Lesley McCulloch, Kuala Lumpur – When her husband died in January, Faridah (not her real name) fled with her two-and- a-half-year-old son from the province of Aceh in Indonesia's northwest. The heart attack that killed her husband was, according to Faridah, brought on by the stress of being hounded by the Indonesian military.
Leaving her other seven children with her aging and ailing parents, she went to Kuala Lumpur because she was too afraid to stay in Aceh. And she thought that perhaps she could earn some money to send back to her children.
Faridah knew no one in Kuala Lumpur (KL), but while in Aceh she heard of a kind Acehnese woman here who is known to support those in trouble. So with a telephone number scribbled on an envelope containing Rp500,000 (US$60), Faridah left Aceh.
From the bus terminal in KL she called Ati, whose response was immediate: "Yes, you are welcome – come." And this is where I met her. In a rundown area of this mainly affluent city, the narrow streets lined with small food stalls and coffee shops. I was taken through to the rear of a shop and down an alley where rats scuttled between the small stoves and cooking pots stored there by the residents.
Ati's house is typical of the others in this neighborhood: small windows with metal bars and wooden shutters. There is no glass, and indoors the floors are bare stone. I found Faridah in a back room together with four other women and two children: all are dependent on Ati for shelter, food and moral support.
A sheet of plastic linoleum was unrolled for our meeting, and we sat in the dim light as the two children played with scrunched up newspaper.
Soon after Faridah's arrival in KL, she became sick, and her health has been deteriorating rapidly over the past few months. In a low voice she said, "This all happened because my husband wanted to make a better life for his family. He couldn't earn enough money in Aceh, so two years ago he came to Malaysia to find work. He sent money every month; enough for food for the children and to send them to school.
"But after one year he missed his family too much, and so he came home. It was then that the trouble began. The military in Aceh accused him of being a member of GAM [the separatist movement in the province], of coming to Malaysia to help GAM people who they say live here. But it wasn't true. The soldiers began to intimidate him, and came to our house often – they would punch and kick him. The stress was too much – he became ill and weak. They still intimidated him until finally he had a heart attack and died. He was 50 years old." Farida's eyes clouded over, but she did not cry.
The military, she said, continued to come to her house even after her husband's death, until finally Faridah decided to leave.
Faridah is too sick to help Ati in the shop. Her frequent trips to the doctor are paid for by the shop's customers who have become familiar with, and sympathetic to her troubles. Her visa is now expired, and although she has applied to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) office in KL for protection and resettlement, her situation remains precarious. Malaysian law does not recognize the status of a refugee, nor does her letter of temporary protection from the UNHCR give her immunity from arrest. In the eyes of the Malaysian authorities, Faridah is quite simply an illegal immigrant. In recent months hundreds of Acehnese have been rounded up and detained by the Malaysian police; some have already been forcibly repatriated to Indonesia, and many more remain in the detention camps awaiting a similar fate.
Ati said Faridah can stay as long as she needs to: "We give her food, but I worry about her future. For us, my husband and me, there is no problem – but for Faridah and her son, and for her children back in Aceh, the situation cannot remain like this." As Ati spoke, Faridah sat in silence, her face older than her 37 years.
"The issue for me," Ati continued, "is the kids. Look, he is two-and-a-half years old and already he has no father. In Aceh his seven brothers and sisters are in even worse condition, we know they don't have enough food. There are thousands like that in Aceh. If the Malaysian government forces Faridah to return, perhaps the army will kill her – then there will be another eight orphans in Aceh." Faridah rarely ventures beyond the alley or the shop building. She said: "I hear stories from the customers, that things are really bad out there – so many have been arrested."
Ati is taking a risk "harboring" Faridah. Not only does Malaysian law not recognize the status of an applicant for refugee status, it also says that those found to be harboring an "illegal", or who fail to report such a person to the authorities, will be prosecuted. Ati replied: "No problem, whatever happens I have followed my heart, and always know that I have done the right thing."
As I left, Faridah came to the shop with me to say goodbye. A man came in, his crumpled face suggesting he was more than 70 years old, and he wore a traditional Acehnese hat. He was obviously a regular in the shop. "How are you today?" he asked Faridah with warmth and a hint of sadness in his voice. "And the kids back in Aceh? Are they still safe?"
He bought a packet of cigarettes and some sweets, which he gave to the children who had gathered and were waiting impatiently. As he left, I saw him press RM10 (less than $3) into Faridah's hand.
Fear of arrest, detention and forced repatriation to Aceh is a constant in her life, but the pleasure and relief on Faridah's face at the man's kindness suggested that for just a moment she was reminded that not all those beyond the safety of the shop are hostile.
[Lesley McCulloch is a research fellow at the Monash Asia Institute, Melbourne.]