Finding Freedom Read online

  Finding Freedom

  Sue Searles

  Contents

  Untitled

  Untitled

  Introduction

  What is human trafficking?

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Finding Freedom

  By Sue Searles

  Published by Clean Reads

  www.cleanreads.com

  *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  *

  FINDING FREEDOM

  Copyright © 2016 SUE SEARLES

  ISBN 978-1-62135-485-7

  Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGN STUDIO

  This book is dedicated to Haden, the most incredible person I know and the man I was lucky enough to marry.

  Introduction

  Every case referred to in this book, apart from that of the main character, is based on actual events. Millions of people around the world suffer from such atrocities as those mentioned; some far worse.

  Finding Freedom has been written as a fictional novel in order to give the reader a glimpse into the horrendous world of child trafficking in an easy-to-understand manner.

  There is a promise from God our Creator for each of us, regardless of what we have been through or what abusive situations we may have experienced:

  *

  Psalm 139:15&16 (The Message)

  “You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was sculpted from nothing into something.

  Like an open book, You watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life

  were spread out before You, the days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day.”

  What is human trafficking?

  Human trafficking affects every nation on the planet and is happening all around us. Most of us see victims every day and we don’t even know it.

  It is modern-day slavery and the second largest and fastest growing organized crime in the world, behind illegal drug trafficking. As you read this, two children per minute are being sold. Human trafficking has many faces: forced or bonded labor; domestic servitude and forced marriage; organ removal; the exploitation of children in begging; the sex trade; and warfare.

  So, what is it?

  Human trafficking is defined as the recruitment, transportation, sale or harbor of people through the use of threat, force, fraud, deceit or coercion.

  More than a million people worldwide become its victims every year, and anywhere between twenty to thirty million are trapped in its clutches at any given time. These figures are higher than at any other time in history. The tragedy is that while these people suffer at the hands of brutal taskmasters or pimps, the world turns a blind eye.

  Here are more staggering statistics:

  80% of victims are female.

  50% of victims are children.

  13 years is the average age a child is recruited into sex trafficking.

  About 2 million children are exploited every year in the global commercial sex trade.

  1-2% of victims are ever rescued.

  Trafficking may present itself in different forms, but certain factors remain the same: The person is abducted, sold or kept against their will; their freedom and human rights are denied them; usually cruelty and violence are employed to beat them into submission, along with threats and intimidation. They may be controlled by violence or substance abuse.

  Poverty is a prime factor, and in some cultures parents sell their children as a way to survive, not understanding the extent of what they’re actually doing. People from wealthier nations can also be lured or groomed through enticement of various kinds. For every victim of slavery, there is violation of their most basic human rights.

  *

  [Sources:www.hopeforjustice.org.uk; www.dosomething.org; www.ccaht.org]

  One

  (Wuse District, Abuja, Nigeria)

  - Wednesday, 2nd September -

  *

  Moments ago she’d been asleep, but now Lea shuddered in the darkness of her hut, grimacing from the flogging, her back becoming a volley of rolling flames that licked at her flesh. Again the weapon struck, like a whip slicing through soft tissue, drawing blood. Her breath was sucked out and she fought for air. Again the stick came down. And again. Lea felt defenseless, dazed, and alone.

  The frenzied attacker kept going as the frightened girl cowered against the hard, clay wall. Broken fingernails dug into the flimsy mat that served as a bed, and she gulped back silent sobs of terror. But she failed to stifle her cries sufficiently, and a pathetic whimper escaped. Lea knew better than that, but she couldn’t help it. Her cries only provoked her attacker to pummel her harder.

  At last her assailant turned to leave, all the while spitting out vicious and hateful words.

  Lea squinted into the shadows as the blurry outline of the woman she called Auntie Alina stomped out of the small enclosure and slammed the door behind her.

  Lea knew the punishment for oversleeping, but for the second time in a month she had committed this unforgivable sin. She’d learned the virtue of enduring her beatings in silence; to appear unemotional and detached. This was the life she had been forced to live, and escape would be both difficult and incredibly dangerous. Even so, one of these days she would be free.

  One of these days.

  Lea struggled to pull herself to a seated position, sending shafts of pain searing through her frail body. The clay wall was cold as she leaned against it, and she tried to steady herself while she staggered to her feet. The dizziness from a recent bout of malaria didn’t help. The blinding pain of the fresh wounds across her back throbbed incessantly, but she grimaced softly to stifle her cries.

  Lea slowly bent over to roll up her wafer-thin mat and soiled blanket. Every movement pulled the wounds open, making the fresh blood stick to her mud
died sleep vest. She steadied herself against the cold wall for fear that she’d pass out from pain, and dutifully laid her sleep mat and blanket in the corner of the enclosure. Without the mat to cover the floor, the small room was completely bear with an open roof that allowed her to see straight up into the night sky. Through the cloud cover the stars blinked dimly, filling her with a remote sense of peace and safety. She hoped today would be cooler than it had been lately, although at around four in the morning it was hard to tell.

  Lea slid her bare feet across the cold earth floor and wrapped a faded brown iro around her waist. She replaced her bloodied sleep vest with another, still soiled with stale perspiration from the day before. The beating made her want to collapse, but she’d have to numb herself to the pain.

  She tied a gele around her tight black curls to serve as a headscarf, and wedged her feet into a pair of broken slip-ons. They were same shoes she’d worn since she was brought here as a child.

  With ebony skin and black eyes devoid of emotion, Lea felt much older than she was. She’d lost count as the years had passed, but she was probably close to thirty by now.

  Lea had fantasized about her freedom more times than she could count. Opportunities arose frequently, but every time she’d lose courage. The consequences of being caught were too ghastly to imagine. There was no future for a girl like Lea; it was only the present that counted. Her wasted youth was something that could never be replaced. She knew this all too well and shook herself back to cruel reality. She must not be caught daydreaming, for now it was time to begin the day’s chores.

  Lea creaked open the rickety wooden door to her small enclosure, a room entirely separate from the main house. She staggered into the dark courtyard at the back of her mistress’s luxury home. Beside a thicket of iroko trees was an open area with a large, flat rock where Lea sat each day to prepare meals for Alina Visser. She shuffled to the rock and crouched over it, carefully lowering herself into a seated position. She dutifully prepared the firewood and filled a cast-iron pot with water, balancing it carefully upon a trio of rocks around a flickering flame. The searing pain in her back made any movement considerably slower than normal, and she paced herself carefully for fear of passing out.

  This time of the morning always brought an aching loneliness, but was also oddly peaceful. The iridescent glow of the crackling fire kept her company and offered warmth, its orange cinders dancing against the black sky. A white half-moon hid behind the iroko trees, creating chilling shapes and silhouettes, while singing crickets serenaded her. A blanket of sleepy solitude lay over the little village before the frenzy of daytime activity would begin.

  Lea managed to keep herself perched on the large rock. She tried as hard as she could to ignore the throbbing wounds from the beating. The hideous face of her attacker peered out through the upstairs bedroom window, observing her every move. Lea felt a pang of hatred and unimaginable terror. She bit her lip and arched her back, desperate to find a more comfortable position. At the same time, she labored on with the morning chores, trying to appear as composed as she could. In silent agony she prepared the ogi for her mistress, taking the ground corn and pouring it into boiling water. Fully aware of the woman’s eyes that bore into her, Lea stirred the mixture mechanically, silently disguising waves of violent muscle spasms. When the mixture was smooth, she set it aside and prepared akara, a dish she’d made countless times before. The overwhelming smell of ground beans, tomatoes, peppers, and spices nauseated her so early in the morning, and combined with the savage beating and blood loss, she fought to remain conscious. The dizziness came in waves, but somehow she managed to keep going. Lea averted her attention to the dancing flame beneath the cast-iron pot; she had to forget the nausea and the cruel round face in the window. She hoped her thoughts would carry her to sweeter places, although with every movement she could feel the raw flesh on her back tearing open.

  When the meal was ready, Lea staggered to her feet and carefully retrieved the heavy pots of food. She wobbled up the stone steps and braced herself as she entered Auntie Alina’s luxurious home.

  The aroma of the sickly sweet perfume that her mistress loved to wear, mixed with cigarette smoke, wrapped around Lea as she stepped into the house. Another wave of nausea punched her in the stomach. She silently carried the heavy cast-iron pots through the lounge and into the dining room. The beaded curtain rustled open as she stepped into the elongated kitchen and laid down the pots, being careful not to damage the marble counter tops. Lea could feel the cruel eyes that followed close behind, but she pretended to be oblivious, going about her duties like a trained animal. Terrified that one slip would trigger the woman’s rage, the girl kept her eyes to the floor and dished up a generous serving for her mistress, adding a grapefruit and slice of watermelon. Being extra careful not to drop anything, Lea covered the dish with a dishcloth as she always did. Lea knew the woman was close, could feel her presence like an eerie shadow, but she dared not look up. The less she had to see of her, the better.

  Lea winced as her vest pulled against the congealed wounds in her back, and her head felt swollen and tender. She had no idea how she’d endure the market day that lay ahead; standing for hours in the crippling heat was always exhausting. She’d have to sell all her mistress’s produce by the end of the day if she wanted to avoid another beating.

  Lea retrieved the loaves of bread that she’d baked the previous night and loaded them into two wicker baskets, covering them with dishcloths. Thankfully, her mistress hadn’t interfered this morning as much as she normally did, despite the unpleasant wake-up.

  Hopefully Lea could slip outside without a confrontation.

  Just a few more steps to the open front door.

  Almost there.

  The oppressively sweet stench was overwhelming as the woman’s enormous frame blocked her exit.

  She dripped with hideous flamboyance just like the loud, garish clothing that she wore. A one-piece dress hung like a bed sheet over her massive body, the gaudy tie-dyed colors magnifying her already-repulsive outline. An orange and green gele was tied as a tawdry headscarf around an unruly mop of curly, dirty blonde hair. Cruel gray eyes glared at Lea from beneath layers of heavy eye shadow.

  “It took you long enough!” The voice sounded more like a growl, her Dutch accent thick and strong. She pulled back her hand and slapped Lea across her left cheek.

  Mottled white skin resembling oatmeal turned beetroot red, her huge body trembling with rage, and fists the size of melons clenched at her sides.

  “Forgive me, Auntie!” Lea whimpered.

  “You’re nothing. Don’t you know that?” It wasn’t the first time she’d reminded Lea of the fact. She snatched a cigarette from the counter and took a long drag, blowing a plume of smoke through nicotine-stained teeth into the girl’s face.

  Lea kept her eyes down and reminded herself to zone out. That was the safest way. She refused to let the vicious words reach into her soul, beyond the protective shell she’d built around herself. She owed it to herself to keep fighting and reclaim some of the fiery spirit she’d had as a young girl.

  Because one of these days she would be free.

  “Now get out there and bring me back my money!” Alina took a step closer. The woman towered over her, the sickly perfume thick in Lea’s nostrils. How she longed to run from the house, away from this madness and fear that controlled her. Run as far as she could go and never come back. Maybe today she’d finally do it.

  Lea squeezed past the woman and staggered out the front door, an unwelcome wave of oppressive heat stinging her bruised face.

  Heavy footsteps clumped behind Lea as she moved along the narrow path, cradling the baskets of fresh bread.

  “Stop dawdling. You got up an hour late today, you lazy pig!”

  A burst of air was sucked from her lungs as the woman shoved her from behind. Lea lost her balance and fell face-forward into the dirt, leaving a foul taste of in her mouth. Three of the precious loaves had been stre
wn on the ground with the fall.

  She mustered all her remaining strength and staggered to her feet, retrieving the soiled loaves. She dusted them off with her hand as best she could and returned them to the baskets. They would still have to get sold, even if they were encrusted with dirt. The wounds in her back freshly opened and bloody, Lea numbly pushed open the wrought-iron gate and stepped onto the dusty street, a volley of expletives fading as the door closed.

  As soon as she turned the first corner, she knew she was safe. There was no way Auntie Alina would ever chase after her. She slowed her pace for a moment. Her back, from the shoulders down to the pelvis, felt like it was on fire. Her head wanted to explode. She stopped to catch her breath, laying down the heavy baskets and steadying herself against a stone wall.

  The morning’s beating, nauseating odors, and now the harsh sunlight had proven too much. Lea felt her stomach churn and she retched down the side of the wall. A mass of vomit and sputum soaked into the stony ground, mingled with her tears.

  After several minutes she composed herself and looked around, grateful that she hadn’t yet reached a busier part of town. Thankfully nobody had seen the episode, and she retrieved the baskets and continued down the street.