Sex slave in the back yard of an embassy


Date: January 1, 1970
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A year ago, just when I thought that I was finally getting ahead in my life, a terrible thing happened from which I am still recovering ? painfully.

I grew up in a rural village with no nearby schools or any social amenities. My brothers and I had little schooling because our parents were too poor to pay for even the basic things we needed, and besides, we had to work to help them.
 
My two younger sisters and I were to wait for marriage. Two of my brothers tended other people’s cattle or helped my father till his small piece of land. We were very poor. There were days when we had to forage in the bush for wild fruits to eat.
 
In desperation, my mother sent me to the city to try to get any kind of job. My aunt and her husband, a kind gentleman who treated me like his own daughter, took me in, but couldn’t get me job because I had no schooling, could only speak basic English and had no skills whatsoever. So, my aunt enrolled me at a training centre for domestic workers.
 
I was so happy because I was finally going to work and send money back home. I applied myself diligently to my studies and the owner of the centre said I would have the first preference if anyone should want a domestic worker.
 
The most coveted jobs were those in expatriate and diplomats’ homes where the work is light and the pay is regular and good. Just as I finished my six-month course, a woman married to a diplomat came looking for house help. I was the first choice. I could not believe it. I thought finally I can make something of my life; I will have a regular salary and maybe my youngest sister can now go to school.
 
There were warning signs that should have aroused my suspicions but I was too excited. For example, the woman was not interested in my qualifications. She was interested to see what I looked like without clothes! I had to strip to my bra and underclothes. She also demanded that I undergo a health check, which included an HIV test. I did not tell the woman that owned the centre because I wanted the job so bad. I was scared she would refuse for me to go.
 
I left with my new employer a month later. At first, everything was fine. I learnt how to run the house the way the family wanted. I was given new clothes and even some earrings and necklaces. I looked very pretty.
 
After the second month, my employer said she was going back home for two months to see her sick mother. I was a bit apprehensive because I would be alone without supervision and the children were quite a handful. Anyway, she went and after a week, I began to relax because I thought everything was under control.
 
Then came the night my employer’s husband came into my room while I was asleep and simply pushed me on my back. I screamed but it was pointless. I lived in a small guest room attached to the main house. There was no one around to hear my screams as the children were far away.
 
I screamed, kicked, and tried to bite him as he raped me, but rather than deter him, it appeared to excite him and he raped me at least three times during that night.
 
I cried so much that the next morning I had no voice, my body was aching and I was bleeding the whole day. I had no one to turn to no one to talk to.
 
I worked that day, but I was so traumatised I burnt my hand while cooking for the children. That night, even though I had locked the door, the husband came back again. When he saw my bandaged hand, he grabbed it and said he would pinch me on my burn if I denied him sex. It was over in a few minutes but I was in so much pain that I could not wake up the next morning.
 
He told me that he would get the children off to school and get take aways for their lunch but that in the evening he expected me to be ‘ready’ for him. He locked me in the house.
 
When the children came home from school, I took advantage and sent a note back with the driver, to the Embassy secretary who spoke English telling her what was happening.
 
That evening, he raped me for the third night in a row. I threatened him; I told him I would report him to the authorities and to his wife. He laughed saying it would be his word against mine, and that no one would believe me.  I thought he was joking.
 
The secretary informed the authorities but rather than come and interview me, they went straight to my employer’s husband. The next thing I knew, my employer came and said her husband said I was stealing things and she was giving me to someone else. I told her that her husband had been raping me, but she said her husband could not rape a young girl and certainly not a maid.
 
At my new employment, there was a couple with three grown boys and a grandchild. I worked in peace for a while. The woman of the house was very kind. She guessed I had undergone some trauma but did not question me. Unfortunately, she was hospitalised with cancer and subsequently died. 
 
The night my employer went into hospital, her husband came into my room and raped me. I screamed, but the boys just increased the volume of the music and I could hear them laughing about how ‘the old man’ was still energetic. This went on for a month, every night sometimes twice.  
 
I managed to get word again to the secretary at the Embassy. This time she came to get me and hid me in her home for a couple of weeks while she tried to get my passport (which the first family had retained). She informed the authorities and then I heard the true story.
 
Apparently, my first employer’s husband had instructed her to find a replacement in the bedroom because she no longer satisfied him. He wanted a healthy, strong young girl with small breasts and wide hips.  If she did not find such a girl, he would divorce her.
 
I was also to ‘service’ his friends for a fee. The second family I worked for paid a fee for ‘finding’ me. I was to be passed on to another family before I ran away.
 
In the meantime, I fell pregnant. I managed to get a back street abortion. I also managed to go back home. I told no one why I came back or what had happened.
 
I think the abortion was not well done. I am constantly sick. I suffer horrible headaches, stomach cramps and vomit a lot. I have tried to work but, apart from ill health, I cannot stand being in the company of the males of the house even though they have done nothing to me.  I am in a real sorry state and I am afraid of having tests as I suspect I might have contracted HIV.
 
I am living with my brother who is a garden worker and lives in one room. He wonders why I cannot work but does not ask too many questions.
 
I know I should go to the YWCA, get counseling and perhaps even find a job there. I know I should do something, but these days, I do not want to get out of bed, I do not want to see or be near people. I feel so traumatised that sometimes I just want to end my life.
 
I am trying to take each day as it comes. It’s not easy. There are times when all I feel is anger and bitterness, others when I just cry feeling sorry for myself. I look forward to the day that I am able to rouse myself sufficiently to start seeking retribution. I know that day will come – just not now.
 
(*Not her real name.)
 
(This story was told to writer Zarina Geloo in Zambia. This story is part of the I Story series produced by the Gender Links Opinion and Commentary Service for the Sixteen Days of Activism.)


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