame whore. After twenty years in an Indian prison, he returned to France to cultivate his celebrity. He hired an agent, charged exorbitant sums for interviews and photographs, and sold the rights (allegedly five million dollars) for a movie based on his life. And then, for some inexplicable reason, he returned to Nepal where he was still wanted for murder. A journalist identified him at a casino and he was soon arrested. He’s never explained this blatant act of unadulterated stupidity. He continued to rot in a Nepalese prison until recently. In light of his age, deteriorating health, and good behavior, Sobhraj was released on December 23, 2022, and deported to France. Nineteen years for a double murder? Um, ‘kay.
“But Nepal's Supreme Court ordered Sobhraj's release on Wednesday after his legal team successfully filed a petition claiming he should be given a concession on his prison term for health reasons.
A provision in Nepalese law also allows inmates who have shown good character and completed 75% of their jail term to be released.
"Keeping him in the prison continuously is not in line with the prisoner's human rights," the verdict read, according to AFP, citing regular treatment for heart disease as another factor in his release. He had heart surgery in 2017.
In an interview with AFP ahead of his departure on Friday, Sobhraj said he felt "great" about being given his freedom, but would be seeking legal action against the Nepalese government.
Sobhraj has been linked to more than 20 killings between 1972 and 1982, in which the victims were drugged, strangled, beaten or burned.” (https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-64073271)
The last inmate, also French, was the most sympathetic. He’d been living illegally in Nepal long enough to marry and sire two children, but lacked the resources to improve his lot. He told Alex he’d likely be there indefinitely without assistance, though he didn’t make any pleas for help. Given the situation’s complexity (fines, fees, resident visas, etc.), there was nothing Alex could do even if so inclined.
Prison in the morning. Buddhism in the afternoon. We visited a mediation center for a documentary on the Tibetan Book of the Dead followed by Martin Scorsese’s “Kundun.” After that, it was the Everest Steak House for a delicious, if not obnoxious, pile of meat. This segued with our next joint venture, the Gadhimai festival in southern Nepal.