Free Trafficked The Diary of a Sex Slave by Sibel Hodge Page A

of new opportunities.
    It was a very emotional goodbye with Liliana and my mother. Liliana held onto my legs and did not want to let go. We all cried so much. I promised them as soon as I got an apartment I would send for them and we would be together again. It would not be long, a month at the most.
    I arranged to meet Natalia at the bus station in town. We were going to be picked up by a friend of Andrei who would drive us all the way to Italy. But when I found Natalia she told me there was a problem with her passport and she would not be able to go until it was sorted out. She talked me into going without her.
    ‘It will only be a week or so before I join you,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, Andrei and his friend will look after you.’ She smiled and hugged me.
    And I trusted her.
    Andrei’s friend did not drive me to Italy. I am still somewhere in Moldova. I was blindfolded and handcuffed and threatened with death in the car before I arrived here with my captor. If I did not do what they ordered, they told me they would do unspeakable things to Liliana and my mother before they kill them. I cannot risk their lives so I must do what they tell me.
    I am in a house, I think, in the country. There are no city noises here, only birds chirping. I never thought I would envy a bird, but I do. They are free to fly away from here, and I imagine I am a sparrow or an owl, launching myself through the windows to freedom. But there are bars on the windows and the shutters are closed, so there is no way for me to escape. I have tried the door but it is locked with a key and bolted from the outside. It is dark in my prison cell, and I think I have been here for about eight hours so it must be night time by now. I am in a whitewashed room about two metres square, and I am lying on an old mattress that smells of urine and filth, with my hands and feet in chains. There is a bucket in here for me to go to the toilet. No paper to use, though, and the thought of being unable to wipe myself disgusts me.
    There are other girls here, too. I can hear them through the walls, crying and screaming. I want to talk to them; to get some comfort from knowing we are together, but I do not dare. If my captors hear me talking it may make them angry. Earlier I heard a door burst open nearby and a man’s voice yelling at one of the girls to be quiet. I heard slaps and punches, and her high-pitched screams that pierced my brain, even though my hands were pressed tightly over my ears. Now I hear just her soft sobs.
    I know what happened; I could hear that, too.
     

Day 2
     
     
    One of my captors is a woman. It is unbelievable to think that a woman could be involved in something like this. Women are mothers and nurturers. How can she do this to another woman, knowing what will happen to us? Somehow that makes her worse than the men. Does living in poverty and the sudden prospect of money make people evil, or are they evil to begin with?
    I begged for a toilet roll and she gave me one. I know from now on it is the little things that I took for granted in life that will make me feel like a human being again. Toilet roll – an everyday item, and yet I am so happy to see it.
    It is morning, I think. She unlocked the door and left a plate of bread and salted dried fish. She gave me a big bottle of water, too. My thirst seemed to have come from nowhere, and I forgot that I had had nothing to eat or drink for twenty-four hours. I swallowed half the bottle without stopping for air. I cannot eat, though. My stomach is churning at the thought of things to come.
    I wanted to ask how she could do this to us, but I cannot antagonize her. She is a hard-looking woman, about thirty-five years old. She has nice hair and make-up, and her clothes are expensive. I hear her laughing and joking with the male captors like this is all perfectly normal. In her world I suppose it is.
    Instead, I asked her what was going to happen to me, and she told me I am now owned by a slave