My dad barely survived the camp. In the earliest stage of ‘purification’, he and his older brother were separated from his mother and younger brothers and sisters: he was eleven and was considered to be an adult. At that time nobody was aware what happened to their dad: since he was a Marine officer with secret orders he was initially sent to port to sail out. Naturally, he was captured by the Japanese forces.
It wasn’t all misery in the camp. That is, as a kid you adapt fast. You steal. You get beaten. You insult the emperor, you get punished. You forget and get over it. Naturally, there was always the question what happened to the parents. Legendary are the stories of dad’s lonesome ‘walk’ back home, after the surrender. Over 100 kilometers from camp to ‘home’, to find out nobody was home. Not to mention the danger of being captured or killed by the bands of Indonesian freedom fighters. Afraid? No, he was a kid and just didn’t know better.
Legendary is also the story of a family being reunited. It was the Red Cross who eventually got them all together, but as dad recalls, it was a weird feeling being home: everyone had their experiences and nobody dared to tell what happened. ‘You bear with it’. Eventually he left, 15 or 16 years old, headed for Hollandia (Now, Papua New Guinea) and afterwards, to the promising land, The Netherlands.
After all these years, he doesn’t blame the Japanese or the Indonesians. He only wonders how people can lock up kids. Or starve people intentionally. Or wage war. There’s no good or evil, he says, at the end its the basic instincts kicking in. If you survive, you’re damn lucky.