KUALA LUMPUR, May 16 — Yuttara Sarasit, who preferred to be called Davud, called me repeatedly when I was driving towards Padang Besar on Malaysia’s side of the border with Thailand with photographer Sayuti Zainudin early Wednesday morning. 

Davud was my contact in Thailand and he wanted to make sure we were serious about our plans and that we were on our way.

I was anxious because I didn’t know what to expect. I feared for my life after my first attempt in March to find an alleged mass grave of victims of human traffickers almost turned ugly when I lost my way in the jungle.

Davud spoke little English, just enough for us to communicate. He said he and a Malay man, who is a Thai, would meet me at the duty-free shops and we would have to walk through Thai territory to the traffickers’ transit camp where mass graves were supposedly located.

The journey begins

After clearing Immigration, we drove to the Malay man’s house in Padang Besar, Thailand. There we were served cold drinks and lunch. Davud said a friend from Bangkok would join us and we would be led by two guides who arrived just before we set off at about 2pm.

I could sense it was not only I who was anxious and excited about what we were about to do and the dangers that lay ahead.

They hopped into a four-wheel drive, Sayuti and I followed in our car. After about 40 minutes, we arrived in Taloh, a small village near a hill where a path cuts through the jungle.

Villager Somjit Pratchurit, 48, claimed that the syndicates would bring their victims in vans at around midnight to the village to avoid detection by the authorities.

“I have also seen men and women walking in groups towards the hills but we do not dare report the matter to the authorities as we are afraid the traffickers could turn on us,” he said.

Another man met at the village mosque said he had seen Bangladeshi and Myanmar nationals passing through their village for years.

“We treat them as visitors and help them where we can. We give them water, food and clothes.”

From the mosque, we got into the four-wheel drive and drove for about 10 minutes before hitting a bumpy and uneven gravel road, through a rubber plantation.

We came across another remote village and saw a young woman bathing in the river. She quickly turned away when she saw us.

We parked our cars a little further and got out. I checked my phone, there was no signal.

All of us had a bag containing a towel and a bottle of water besides other necessities, and being the photographer that he is, Sayuti, had three bags for his equipment.

Signs of life

We found a well-worn path and started our walk through a rubber plantation at the foothill. After some 15 minutes, we arrived at a clearing where there were discarded clothes, bottles and other plastic ware.

We met a group of soldiers who were probably on patrol. The Thais spoke to them and they allowed us to pass.

The journey took us up a steep hill. After about 15 minutes, my 60-year-old body started to give up on me.

I was exhausted.

“I should not have done this,” I mumbled to myself as my thoughts turned to the hundreds or probably thousands of men, women and children who were forced to walk up this same blasted hill to get to Malaysia where a promise of new life awaited.

How they must have suffered, I thought. 

Seeing me struggling, the others helped to carry my bag. I trudged on, grabbing at the plants for support. Several times, I asked the group to slow down and there were instances when I almost passed out.

Eventually, we saw barbed wires and I realised we would be crossing into Malaysia but it was yet another steep hill to climb. 

I had to lie down. I thought I was dying and would not see home again. I told the others to carry on but Davud refused to give up on me and said we should rest for a while. I took a sip from my water bottle, thinking that the worst was yet to come.

I eventually found it in me to stand and walk on.

Heart-wrenching discovery

There were several instances during the journey when we were suddenly hushed up as there were indications of human movement in the forest.

We were afraid we could be found by the merciless human traffickers or even mauled by tigers as there were warning signs about the animals in the jungle.

I don’t recall seeing any animals during our journey. Perhaps they were frightened away by all the human activity.

I thought the walk would never end when the guide whispered: “We are close.”

We stopped at a clearing where there were said to be about 40 graves. I could not believe my eyes — before me were small mounds of soil that looked freshly dug with palm leaves covering them.

Were these the graves of the victims who had died from illness or starvation during their journey to enter Malaysia illegally? Is this where the traffickers buried their victims after killing them when their families failed to pay ransom?

Some 200m down a slope was a pond that could have supplied water to an abandoned camp we found further uphill. It looked big enough for about 1,000 people.

The writer with the chain that could have been used to shackle victims of people smugglers.

There were two makeshift shelters covered with tarpaulin. Planks on the ground could have been the beds of the migrants. There was a heavy metal chain that was possibly used to shackle victims.

For a moment, I was lost in my thoughts. I could not help but think about how much the people had suffered in the camp and the sacrifices they had made in search of a better life.

As it got dark, we decided it was time to make our way back. The journey out of the jungle was just as tough but I managed because I was determined to get home.