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'It could have been any of us': Bali nine member Michael Czugaj speaks out

Jewel Topsfield

Jakarta: It's hard to keep hope alive inside a crowded, sleepless, sweaty cell in a remote jail in East Java.

For Michael Czugaj, one of the youngest members of the Bali nine arrested 12 years ago for trafficking heroin, this week marks two difficult anniversaries, although he says no time of the year is easy and "time kind of gels into one".

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Andrew Chan funeral: self-authored eulogy

Long-time friend Mark Soper reads out a eulogy Andrew Chan wrote about himself before his execution in Indonesia.

April 29 is the second anniversary of the execution of fellow Bali nine members Myuran Sukumaran and Andrew Chan, who faced a firing squad singing "10,000 Reasons (Bless the Lord)" before their voices were drowned out by gunfire.

The pair became synonymous with rehabilitation before their deaths and galvanised opposition to the death penalty in Australia. They were leaders at Bali's Kerobokan jail, helping to run classes in art, cooking and religion, and counselling other prisoners.

"I had many dark periods over the years and they helped me … took me under their wing," 31-year-old Czugaj, who is serving a life sentence, tells Fairfax Media through a friend.

"I miss them. I want to live and I want to get home ... for them and for myself," says Czugaj, a former apprentice glazier and keen surfer from Brisbane.

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"You don't deal with it, you get on with it. You do become desensitised in this environment. I have seen a lot of death and a lot of pain. No mercy … shackles, tied to a cross and shot dead. That could have been me … it could have been any of us."

Almost exactly a year after Sukumaran and Chan's execution, Czugaj was among 60 prisoners dramatically transferred from Kerobokan in the early hours of the morning to a small jail in Madiun, East Java.

The transfer took place under a cloud. Kerobokan prison authorities alleged at the time that Czugaj was moved because he was addicted to shabu shabu, the local name for the drug ice.

But Madiun prison's head of security later told AAP that documents stated the reason for the transfer was overcrowding and there had been no sign of Czugaj's drug use at Madiun prison.

"However the media had a field day at the time," Czugaj said. "It made me feel terrible. I withdrew into myself and didn't speak to anyone for months. I was paranoid."

Life in jail in Madiun is far tougher than Kerobokan, where Czugaj had a visitor nearly every day and time moved faster in the rehabilitation programs Chan and Sukumaran helped run.

Madiun is isolated - a five-hour drive from Surabaya, the capital of East Java.

Czugaj is lonely. He misses visitors and the occasional "good juicy burger".

"It sucks, it really sucks, OK? Everything costs money, nothing is free. You can't even have a visitor bring in smokes, everything has to be brought inside … the prison economy."

The media love to use the epithet "infamous" when describing Kerobokan jail. But Czugaj says it was a holiday camp compared to Madiun. "I have good days and bad days. It is hard to sleep as it is very hot and sometimes there are 15 to a room. The prison inmates consist of terrorists, mafia and murderers including [Islamic State], we are all mixed in together. There are some good guys here but it can get pretty intense."

Czugaj survives by exercising, reading - he loves the Game of Thrones series - and helping local prisoners with English lessons so they can find work when they leave jail. "I also work with supporting prisoners with drug rehabilitation."

When supplies are available he immerses himself in arts and craft: "I learned from another guy how to make a boat out of wood."

Despite his life sentence, Czugaj dreams of one day going home, wherever that is - he points out that he has been out of Australia for 12 years. "I wish I could surf again and live by the ocean. I would like to have a wife and a family and a normal life."

In the meantime he has a more modest goal: to be transferred back to a Bali jail. "I am desperate to get back to Bali but I understand this is not possible right now. I hope it is possible soon."

Meanwhile, there will be no special event to mark the anniversary of Chan and Sukumaran's executions at Kerobokan jail.

"It isn't something you want to remember," one inmate told prisoner David Fox, a former war correspondent jailed for possessing hashish.

"I can't exaggerate how their impact is still felt here," Fox says. "Almost every long-term prisoner has a picture in his cell with his arm around one or both of them. Their portraits hang in the rehab block and even the mention of their names is enough to make some inmates very emotional."

Melbourne pastor Christie Buckingham, who was Sukumaran's spiritual adviser on the night of the executions, has returned to Bali for the second year anniversary.

"I wanted to be in Bali this year - to be honest I just needed to be near people who understood," she says.

"Last year I felt very separated. I know how difficult prisoners found it. I wanted to be around this year for them."

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