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TORN CIGARETTE CARTONS found discarded in a drain along Woodlands Road (above) and a group of seven men who emerged from their jungle hideout and gathered openly on Thursday evening to chat. -- ST PHOTOS: ASHLEIGH SIM
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LIKE Spider-Man, the cigarette peddler clambers up a canal next to the MRT track and scales the metal fence in one smooth move.
Then he picks up his bicycle and wheels it up a slope before vanishing into the foliage.
He has reached 'home', in the heart of the woods off Marsiling MRT station, joining a rag-tag band of fellow Indonesian cigarette peddlers.
In their leafy abode, they cook and sleep under blue canvas coverings. They have beaten paths to a subterranean warren of canals where they bathe and chill out - and through which they travel.
A look inside the canal at Woodlands Town Garden turned up tell-tale signs that the area is well frequented: Empty Indomie instant noodle packets, eggshells and Gudang Garam cigarette packets are strewn all over.
A short 5m walk leads to a concealed 'entertainment lounge' underneath a stretch of road along Woodlands Avenue 3.
Though just 1.5m high, the space offered is bigger than the living room of a four-room flat. A sofa set and mattresses are laid out. Clothes hang from lines, and at least three dozen videotapes, bottles of water and three to four mattresses are stacked in a corner.
This lounge doubles up as a satellite hideout and holding area for about a dozen or so Indonesian men.
After emerging from the forest, they would gather there in the late evenings before setting off individually at staggered timings to 'work'.
To avoid detection, the men minimise road use, preferring to trek along the KTM railway track, warren of canals and forested areas to get to and from 'work'.
They sell tax-unpaid cigarettes in Woodlands Road.
One KTM guard near Woodlands Road said he used to see many peddlers walking in the evenings along the KTM railway track and in the canals carrying red plastic bags containing the cigarettes. But they disappeared two months ago after their hideout nearby was raided.
He said: 'They used to sleep in the canals too, probably because it's cooler there. But these days, no more. They would go into the canals only to bathe. They soap themselves and rinse their bodies with the drain water.'
The guard added that some people claimed to have found cigarette packages among the grass along the railway track.
He said: 'Once, I asked the peddlers where the cigarettes came from. They said the Philippines. I also asked how they got into Singapore. They said they had smuggled themselves onto a cargo ship from Indonesia and, when the container opened, they would run out.
'I asked 'Won't the security guards catch you?' They said 'Guards are interested only in the goods, not us'.'
The peddlers' presence is obvious, if you look in the right places. At various points along the circuitous route, part of which extends underground, one can see beaten paths along forest edges, discarded red plastic bags where they put the cigarettes, wooden ladders leading into canals, toiletries-filled plastic bags and clothes hung from canal walls.
The Sunday Times found another satellite hideout in the forest near Kranji MRT station, just one train stop from Marsiling.
The smell of clove cigarettes hung in the forest air but as reporters approached, a man sprinted away.
Riza (not his real name), who acts as 'Big Brother' to a group of peddlers, told The Sunday Times they had no problem travelling and living this way.
It is just like home in south-east Sulawesi, one of the most remote Indonesian provinces, he said.
The ferry is the primary mode of transport taking them to the cities. Natural jungle and hills cover most of the land area and deer, wild boar, monkeys and buffaloes abound.
Escaping the Muslim-Christian sectarian conflict in the hope of a better life here, the men peddling the contraband cigarettes came on their own from the Kendari and Bau-Bau municipalities.
They borrow money to fly to Batam, then row three hours in wooden sampans to enter Singapore illegally, via the waters off Changi.
'The forest is our playground. The mosquito is our friend,' said Riza in Bahasa Indonesia, matter- of-factly.
Their only worry is the sting of the authorities - Singapore Customs, Certis Cisco officers and the police.
There were 456 peddlers nabbed in the first half of last year, a 20 per cent rise over the same period in 2006.
Major operations that accounted for the spike included one last March when Customs and police officers raided the Yew Tee area and flushed out 20 Indonesian peddlers - all immigration offenders. When the authorities combed the woods later, they discovered 84 cartons and 184 loose packets of contraband cigarettes.
Then in June last year, 50 foreigners distributing and peddling contraband were arrested and sentenced to jail terms ranging from two weeks to 55 months.
Said Riza: 'So many raids now. That's why it is our house rule that no one brings unsold cigarettes home. They have to hide them somewhere in the forest, then pick them up the next day to sell.'
Riza said there are lookouts within each group. Two men would always stay awake at any time while the others slept.
He said: 'We can identify the cars. Black vans are the Cisco, QX plates are CID, and police logo on police cars.'
The Sunday Times team bumped into the authorities on each of the two nights they went there last week.
Once, a Certis Cisco van pulled up and officers wearing luminous vests - led by a Customs plainclothes officer - wanted to know the reason for our presence and even searched our vehicle for cigarettes.
Numbers on speed dial
RIZA insists that the Indonesians merely peddle cigarettes, not smuggle them in.
They buy the cigarettes at $2 to $3 a pack from suppliers - whose numbers they have on speed dial - and hawk a pack for $5.
The difference is their profit. Each peddler can chalk up about $400 a month.
It is not quite clear where these peddlers get their contraband supply from but a woman has been spotted sitting at Marsiling MRT station, seemingly jotting down orders from the peddlers.
This new way of making a living has spread by word of mouth to their fellow tribesmen at home. Newcomers arrive, hook up with those already here, and join in the selling.
Said Riza: 'We have heard of men caught at sea or on entry, and they get jailed and deported. Sure there might be trouble, but nothing like where we came from.
'There, people literally knifed us or carried explosives into our homes. We came of our own free will. If we get caught, too bad for us.'
After the men enter Singapore illegally, their first stop is Block 2A in Woodlands Centre Road. There, they learn from fellow Indonesians and Malaysians what types of work are available.
If they whittle down their options to the contraband cigarette trade, they will live and peddle at different places depending on which hometown they hail from.
The Kendari group lives in the Woodlands area and peddles in Woodlands Road.
The Bau-Bau group lives in the Bukit Panjang area and peddles in Petir Road off Dairy Farm.
It is not known how many of them are here in total but The Sunday Times counted at least 20 along both stretches of road earlier last week.
They stay away from one another's turf. Riza said there had been small disputes before, but would not elaborate. 'We just avoid one another,' he said.
How they work is no secret to anyone who drives by at night. With their backs to the forest, it is clear these dodgers have got their cat-and-mouse game down to a fine art.
The peddlers wave packets or cartons of contraband to passing vehicles.
When one stops, a peddler walks over. The car window winds down. A sale is closed when a pack is exchanged for $5.
Even before the vehicle moves off, the seller has already slunk back into the bushes.
Over 15 minutes on a weekday night, The Sunday Times observed five transactions carried out in this way.
The Kendari are guarded people. Working on the philosophy that staying 'out of the woods' too long is a dangerous thing, at any one point, only one peddler is visible by the road.
But behind this man, four more are crouched in a clearing at the fringe of the forest.
Once a peddler makes a sale and scurries back, the next one in the 'queue' emerges to man the station.
When approached by The Sunday Times, they beat hasty retreats. One said in Bahasa Indonesia from the bushes: 'Go away. We're trying to make a living.' Another said: 'I am scared of you. You are from the police.'
The Bau-Bau peddle openly along the brighter Petir Road Road stretch and approach each customer in a small group, and their members are more outgoing and chatty.
When The Sunday Times asked if they were from Bau-Bau, their faces lit up. They thumped their chests proudly and, with their arms raised in the air, they cheered happily: 'Bau-Bau, Bau-Bau. Sulawesi, Bau-Bau.'
They even warned reporters about police raids.
One said in Bahasa Indonesia: 'If you want, buy now. Police are here. If not, tomorrow. See me at Geylang, Lorong 8.'
The Sunday Times understands that Geylang's Lorong 8 and Lorong 12 have been used as distribution points.
We went, but they didn't show up.
Clearly the less risk-averse bunch, they adopt an all-for-one and one-for-all method, which means the entire group sells as a team along both sides of Petir Road.
They also run together as a team, darting into the woods whenever Customs and Certis Cisco officers come around.
Those familiar with the vicinity said that in the past few months, the Indonesians have turned 'fiercer' in the face of tighter enforcement.
They greet Certis Cisco and Customs plainclothes officers who venture too near with taunts and have even hurled stones at them.
Other 'weapons' include wooden branches they keep close by when they make sales. In the day, Certis Cisco officers can be observed picking up the branches from the clearing and throwing them away.
The two tribes have another common enemy besides the authorities - women.
On their days off, they would go to City Plaza shopping centre in Paya Lebar Road to relax and check out the Indonesian maids.
Riza said: 'The Customs and CID are dangerous. Women too.
'You know the typical love story. Some of the men would fall in love with the Indonesian maids, who would jilt them for Bangladeshi workers. Some of them would want to fight and hit them with sticks. Then we would have to advise them on why they're here in Singapore.
'We are here to make a living.'
arlina@sph.com.sg
joolin@sph.com.sg
ashs@sph.com.sg
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