Free Hidden Girl: The True Story of a Modern-Day Child Slave by Shyima Hall

If our SUV had been rear-ended, or if someone had hit the back panel near where I was sitting, I would not have stood much of a chance.
    However, I could see out the windows. This was the first time I had ever seen mountains or woods, and I was greatly impressed, especially with the tall peaks. I think that’s why this trip is clearly imprinted in my mind, because I was so impressed with the scenery. I had time to think during the drive, and I understood that the family was going on a vacation, but I didn’t know where, or for how long. I had become accustomed to not knowing the bigger picture of things and had learned to let life’s events unfold around me. What other choice did I have? There was nothing, absolutely nothing, in my life that I could control.
    Eventually we pulled up to a huge cabin, and as the family’s excitement grew, I unloaded the luggage and brought it inside. The kids ran from room to room while I struggled to match each suitcase with the right person and the right bed. The cabin was big, with two bedrooms: a room for The Mom and The Dad and the twins, and one for the girls. There was a bed for everyone—except me. I slept on the floor of the girls’ room with only a blanket to cover me.
    Friends of the family arrived later, and when everyone went out to explore during the ensuing days, I stayed in the cabin. Every day I sat on a chair in the kitchen. There was nothing to eat, nothing to watch, nothing to wash, fold, cook, or clean. I didn’t want to fall asleep, because I knew The Dad would slap me if he came home to find me sleeping. Instead I sat, not knowing if they would come tumbling through the front door in an hour or later that evening.
    When the family did come back, everyone wanted something at once, and I rushed to accommodate everyone. Once or twice, though, I got to walk in the woods with the twins, and I appreciated that experience. I loved the quiet, the peacefulness of the tall, tall trees, and I wished I could stay forever.
    Another time the family went to Disneyland. Our house in Irvine was not far from there, but the drive to and from made it an extra long, busy day. My job while we were at the theme park was to watch the twins, give them their snacks when they were hungry, and wait with them in line for various rides. I didn’t ride on anything, of course. I tried to become invisible. I was afraid that someone would ask why I was not going on the rides with the other kids, afraid they’d ask where my parents were. I was about eleven by this time, but I was small and looked much younger. And while the boys had been fluent in English even back in Egypt, I still didn’t read, speak, or understand it.
    The boys were excited to be at Disneyland, but I didn’t know what to think about it. There was nothing like it back home in Egypt—at least that I had been aware of. In truth I thought Disneyland was weird. Everyone acted silly there, and I didn’t understand the purpose of it. I held the boys’ backpacks and waited. For me, Disneyland was just another place. You’d think I would have had some interest in the activities that were going on, but it says a lot about my state of mind and how much my captors had beaten down my spirit that I didn’t.
    While Disneyland didn’t stir up my interest, a trip to SeaWorld did. There I got to sit in the audience and watch the shows, and I adored every second of the entertainment. I loved the water, the animals, and the people. This was the first time that I had ever been to any kind of entertainment or show. I had never even been to a movie—or to a concert or a play. I think that’s why I was enamored of SeaWorld. I hadn’t realized anything like that could exist.
    I was so engaged at SeaWorld, in fact, that I even learned a new word, “dolphin.” In addition to the fabulous shows, there was a section of the park where you could pay a fee to swim with the dolphins, and the girls signed right up. They disappeared into a small