Shattered Dreams

Crouching into a corner of the room, she curled up into a fetal position protecting her head. This would minimize serious injury in case there was a violent attack or beating. The violent ones got turned on from first beating the girls to near stupor before ravishing their broken and bruised bodies. Thankfully, he wasn't a violent one. He appeared to be rich or important as only such clients were allowed to have a whole night. Customers deemed to be less important paid hourly rates and were often ordered out with a brisque 'Time's Up!'.

He took his time getting dressed leisurely checking himself in the mirror as he did so. She flinched in fear when he turned to her but relaxed when she saw him extract a wad of notes from his pocket. Almost disdainfully, he flung three on the floor before leaving the room. The room swam as she made to stand. Gripping the bedpost to steady herself, she squelched the urge to vomit. No point giving ‘Madame’ an occasion to deduct from her meager ‘allowance’ at La Royale. Medical expenses were deducted from daily allowances leaving many girls more deeply indebted to Madame and the organization than they could ever hope to repay.

Attempting to escape was useless. Many who tried had simply disappeared. Police were paid heavy bribes with many cases closed. They had become slaves in a foreign land. Some had tried to get themselves deported to their home countries but with no passport, identification, or documents, girls were simply ‘sold’ back to Madame’s pimps. There were rumors and fearful stories too horrible to believe. Woeful screams in the dead of the night followed by eerie silence. Rumors of girls viscously raped and strangled, bound in drums, and dropped into the river. Those who tried to escape and lived to tell the tale were 'transferred' and not heard from again. Fear and terror kept many mute and resigned to fate.

Dreams of a better life in Europe had turned into a nightmare. Why did she have to be so gullible and naïve? She should have been wary when Tammy’s elder sister came to her mother offering to take her to Europe to start a new life. ‘All expenses paid’ she touted. I was so green and inexperienced believing this to be a God-given opportunity. Fool! Fool! Fool! My mind screamed at me. At least I had my freedom despite being poor. Why was I so taken by her expensive clothes, perfume, and make-up? Friends gossiped that her wigs cost tens of thousands and her jewelry was pure South African gold. She always came to the village in flashy cars driving a different one each time. Her visits were the topic of gossip for months after. Such grand stories of great travels and faraway lands. They were green with envy when I told them she chose me. God! If only I had known.

She sat in front of the mirror for a long time allowing the hopelessness and despondency to envelop her. She was torn between ending it all and hoping for salvation or rescue. A failed suicide attempt had ghastly consequences and the fear of not succeeding kept her from trying. The cuts and bruises were nothing compared to the pain and emptiness inside. Her eyes looked at the 3 notes on the floor - Was that how worthless her life was?

She ached in places best imagined. Her tear glands had long dried up. Of what use were tears in a place like this? She made to get up and almost cried out for the searing pain. Fighting the urge to weep, she winced and shuffled slowly till she made it to the bathroom. She had to tend to her wounds before another customer came in. The motto at La Royale was 'Earn Your Pay'and truancy was often rewarded with whips and multiple shifts.

By Imabong Faminu