​(Continued from part 1)

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The pair had spent 462 days in captivity, and more than 320 of those days were in complete isolation. Brennan had been passing blood for six months. He lost 19 kilograms. And the emotional scars were as deep as his physical wounds.​​​​​​​​​​​

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 He saw a psychologist once-a-week for 18 months after his release from captivity, and acknowledges the therapy has been pivotal in his rehabilitation.

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“I came home and I could have gone in two different directions,” Brennan said. “I could have played the victim and had self-pity, and I think my family would have slammed the shit out of me for doing that. Or it was just, ‘get on with your life’, and move forward.

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“People are terrified of going through a traumatic experience, and it’s not nice to go through. But going through trauma gives you an understanding…of how incredibly resilient we are as people.”

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“Resilient” only begins to describe his family throughout the ordeal. Their lives were thrown in to turmoil for 15 months. They endured stress, fear, hopelessness, frustration, anger, desperation, arguments, sleep deprivation, grief and strained relationships – often, all at once. And all of it was for the love of their son, brother and brother-in-law.

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Brennan says people have often told him that, in the same situation, they don’t think their family would have gone to the lengths his did.

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“I’m incredibly lucky to have the family I do have. I came home and was expecting them to be angry, but was quite pleasantly surprised. It was only my brother Ham who wanted to punch me in the head…and fair enough, too!”

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He says some family members have dealt with the experience in a positive way. One of his brothers was proud of him for going to a conflict zone to try to tell the stories of people who are less fortunate than us. 

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And his sister-in-law says her role in the dangerous world of kidnap and ransom had prompted some self-reflection which changed her life completely and made her a better person.

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Brennan says his guilt is not completely absolved, and might never be, as other members of the family have struggled to overcome what was essentially post-traumatic stress.

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He says his father is still consumed, to some degree, by the experience. In particular, he continues to question the role the Australian government plays in trying to bring home its citizens.

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As part of the catharsis, Nigel, Nicky (sister) and Kellie (sister-in-law) co-authored a book about the experience. The Price Of Life documented their role in the rescue mission, with vivid accounts of the emotional rollercoaster of captivity and trying to bring a family member home.

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While the book was being written, Nigel got talking with Bianca Acimovic who was a curator at the Bundaberg Regional Art Gallery. The Brennans had originally spoken to her in 2009, when they were frantically trying to raise money to pay the ransom, to see if she could organise for some of Nigel’s photographic work to be exhibited for sale.

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The idea didn’t take off because revenue potential in art sales was crippled by the global financial crisis, so it was put to one side while the family’s focus remained on quick-fix fundraising.

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But Ms Acimovic was still compelled by the story and its potential. She spoke regularly with Nigel as he worked his way through the early stages of recovery back home in Bundaberg.

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Slowly, the concept of an exhibition came to life. Bianca found the best way to do her research was to meet Nigel after therapy.

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“He would see a therapist once a week…and the therapist would loosen him up completely and open him up to memories and thoughts and discussions.

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“I would see him after therapy and sit and listen, and ask questions, and begin to get an understanding of his story and all the elements…and how it might be told in some kind of exhibition.”

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Bit-by-bit, she uncovered objects and artefacts which revealed some of the stark realities of Nigel’s life in captivity.

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There were the shoes he wore as he sat on concrete floors, shackled to a wall. He had kept copies of letters written by his family which documented their heartfelt efforts to lift his spirits and give him hope that he would soon be back home.

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One of the prized possessions he had brought home was the Koran, which he and Amanda had shared in captivity.

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Under duress from their captors, they had agreed to convert to Islam and were given a copy of the holy book. But once the pair was separated, it became a means of communication as well as a study of scripture.

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Each had the Koran for a week at-a-time. They read passages and underlined individual words which, when put together, would create a sentence. The code became their way of exchanging positive thoughts of survival and boosting one another’s spirits. One prescient message constructed from individual words on different pages read:

     

        “he said another man was appointed to free us, a good man”.

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The code provided a glimmer of hope against the trepidation and boredom of isolation. But it was also fraught with danger. If Nigel and Amanda were caught communicating, and their captors had the slightest suspicion another escape was being planned, the consequences could have been fatal.

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The Koran and other small, yet revealing, artefacts such as the backpack which carried the final ransom of $US658-thousand, were the detail which Bianca Acimovic was looking for to recreate the whole story of Brennan’s time in captivity.

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The Brennan family also handed over recordings of phone calls they had received from the hostage takers throughout the 15 months. Some are chilling as they reveal the brutality of a gang hell-bent on exploiting the family’s fear.

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Also evident is the calmness of Nicky Brennan, as the appointed hostage negotiator, in trying to draw out these phone calls to gain the smallest piece of information about Nigel’s well-being, or whether he was alive, at all.

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Ms Acimovic said elements such as the audio recordings, the TV programs about Nigel and Amanda’s captivity, and all the other objects meant the exhibition could move away from just being a display of Nigel’s photography in Somalia to telling a story which people could be a part of.

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“So, it’s not just about Nigel, it’s about Somalia and its people,” she said. “Nigel also calls it a ‘love story’…because his family fought so hard to bring him home.

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“And then the exhibition poses questions about the government’s role in bringing citizens home…and the paying of ransoms as a method of survival.

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“There’s also the issue of culture, and accepting and acknowledging cultures which are different to ours.”

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The exhibition, also called ‘The Price Of Life’, was more than two years in the making. In that time, Ms Acimovic moved from Bundaberg to the Albury Art Gallery in southern NSW, where the official launch was held. The initial response far exceeded her expectations.

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“A lot of mothers have brought their children through…so they can teach them about other cultures and opening their minds to what children in other parts of the world have to go through to get a simple meal.

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“Some people have walked through and cried…because they were so moved that not only he went through this but, more so, that his family went through it. And that someone can love you so much and give up a year-and-a-half of their life, sell your house, go into debt, lose your super, all to bring someone home to safety.”

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Bianca and Nigel are now working on an itinerary to take ‘The Price Of Life’ around Australia.

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Projects such as the exhibition and the book have kept Brennan in the spotlight since his return to Australia, which was not always what he had in mind.

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“I don’t want this experience to define my life….but by the same token, I understand that my story is what gets people’s attention,” he said.

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“And while I want to keep moving forward…telling my story also focuses attention on Somalia and what has happened in that country.”

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Telling his story in this staged approach – first, the book and, then, the exhibition – has now developed into a strategy with an ambitious goal. Brennan has held preliminary discussions with TV networks and film companies in Australia and the US about making a movie or mini-series.

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National Geographic Channel in the US has already recreated his story in a 45-minute program for its ‘Banged Up Abroad’ series. But he is quietly confident that the story line, told on a broad canvas and capturing the full gamut of emotions, has more to offer.

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Brennan talks about the danger and disaster of Somalia, and his own rash decision to go there. He agonises about the fear of captivity; the complex relationships between captors and captives; the lack of respect for humanity by his captors; and the despair and stress for his family.

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He marvels at the human spirit to withstand physical and psychological torture, and the life-threatening rescue to secure his freedom. And he will be forever frustrated by the blurry lines of how government agencies operate when trying to rescue their citizens from abroad.

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There is a sense that Brennan has more to tell about the experience, and perhaps he is holding back on something which might just entice a producer to translate his story to the small or big screen.

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He is coy about talking-up the chances of the project getting off the ground and, in the short term, is happy for the idea to ferment to ensure the timing, and any proposal, is right. His caution partly concerns his family having to, again, give up their time and emotions for script writers who would want to conduct lengthy interviews and research to develop the story.

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But if talk about a movie seems a little incongruous with his statement that: “I don’t want this experience to define my life”, it’s because Brennan now faces the cold-hard reality of the cost of his freedom.

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The $US658,000 paid to his captors was just half the money the Brennan and Lindhout families had to find to pay for the rescue mission.

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The kidnap and ransom company cost more than $US2,000 per day over several months. Members of the Brennan family made several overseas trips to work with the Lindhouts in Canada, the K&R team in the UK, and to be on-hand for the final extraction mission in Africa.

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If there is a ‘price of life’, then in this case, its total cost was almost $US1.3 million.

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Nigel won’t reveal how much of the money came from Australia – out of respect for the private negotiations with the Lindhout family – but it is known that the majority was raised by the Brennans.

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Entrepreneur Dick Smith and his wife Pip contributed $500-thousand to underwrite the ransom. Former Greens leader Bob Brown took out a loan for $100-thousand which he gave to the family.

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The Brennans sold at least one property in Cairns as well as private motor vehicles. Nigel’s aunts and uncles contributed tens of thousands of dollars of their own savings.

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The Australian government provided money from a fund which allows families to borrow up to $250-thousand in these circumstances.

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Much of this money has to be repaid. But the financial burden is resting a little heavier on Brennan’s shoulders now that his friendship with Lindhout has, in his words, “completely fallen apart”.

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When the two journalists returned to their families, they finally became aware of the work which went on behind the scenes to get them out of Somalia. And, inevitably, the Australians and Canadians had a different take on how those kidnap and ransom negotiations played-out, particularly when they were conducted in such stressful and trying circumstances.

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There had been some disagreement between the families about the use of a private kidnap and ransom company. The Lindhouts wanted to remain under the wing of the Canadian and Australian governments but after eight months of frustration and slow progress through official channels, the Brennans had become desperate enough to believe that hiring the K&R team, and paying the ransom, presented the best chance of success.

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Nigel said the first signs of these tensions started appearing within weeks of returning home.

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“Learning what the families had been through – the fights and arguments – and then the accusations by Amanda of my family trying to get me out and not her, were very hurtful,” Brennan said.

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Brennan says he stopped communicating with Lindhout because it was becoming a game of tit-for-tat, and the bitterness and resentment were affecting his own rehabilitation.

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“I learnt from my psychologist that when you do go through a trauma, it usually ends up that those two people don’t have a very good relationship because that person reminds you of the trauma.

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“So, in kidnapping situations, the majority of people who are kidnapped together don’t have a long-lasting bond.”

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Lindhout’s recovery from captivity took a different path. Despite the psychological and physical trauma of her 15-month ordeal, she has talked about her connection with Somalia and its people.

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Less than a year after securing her freedom, the Canadian established a charity called Global Enrichment Foundation, solely for the purpose of raising money for food, education and women’s programs in Somalia. She has since been back to the country on five occasions.

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While the relationship between the two became acrimonious, Brennan still feels the pain Amanda suffered while in isolation. He knows she was physically abused, although it’s not a topic she wants to discuss publicly.

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But as Lindhout recently told Canadian broadcaster CBC, her work in Somalia is shaped by her own experiences as a hostage.

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“We launched a program this year called ‘She Will’ and it’s one of the few programs in the country which provides support services for women who have been sexually abused, and it’s a cause which is very dear to my heart.”

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Brennan appears genuinely rueful that the pair was not able to share with each other their own experience of 11 months in isolation.

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“I was incredibly fortunate to have another person with me and going through that and supporting me. We were separated but we did manage to communicate and take care of each other, even when we were in separate rooms.

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“Now, more than three years after the event, not to have any relationship at all is a bit shit and hopefully in the future, that may rectify.”

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Personal differences aside, the pair still share a common desire to tell the Somalian story to help its people, in some way, rebuild their lives and their country.

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Brennan believes Australians, in particular, would do well to contemplate the plight of their fellow human beings.

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“It’s about being more compassionate about refugees because no one gets on a boat and risks their life and their family’s life and their life savings because they want to come to Australia for a better life. They’re running from conflict and the threat of death.

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“It’s easy for someone to be ignorant and call them queue jumpers and say that they don’t deserve the life we have.

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“I think a lot of Australians don’t respect how lucky we are to live in the country that we do.”

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Brennan says he has a strong connection with the people of Somalia, despite the pain a handful of their countrymen inflicted on him.

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He staunchly defends them as “peaceful, happy, loving people, just like us” who are unshakeable in the belief that their country will return from the brink.

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“Even though their country was falling apart around them, to see that these people had hope, and to see these kids playing when there was warfare happening around them….their resilience was amazing.”

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Brennan’s ordeal has steered him in a new career direction. He is continuing to work on photography projects for aid and charity organisations but most of his time is spent as a crisis management consultant, which includes helping journalists and aid workers prepare for conflict and humanitarian situations.

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Inevitably, the topics of captivity, hostage takers, and kidnap and ransom insurance are never far away, but even the process of talking to other people about dealing with these challenges has turned out to be a positive form of therapy.

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Brennan says he has spent more time unpacking the psychological trauma than he did in captivity. And for the most part, he is coming to terms with his demons.

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“Occasionally, I’ll have a rough trot and I’ll go back and see the psychologist just to make sure those feelings don’t settle for too long.

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“But I’ve taken more good things away from the experience than bad things, that’s for sure. And, undoubtedly, I am a better person for it.”