South African Tale
Starting on December 21st, a group-effort story is being written on Twitter thanks to Matthew Roberts at @OneTweetFiction.
Read more information now and join in writing the story.
Now for the story:
South African Tale
In a township outside Cape Town, South Africa, an eight-year-old girl spun her dolly in the dirt, counting to 10 before reversing the spinning doll’s direction. Nearby, her little brother crawled on the ground, crying because he was hungry; they had gone to bed the night before without any dinner. Though unable to tell time, she knew that soon she’d be going with her mother to the cricket matches to sell fruit to the fans.
She looked up to see dirty bare feet – lots of them. “Run! Run!” she heard her mother screaming. She tried to move, but just couldn’t. Behind her, strong arms grabbed her off the ground, her dolly falling from her hand while her little brother cried louder. Her screams could not penetrate the huge hand that tightly covered her little mouth.
Out of the corner of one eye she saw her mother pounding on whoever was holding her, but the arms didn’t release her. She tried to dig her bare feet into the ground, but they skidded through the dirt as her brother’s cries grew fainter. It was through the blur of flooding tears that she saw her mother crash to the ground and disappear around a corner.
This is the last memory Mosa has of that terrible day, five years ago, when she was separated from her family. She has since endured almost daily beatings at the hand of her captor, wondering if it will ever end. Ugly bruises and scars are a constant reminder of the hell she has lived and the price of forced sexual service; her pain, their pleasure and her captor’s profit.
Some days Mosa considers ending her own life; her hope of being reunited with her family has been deadened by the daily abuse. On the rare occasions when she doesn’t immediately fall asleep, she fleetingly wonders how human beings can be so cruel to others. Today, as Mosa watches the ninth man of the day enter her hollow room, she pastes on the smile she has forced herself to wear a thousand times before. She had long surrendered to the fact that this is her life, but little did she know that her destiny could soon change.
This man was somehow different; he took off neither his nor her clothes but instead stood there, staring at her. He held one finger to his lips, indicating that Mosa should say nothing, and handed her a slip of paper. As she slowly reached out to receive the paper, his kind brown eyes seemed to look deep within her instead of at her like most men had. The note shook in her nervous hand, making it difficult to see, but it didn’t really matter because Mosa had never learned to read.
Taken at the age of eight, Mosa was deprived the educational advantages of other children and her classroom instead taught to trust no one. The moment that Mosa was snatched from the safety of her family, the world became dark and lonely; her only human interaction cruel and abusive. The 8 by 8 shell of a room contained only what was necessary to sleep and work, a well worn mat and broken down dresser in the corner.
There were no windows in the room. The only light came from a tiny lamp in the corner with a dirty bulb and tattered shade. She looked again at the paper and then back to the man. Her eyes asked the question — what was this about? Mosa didn’t understand as the man took one arm and gently tugged her towards the door, while he again put his finger to his lips. She held the slip of paper out to the man and shook her head, but no anger leaped into his eyes from her action.
Mosa couldn’t leave her room with this man; she knew that she’d beaten if she did and lose all food for several days. The rooms here were watched closely. It was known who went in and out and how long they were there; always under constant observation. Josef realized that he would not be able to convince this young girl she could trust him yet. For now he would return to his post and wait for another opportunity.
Josef knew hardship first hand. As a boy in a Nazi concentration camp, he had seen the deaths of his father, mother and all three older brothers. This was not Josef’s first visit to see Mosa. He and his team had been collecting information for several weeks and knew that something must be done. As he returned to his surveillance location, Josef wondered what it would take to get this girl out of the brothel. He knew she needed help and he filled his team in on what had just taken place. They too were disappointed, as they had high hopes for this rescue mission.
Mosa was thrust back into her sad reality as the next two clients fell through the door drunk, laughing and ready to get what they paid for. As she lay there, she thought of her little brother. He used to play with a tea spoon and a stone in the herb patch. She missed him dearly. She thought of her mother’s voice when she called “dinner time!” and papa shouting “Now!”, how safe she was then, how scared now.
Mosa closed her eyes as the two men pawed at her clothes; these were the easier ones — quick and no need to pretend she liked them. The first man grunted and rolled off of her to make way for the second man. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter to focus on the color green. Green made her think of the hills surrounding her home, she thought of this often when the current situation made her sad.
Soon Mosa had a few minutes to herself — an unusual but welcome event. Her mind went back to the man with the kind eyes, giving her a flicker of hope. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to think about a different life, much less dream or hope hers could change. Thinking back on the man’s brief appearance, she thought about how he hadn’t come for sex; he wanted something else, but what? Something on the floor caught her eye; she bent over and picked up a photo — it was a photo of her home! Mosa could only stare at the photo in confusion, her stomach tying in knots while she tried to fathom what the photo meant.
At that moment her door banged open; a man wearing a mask and pointing a gun at her screamed for her to get out of the room. Her feet scratched the dirt as the gunman pushed her to the door; she grabbed her dolly while the gunman gestured “move it.” A moment of hesitation and a quick thought back to the man with kind eyes was brutally interrupted with a harsh backhand and emphatic “Let’s go!” Mosa knew this man was serious and that she better do exactly what he said or suffer the consequences. She knew it was time for a new location, rotating every few weeks to stay one step ahead of men like Josef. Her hope was crushed, once again.
Mosa flashed back to her first move from freedom to bondage; ripped from the safety of her family and thrown into a living hell. The training brothel was an adult’s worst nightmare happening to an 8 year old. Raped and beaten repeatedly within hours of her capture, Mosa was trained to take it all without complaint. Initially, Mosa reacted naturally and fought back. However, with each contest came a more severe punishment until her will was broken and she performed with a trained smile. She usually tried not to think of her home, but sometimes stray thoughts forced themselves through her numb mind.
Outside of Mosa’s world, the countdown had begun. 142 days, 22 hours and 42 minutes and the 2010 FIFA World Cup games would begin in South Africa. The excitement of South Africans had already begun to grow and was spreading like a tidal wave across the country. Pick up football games, already a favorite pastime, increased as children dreamed of their favorite heroes of their sport. “Did you hear?” one twelve year old barefoot boy with a soccer ball began. “Diego Maradona is here.” The arrival of one of the world’s greatest football players of all time caused a surge in the wave of excitement. “He is down at the HPC at the University of Pretoria” he continued as they all ran that direction filled with hope and dreams.
Mosa had no hopes and dreams; she was far away from the excitement of the World Cup games. But might the games distract her captors? A flicker of hope, a very small flicker, flared up in Mosa’s mind. Was this a chance to escape? If so, what would she need to do?
All of South Africa is abuzz with excitement and preparations for the World Cup. With 9 host cities there is an incredible number of things to be done. New stadiums have been built to accommodate the World Cup events, hotels and restaurants are popping up and vendors are arriving from all over the world. There is a huge influx of people from all around the globe converging on South African soil — this is an amazing time in the country’s history. Along with the legitimate businesses though, there is a seedy element as well; a dark side called human trafficking and sexual slavery. With this in mind, abolitionists from around the world were arriving in South Africa along with the athletes, vendors and traffickers, hoping to make a difference. Some abolitionists worked for non-governmental organizations while others were on their own. Some felt called by God while others were moved by human injustice; but all of them were there for change.
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