'The worst moment is when you wake up'

Kidnapped by armed militants in Nigeria, Maltese oil worker George Scerri was held hostage for 33 days. In an exclusive interview with Ariadne Massa, he recounts how he battled his fears, fought the boredom, and subsisted on a diet of rice and sardines.

The suffocating walls of loneliness and boredom closed in on George Scerri most mornings, as another long day imprisoned in a bare cell, measuring 12 by 12 feet, loomed ahead.

"Sometimes, the worst moment is when you wake up. So many questions flood your mind: Will I be here again tonight? Will I go home today? Every day seems like a month," he says, unconsciously shifting his legs restlessly.

There was nothing in the room, except for a double mattress, one sheet and two lifeless pillows, which Mr Scerri shared with fellow hostage and colleague, Pakistani national Mohammed Asif.

"I had never slept in the same bed as a man... but I had no choice," he says, with a low throaty laugh.

Sitting back on a settee, Mr Scerri appears to have emerged unscathed from his 33-day ordeal at the hands of armed militants in Nigeria.

Nightmares don't haunt his dreams - "I sleep like a log" - and his steely determination to survive, coupled with his positive outlook, are what helped him battle the fears to come out unharmed and eager to return to his job as an oil worker with the drilling company Lonestar. He seems unfazed by the possibility that he could be kidnapped again.

Originally from Birkirkara and with family still living in Malta, Mr Scerri has been working with Lonestar for 15 years, and is happily settled in Nigeria with his wife of 10 years Phina, and two sons Robert, aged nine, and three-year-old Rodney.

Taking a sip of black coffee, Mr Scerri, 62, relives the day when he was kidnapped. It was May 23, about 10.30 a.m., and a company car had turned up to transfer him and Mr Asif, 38, from the oil rig to the camp site, which was seven kilometres away.

Barely a kilometre into the trip, the driver had to slow down to 30 kilometres an hour as they approached a bridge in Omoku, outside the main oil city, Port Harcourt. Suddenly a man in his mid-30s jumped in front of the car waving a big gun.

His survival instincts kicking in, Mr Scerri yelled to the driver to reverse, but looming large in the rear view mirror was another gun-toting militant - they were trapped.

One kidnapper pulled open the car door, barked at George to move back and ordered everybody to hand over their mobile phones, while the other man slid in at the back - the message was clear: one false move and they would use their guns.

The driver was ordered to press the accelerator pedal and after driving for three kilometres, their hearts sank collectively when they saw a busload of armed militants approaching, firing warning shots in the air to show they were in command.

"My mind flooded with thoughts on our fate. I prayed to God that we would remain unhurt. I tried to remain calm hoping that all the militants wanted was to swindle the company by asking for a handsome ransom but not hurt us," he recalls.

Some 150 foreigners were abducted by armed militants last year in the south of the country, where the bulk of the country's oil wells are located. According to international reports these kidnappings and attacks on oil facilities have cut Nigeria's oil output by 25 per cent.

Though Mr Scerri's abductors are unidentified, the vast majority of last year's kidnappings have been attributed to the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND), which seeks to redress the country's wealth imbalance by demanding that some of its oil revenue is re-invested in the Niger Delta.

In most cases, the hostages were released, saying they were treated relatively well. This fact helped keep Mr Scerri's anxiety somewhat in check.

"I admit I was agitated at first wondering what the next step will be. I had a feeling deep down that everything would be okay; that it would be a matter time," he says, adding that his faith in God helped him feel secure.

When the company car reached the swamp, the driver was released, but Mr Scerri and Mr Asif were blindfolded with shreds of a tattered T-shirt and ordered to crouch down in the bow of the speedboat, as the militants fired shots to scare away any passers-by.

After 50 minutes at sea, they were shuttled into a car waiting at the bank, and driven for another 10 minutes to a bungalow in the bush.

The two hostages were thrown into the room that would be their home for next 33 days. Luckily there were two small barred windows and occasionally a breeze would alleviate the stifling heat.

In the first days the militants did not even allow their hostages to use the toilet and they had to relieve themselves in the room. After a week they were allowed to use the toilet under strict security and to bathe using a bucket and a scoop: "We had two choices: take it or leave it."

Their rations, though on the low side, consisted of two daily portions of rice and sardines - "33 days of it" - and water.

"The greatest punishment was the lack of communication with my wife and my people... However, they did not mistreat us at all," he says, adding that the kidnappers allowed Mr Scerri to call his wife after five days in captivity.

Several phone calls followed, and each time he was forced to say he was very down. However, Mr Scerri refused to make the call when they attempted to get him to say he had come down with malaria because he knew his wife was worried sick.

"It's painful not to call your loved ones, but I felt it would be harder for them if I lied and said I was sick and dying... I wasn't in good health, but I wasn't in a bad shape either," he adds.

Boredom soon set in and the two hostages battled to keep their sanity. Mr Scerri spent endless hours pacing up and down the room to pass the time.

"I could hardly stand still for 10 minutes. It's a battle with boredom. The (militant) commander had assured us we need not worry, and at least that was a consoling thought," he adds.

"Asif and I shared a lot of stories about our families, and work, what else could we do? Probably, we'd repeat the same story 10 times. We had to kill the time somehow," he says.

After days of pestering his kidnappers to give him something to read, they were given an old newspaper, which Mr Scerri and Mr Asif pounced on, eager for anything that would distract them from the slow-moving time.

Since they behaved, the kidnappers agreed to give them a couple of dated magazines and the Bible. Mr Scerri and Mr Asif, a Muslim, prayed every day.

In the first week, Mr Scerri scratched '7/14' on a scrap of paper - his predictions on how many days he thought they would be held hostage.

Did he ever break down?

"I never cried. It's hard for me to cry. It would have to be something really huge before I can shed tears," he says in a subdued tone.

He kept a brave face and refused to show he was scared, but inside it was a different story: "Questions raced through my mind: Would I leave the place in one piece? Would I ever enjoy my kids like I used to? Do my family in Malta know anything?"

One day, the dynamics of their situation changed when the kidnappers stormed into their room at 8 p.m., pulled the pillow cases over their heads and dragged them out into a waiting car.

That night they slept in the jungle on a wooden plank; perfect bait for the mosquitoes and exotic insects swarming the jungle.

"I barely slept a wink. That night I was not happy. I felt there was something going on, which I couldn't read. I spent the night trying to fathom why we had been moved so suddenly," he says, his brown eyes clouding over.

The two were returned to their cell the next morning and Mr Scerri believes somebody had visited the bungalow and the militants wanted to hide their prize trophies.

The ordeal went on uneventfully after that, until the 32nd night when a guard said that if their office (Lonestar) cooperated they had a good chance of being released.

That night, around midnight, Mr Scerri and Mr Asif were once again blindfolded with the pillow cases and shuttled to a car. Their hearts were beating, uncertain how the ordeal would end.

"All I could see through the pillow cases were shadows and big guys coming towards us. I was hoping we would get out of there safely and the rescue operation would not be botched," he recalls.

When the car came to a halt, Mr Scerri pricked his ears at the sound of a diesel engine that had been left running. His heart leapt - it was probably one of Lonestar's Toyota pick-ups.

He explains that though in Nigeria petrol engines were more economical than diesel, Lonestar fuelled its vehicles with diesel. Sure enough, their prayers had been answered and Mr Scerri and Mr Asif were finally released at 1.30 a.m. on June 25 in Bayelsa, three hours away from the spot they were seized.

Initially, there were reports that the kidnappers demanded €5.5 million to secure their release, but when this figure is mentioned to Mr Scerri, he shakes his head with a wry smile: "Forget about that".

"They may have exchanged something, we do not know. However, the figure was never anything like that (€5.5 million). There was a demand, yes, but nowhere near that," he replies, a bit hesitantly.

Does he think the amount was much less?

"I think they started by making a high demand, but kept coming down and eventually settled for much less. At the end of the day, because we behaved, I think they went as low as they could, but there's no figure," he adds.

Once he was handed over, Lonestar's officials drove for two hours to safety where the company's CEO and officials were waiting. However, he was still four hours away from home, where his wife was anxiously waiting for news.

The big boss thumped him on the back and said: "I knew you're going to make it". That's when the CEO's wife, who had been kidnapped two months earlier, wept with relief.

In her case, the abductors had given the oil magnate two days to pay ransom of €5.6 million or they would kill her. She was released weeks later after kidnappers are reported to have settled for a bounty of €2.8 million. However, the joint taskforce never confirmed whether a ransom was paid.

The CEO had been in constant contact with Mr Scerri's wife and the first thing he did was hand him the phone to call her.

"My main objective was to get home to hug my wife and sons," he says, adding that he had to spend the first night in a guesthouse and undergo medical examinations before he could finally be escorted home.

At that point, Mr Scerri had no idea that news of his kidnap had reached Malta or that the Maltese government had sent a delegation to Nigeria to try and secure his release.

"I have never witnessed such compassion from a nation. I was touched and very grateful that they sent a delegation to Nigeria for just one man. It was very special," he says, adding that he had been to visit Home Affairs Minister Tonio Borg to thank him personally.

Recounting the last leg of his journey home under police escort, Mr Scerri's eyes light up as he recalls the surprise welcome he received from all the locals.

"I jumped out the car and my wife came and whisked me in the air, hugging me and constantly asking 'is that you?' in disbelief that I was back," he says.

Rodney kept looking at the police suspiciously and told them to move away from his father, assuming there were the ones who took him away in the first place.

"I'm happy everything ended on a good note. The secret is that when such things happen, never let your worries take over. If you do, then you may as well forget about life... It's important to keep your spirits high."