Love on the Run: Adaora

Adaora My story is of a distressing banality. I was born to an ageing couple in Lagos, Nigeria. My father was a bank clerk and my mother a nurse. My mother thought she had finally hit menopause when a growing and hardening belly led her to seek medical advice. I was their little miracle. I grew up knowing I was loved, precious and safe. I was sheltered from the ugliness of this world. I was taught that anything was at grasp if I could work hard for it. I decided very early that I was going to be a medical doctor. Though my mother's profession influenced me, I desired to do something that mattered more than anything else. I wanted to help my community. In summary, I had a happy childhood and quiet teenage years. But it all came to an end when my father was diagnosed with lungs cancer. From one day to the other, our joyous home became as quiet as a cemetery—no more laughter. My father slowly turned into a shadow of himself. Our middle-class family quickly became overwhelmed by the cost of treatment, first radiation, then chemotherapy. We sold everything that had some value. My mother stopped working to support and encourage my father in this fight, as she always did during their forty-year marriage. Despite all the care and hopes, my father lost the battle against cancer and died. My heartbroken mother survived him for only two months. I became an orphan. Next to that, I inherited debts from my parents. The nightmare was still unfolding. I was to be evicted since the house my parents built was used as collateral for loans. My entire world was shattered. My parents were gone. Their absence opened me to a world I had no idea existed. A world where men I called 'uncle' my whole life proposed to support me financially in return for discreet s****l favours. Fortunately, or so I thought, a distant cousin to my father offered a way out. She would facilitate my relocation to Switzerland and help me get a job, start afresh. She told me that my dad was her favourite cousin, and because of that, she would do everything possible to help me get a better life. I did not hesitate long. Nothing was holding me back in Lagos. I agreed. As part of my preparation for the journey, I was requested to do a thorough medical check-up. Looking back, I cannot believe I ignored all the red flags. They were all over the place. She never clearly said what she was doing for a living and what kind of job she would help me get. I had finished high school and was about to start university when my world fell apart. I had no professional experience whatsoever. She organized our trip, and before I knew it, here I was in Zürich. How she got me a passport with a Schengen visa in 72 hours remains a mystery. We flew from Lagos to Milan, then travelled from Milan to Zürich by train. As soon as we got to her place, she took my passport to 'secure' it before ordering me to rest. We were to discuss my future the next day. Though exhausted, I couldn't help but notice the subtle change in her attitude. When we met in Nigeria, she was very affectionate, petting me, encouraging me to take heart, speaking to me gently—beginning every sentence with 'my dear'. In Zürich, I became just 'you' in a dry tone. The morning following our arrival, Felicia, was her name, asked me to drop the aunty and call her Madam. I found it a bit odd to request that from me, but whatever. I did not understand the massive turn my life would take from the moment she made that request. Madam wanted to discuss my future and take quick action. She told me that my travel costs were as high as 80 000 euros. Because of the emergency, she took a loan to cover my expenses. Her associates granted the loan. I would need about a decade or more to repay that debt by working a regular job, and her associates were not that patients. Fortunately, she had a solution: I could auction my virginity. She knows who to contact, and that should bring a decent amount of money. Later she will introduce me to her circles of friends. There is always a demand for young and beautiful African girls. If I play my cards well, she estimates to a maximum of 5 years the time necessary to pay my debt. Madam assured me that I was in good hands with her. She had helped many before me, and there's plenty of money to be made in the business. Naturally, once I am debt-free, I can decide if I want to continue, get married, or even bring a friend and be a Madam. She ended her surreal monologue with a tap on my shoulder as if everything was settled. To say that I was shocked is an understatement. I was listening to Madam casually discussing how she would organize the next five years of my life. I politely declined her recommendation for this questionable career choice, apologizing for any misunderstanding that had led her to think I would be interested. That earned me a slap. It seems I misunderstood the whole situation entirely. Madam and her mysterious associates were not taking no for an answer. Our discussion was merely for information purposes. However, it seemed appropriate that I was given some time to think about her proposal/order. I had not seen much of the flat so far and discovered a particular guest room. Madam asked Cassius, who seems to be her minion, to escort me to that room. The room was tiny; it was more a closet than a room. It was empty, without windows. It was so small; I couldn't sit with my legs straight before me. I was locked in that room, in the dark. The first couple of hours, I avoided taking deep breaths because of the unpleasant smell. After a few days, I could put a name on that smell: it was the smell of despair and fear mixed with bodily fluids. I am not sure how long I stayed in the closet with my thoughts and regret as companions. How gullible I have been, how stupid. I tried to recollect what happened from the beginning—what a fool. Felicia/ Madam met me at my mother's funeral. Before then, I had never heard of a cousin living abroad. She made me do a complete medical check-up insisting on a thorough gynaecological exam. She confiscated my passport. I had heard of girls being trafficked and forced into p**********n, but I never thought it could happen to me. Come to think of it; I am the perfect candidate. I was vulnerable, and my judgement clouded by grief when Madam and I met. My parents were had lost almost all family members; my father's sickness isolated us. Friends and relatives stopped coming by as it got apparent that my father would die. Madam knows perfectly well that I have no one left to fight for me. One day or maybe it was one night, I had completely lost track of time; Madam came to check on me. She had a glass of water. I could have it if I agreed to work for her. I was so thirsty, but I couldn't resolve to p********e myself. So she left with the water. Another time, she invited Cassius to give me his special foot massage: 20 lashes on the sole of my feet. I knew sadness and grief, but I had never experienced this type of pain, nor hunger, or thirst. Thanks to my new friends, I now know that I have minimal tolerance to all three. I began to pray for another visit of Madam, a visit during which I could tell her I had changed my mind. When she finally came to see me, I only had enough strength to tell her that I was willing to work for her as long as necessary. She smiled and left. My consent did not have the expected outcome. I was still in the dark closet. I had resolved to drink my urine when Cassius came to set me free. He then dragged me to the room I spent my first night. There was a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of water for me—the best meal of my entire life. I later learned that I stayed one week in the closet. Three days into my recovery Madam organized a photo shoot. I dressed in lingerie, smiling at the camera for the auction that would launch my career into the oldest profession in the world. One week after my release, Madam sent me to the lucky winner.