Avoiding trouble in Bali's nightclubs

About a month after I arrived in Bali to live, I was attacked while walking through a nightclub. Someone decided to take me out and they did it with a king hit.

I had spent the night chatting to a Japanese computer expert who I thought could help me with my new role in the company. I had been given control of the company website and I thought the Japanese guy could give me some advice. I spent the later part of the evening talking to a big South African guy, who happened to grow up in the same place as a friend of mine. All innocent stuff.

I had just excused myself from the South African and was making my way to the toilet when I found my path blocked. I asked some guy if he could move his chair so that I could get past and I even said "excuse me". The next thing I knew, a huge tattooed arm came out of nowhere and slammed into the side of my face. I was sent sprawling through the crowd and ended up in the middle of the dance floor. I tried to stand and defend myself but my legs were jelly; I slipped back to the floor and flopped around in my blood like a landed fish. I was semi-conscious with people staring at me and half my face was caved in. I had a broken nose and a crushed cheekbone, and no one bothered to lend a hand.

Then I saw the Indonesian security heading my way and I knew I was in trouble. These guys didn't mess about and I was an easy target. Again I tried to stand but I could only just make it to my knees. The crowd parted to let the security through, and I was grabbed roughly by the back of the shirt. Luckily, the huge South African I had been talking to earlier stepped between me and the security; he pushed them away, then hoisted me to my feet and put a protective arm around my shoulder.

The South African was a big guy, about six two and a hundred and ten kilos - he was a formidable-looking character and I was very glad he'd come to my rescue. The security was adamant that they wanted me for causing trouble but the South African faced them down. I was in no shape to protect myself or argue my point but he would not let them near me.

Eventually the security relented and they told the South African to take me outside; they said they didn't want me in their club. I was pretty sure I didn't want to be in their club either.

The big South African put an arm about my waist and carried me outside - he ended up covered in blood and for that I was sorry. It was a big sacrifice for him to make when he was on holiday and just wanted to have fun.

I felt I had hit rock bottom that night, I didn't want to call my brother for help but I had no choice. I felt isolated in a foreign land that I didn't understand. I wondered why the security hadn't gone after the guy who king hit me.

Now I know better. I was incredibly lucky that night; I now know from experience that I would have received a kicking from the Indonesian security guards if they had dragged me outside. Indonesian security go after the weak, not the strong. I was an easy target - a Westerner they could hurt without repercussion. After many years in Indonesia, and a lot of time spent in Bali nightclubs, I have seen this scenario play out dozens of times, and it is inevitably the person that is down that gets the beating.




From the chapter 'Turn the Other Cheek', Bali Raw