Continuing the Diary of Msgr. Desmond Hartford

Friday, 31 October

Slept quite poorly. Bananas, sky flakes, and coffee for breakfast. Then to the river to bathe and wash our clothes. The local sultan was waiting for me at the hut when I returned. He had a letter from Aleem Elias Macarandas. Elias is a very good friend of ours in the dialogue movement. He assured me in his letter that the MILF are now in charge of my security that I’m in safe hands and it is only a matter of time until I am released. More rain so most of the time is spent under the mosquito net. One of my guards is interested in English. We spend some of the afternoon translating phrases from Maranao and Visayan into English. It is frustrating to think that many people are worried because of me. This is the part of the powerless. Being held at gunpoint leaves one very few options. I feel that at times I should be more resistant. A trust has been built with my guards. Today just one guard assured me that they had nothing to do with my kidnapping.

Saturday, 1 November

My mind was very active during the night. I slept from 8pm until 11 pm and only for an hour after that. Today was the first day I experienced real fear. I was listening to the morning sports news on the BBC when suddenly there was shooting. My companion suspected that some other group had come to try to take control of me. This has been my fear from the beginning. We quickly packed our things and moved through the forest away from the shooting. The ground was swampy with heavy undergrowth. Several times my guards promised they would die defending me. My guards kept telling me not to be afraid. When I began to accept the possibility of dying today the fear gradually subsided. After an hour and a half we came to a makeshift hut. One of the guards went back into the village to see what had happened. I had an added fear in case anyone was killed in the encounter. The guard returned to inform us that there had been no encounter. A member of the group was testing their 30 calibre gun. Relief and then anger. Why did they not tell us they where going to test their guns? This has a beautiful view of the mountains but no protection from the wind. I refused to go back to the other hut because I was tired.

After nightfall I was taken to a house on the outskirts of the village. A herbal doctor was treating one of the children. My captors did not want him to know that I was around so they hoisted me up at the back of the house into an upstairs room. It has a comfortable bed and I am glad of the protection from the heavy rain. There is a samsonite case in my room that would have done a princess proud. It came from Saudi Arabia. All the members of the family come to have a look at me. Security is light and there is no guard in the room. Nor is it locked. Escape would be possible except for the fact that everyone in the surrounding area is on the side of my guards.

Sunday, 2 November

The feast of All Souls, I joined the Christians of Marawi in spirit of the Eucharist and prayers today. Last night was the best night’s sleep I got since being taken hostage. I feel the Lord wants me to receive his gift of peace. Last night I overheard a conversation in the house which emphasized that I was here in Mindanao to try to bring peace. This is heartening and I am hopeful that in the end good will come from this experience. I am still struggling with the feelings of hatred for those who have betrayed me. The children in the house are very noisy. I could have done without one visitor who came to look at me – a rat. The text from psalm 138 is helping me greatly. With your strength, Lord, you have strengthened me. At about 5:30 p.m. one of the guards asked in English, “What is your favorite soup?” I was about to say mushroom when he clarified in Visayan, sabon. He meant soap. My brief dream of a royal suffer evaporated. We had corn beef from Argentina and rice. Later, a lot of conversation in the distance in the dark. I don’t know what is happening, I finished Agatha Christie’s “Towards Zero.” She fooled me again. I picked the wrong suspect.

Monday, 3 November

Before, 4 a.m. I was told to pack. It seems another group wants to take me. Only the wild cogon grass protects us from view and later from the sun. The mosquitoes were bad. The sub-title of Richard Hauser’s book is “Becoming a Contemplative in Action” my advice is, if you really want to take a shortcut, get yourself taken hostage.

Twice I have asked my captors for a bible but it still has not arrived. We spent the day in the open. I felt almost at breaking points, as much mental and emotional fatigue as physical. I cried for the first time in 3 years -- since Lydia Macas was killed by a grenade. I have not arrived at the stage where I can equally accept life or death. Everything is not turned over to the Lord. I still want to live and I am afraid to the pain of a violent death. Around 4 p.m. a guard arrived. It has been decided to turn me over to the main camp of the MILF in the area. Because of this we openly walked back through the village, past the mosque and the school in broad daylight. I sat to rest for a few minutes. People appeared from everywhere to get a good look. They were enjoying having an ‘Americano’ in their village. I got a plate of rice and carabao meat. Each time food is put before me I eat as much as I can because meals are very irregular. The MILF camp was about 2 kms. From there. There were about 40 heavily armed men there. The main house measured about 18 by 20 feet. There is a certain relief being here because the immediate danger of being rescued by attacked is gone. But having so many people milling around is difficult. There is a lot of talk on the two-way radio. I don’t understand much of it. But superiors are making it clear that I am a religious person and not attached to the government. It is difficult. There is a lot of talk on the two-way radio. I don’t understand much of it. But superiors are making it clear that I am a religious person and not attached to the government. It is difficult for Muslims here to grasp that Christians are not directly linked to the government. Most of the floor space filled up with sleeping bodies. Late into the night a woman began chanting from the Darangan, the epic poem of the Maranaos. This has recently been transcribed in eight volumes. About every 10 minutes she stopped for breath, coughed and spit into a tin can. When this happened a guard downstairs would comment on the section just chanted. At about 2 a.m. she decided to call it a day. I slept in fits and start until the call to prayer at 4:30 a. m.

“ When I began to accept the possibility of dying today the fear gradually subsided.”

“Last night I overheard a conversation in the house which emphasized that I was here in Mindanao to try to bring peace,”