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On Wednesday afternoon, one of my best friends died of a heart attack in Aceh Province, Indonesia.
He was also my fixer.
I'd like to tell you about him...
He was also my fixer.
I'd like to tell you about him...
His name was Muhibuddin.
I met him a few years ago, when I was trying to crack a case called John Doe vs ExxonMobil in Aceh. I'd worked on it for years without any leads, until his uncle, Nasir, introduced us.
I always called him Pak Din.
I met him a few years ago, when I was trying to crack a case called John Doe vs ExxonMobil in Aceh. I'd worked on it for years without any leads, until his uncle, Nasir, introduced us.
I always called him Pak Din.
I met Pak Din at what was, I think, a weird time in his life. He was in his late 40s and perhaps rather bored.
During the civil war that raged in Aceh from the 1970s to the early 2000s, Pak Din had been an activist & a fixer. Journalists had flocked there to cover the conflict.
During the civil war that raged in Aceh from the 1970s to the early 2000s, Pak Din had been an activist & a fixer. Journalists had flocked there to cover the conflict.
Pak Din had worked on documentaries for Al Jazeera, the BBC and more, finding sources on the ground, translating and coordinating field work.
As an activist, he would get information that fresh graves had been found as a result of the civil war, and would go and dig up the bodies, painstakingly searching them for ID and trying to reunite the victims with their families.
But when peace came to Aceh following the 2004 tsunami and the Helsinki MOU of 2005, Pak Din didn't work as much.
He came out of his semi-retirement to help me with John Doe vs ExxonMobil, and from there started our relationship as journalist and fixer, and eventually friends.
He came out of his semi-retirement to help me with John Doe vs ExxonMobil, and from there started our relationship as journalist and fixer, and eventually friends.
Pak Din knew everything about Aceh.
He took me to meet victims of human rights abuses around the ExxonMobil gas plant, and we spent hours driving through black Acehnese nights - me lying on the back seat of our car, watching the stars, and him telling me the history of Aceh.
He took me to meet victims of human rights abuses around the ExxonMobil gas plant, and we spent hours driving through black Acehnese nights - me lying on the back seat of our car, watching the stars, and him telling me the history of Aceh.
Our team from Medan dubbed him "The Encyclopedia".
Of all the pictures I have of him, this one best sums up the relationship we had.
Sitting in an Acehnese coffee shop late at night, him in full flow, me by his side with my notepad, writing down every word he said.
Of all the pictures I have of him, this one best sums up the relationship we had.
Sitting in an Acehnese coffee shop late at night, him in full flow, me by his side with my notepad, writing down every word he said.
When covid hit, it was harder for me to travel to Aceh, but Pak Din still messaged me almost daily.
As a fixer, he had no interest in writing a single word about Aceh (he had me to do that) and he didn't even like sending WA messages, preferring voice notes instead.
As a fixer, he had no interest in writing a single word about Aceh (he had me to do that) and he didn't even like sending WA messages, preferring voice notes instead.
"Mmmmm...Assalamualaikum...Aisyah…" he would say, as if mid-thought.
He was often snacking when he called me, or in a coffee shop, with the clinking of cups in the background.
In the afternoons, he'd send videos from wherever he was, about whatever he was doing.
He was often snacking when he called me, or in a coffee shop, with the clinking of cups in the background.
In the afternoons, he'd send videos from wherever he was, about whatever he was doing.
"It's rambutan season, Aisyah," says one, as he walks through a crimson rambutan grove - a little piece of Aceh floating down to Medan.
He pestered me constantly about all the work we needed to do, on the environmental destruction that Exxon had also left in its wake in Aceh.
He pestered me constantly about all the work we needed to do, on the environmental destruction that Exxon had also left in its wake in Aceh.
When I expressed limited enthusiasm for the project, being too busy with other things, he simply repeated the story and its importance any chance he got.
Finally, I relented. We would take water and soil from around the Exxon clusters, to test for pollutants and heavy metals.
Finally, I relented. We would take water and soil from around the Exxon clusters, to test for pollutants and heavy metals.
After that, he called all the time.
He'd found a lab that would process the samples.
He'd found a lab that would process the samples.
When Nasir told me that he'd died, he also sent me this message.
Pak Din had told him that he was waiting for me, that we were going to visit a Rohingya refugee camp.
I'd been hounding him about it since a Rohingya boat landed in Aceh in Sepand another was spotted in Nov.
Pak Din had told him that he was waiting for me, that we were going to visit a Rohingya refugee camp.
I'd been hounding him about it since a Rohingya boat landed in Aceh in Sepand another was spotted in Nov.
He'd sent me maps in return, plotting how many nautical miles off the coast the boat was.
The days that have followed his death have mostly been spent crying.
From silent tears dripping down my face in cars and coffee shops, to deep sobs in the dark of night - a reaction I suspect he would have deemed both unnecessary and faintly amusing
From silent tears dripping down my face in cars and coffee shops, to deep sobs in the dark of night - a reaction I suspect he would have deemed both unnecessary and faintly amusing
I've found comfort in talking to our mutual friends, like his uncle Nasir who's a documentary filmmaker, and our other fixer Nurdin, who worked with him for over 20 years.
"I never saw him get angry," Nurdin told me on the phone yesterday. "When we were activists, he would help homeless people who had mental health issues by taking them to the hospital. They'd hit and punch him, and he'd just take it. He just wanted to help."
I never saw him get angry either, and while he was a voracious gossip, he never spoke ill of anyone. He was also endlessly patient in the face of my constant demands, inability to grasp even basic Acehnese and frequent cultural faux pas.
When I once forgot my jilbab in his uncle's car when he'd gone home for the night, Pak Din admonished me as gently as he always did. "You're going to get him in trouble with his wife, Aisyah," he said, before collapsing into giggles.
Sometimes I would call him and ask him about a place or a person he didn't know. Almost always, several days later, he'd come back to me with the information I needed.
"I just happened to be in the area," he'd laugh - an obvious lie - when I teased him about it.
"I just happened to be in the area," he'd laugh - an obvious lie - when I teased him about it.
If we were doing field work in the early afternoons, he'd disappear to pick up his two children from primary school, and bring them to lunch wherever we were, so they could drink juice and sit wide eyed as we told them tales of our adventures.
"I haven't told any of his friends in Banda Aceh that he's dead," Nurdin told me yesterday. "I can't face it."
I feel the same way. It has taken me three days to write this, through a heavy fog of grief that has scrambled my brain.
I feel the same way. It has taken me three days to write this, through a heavy fog of grief that has scrambled my brain.
He was the kindest, the sweetest, the most patient, and the best of us.
I promised Nurdin that, one day soon, we'll all drive to Aceh together to see Pak Din.
We'll clean his grave and pray, and then I'll sit with him awhile and tell him all the latest news.
I promised Nurdin that, one day soon, we'll all drive to Aceh together to see Pak Din.
We'll clean his grave and pray, and then I'll sit with him awhile and tell him all the latest news.
Almost all his messages to me began the same way, "Any updates, Aisyah?"
I'll make sure that he knows what I'm doing, and I'll promise to carry on our work.
I think he would have gently insisted upon it.
I'll make sure that he knows what I'm doing, and I'll promise to carry on our work.
I think he would have gently insisted upon it.
Inna Lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un
To Allah we belong, and to Him we must return.
Rest well, my dear friend.
I will miss you so much
To Allah we belong, and to Him we must return.
Rest well, my dear friend.
I will miss you so much
