There was a knock on the door. Sandy had phoned and said he was on his way over, something he wanted to talk about. I was always worried when Sandy called with something to talk about. Sandy was a "do-gooder." Not a busybody do-gooder, but the real deal. He helped with causes. He volunteered, and was prepared to do the sort of things others wouldn't do. Whenever Sandy had something to talk about, it usually meant I ended up doing stuff. Carrying furniture down at the community centre. Help at the old folks home. Running around a park, sponsored, dressed in some strange costume. Delivering leaflets around the streets. In the end, most of the tasks he found for me to do were perfectly enjoyable, and I felt I'd done something fulfilling and worthwhile. Normally I was happy to go along with Sandy as long as it fitted around work. Having said that, working from a workshop in the back garden making bespoke furniture meant I had a fair bit of flexibility. But this time the phone call had sounded more urgent, more serious...
I let Sandy in, shaking hands as we normally did when he saw each other, then led him into the sitting room of my small house. We chatted a few moments, but then I smiled. "Okay Sandy, what do you want me to do?"
"Mike, this is serious and important. We chatted up at the centre, and could think of no-one else who could help." His voice was suddenly earnest - he meant it. "Was reluctant at first to dump you with this because it is going to cost. Going to cost you some money and probably your reputation a bit as well. Do you want to hear?"
This did seem important. "Tell me what it is before I say yes."
Sandy smiled. "Look, this is different. You want to say no, and we'll understand and won't hold it against you. And if you say no, we'll find another solution. But I hope you won't." I leaned my head to the side and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, go on, lay it on me. What do you want.
Sandy continued, far more hesitantly than he normally would. "Well, I've been helping up at the refugee place, and there's this person we've been dealing with..." It took Sandy about ten minutes to explain. There was this woman who's application had been turned down, from a country in Africa, racked by civil war. It was odd - she had been turned down on a technicality, but as the country was unsafe they wouldn't return her there forcibly. She had escaped after being horribly treated. Her husband killed. The women of her village raped, as she had been. She had walked for two weeks to get over the border, and get a plane to somewhere - organised by some traffickers. Now she was here. Traumatised. Terrified. And homeless, hungry, with no income. The refugee place was helping with an appeal, but she needed somewhere to live, indefinitely, who would feed her. Would I do it? There was no-one else anyone could think of to ask.
It was a huge ask! I asked questions, and was promised that she was honest, that the asylum place had briefed her about how she should be if they could find her a place. That at some stage it would come to an end but it could be months. That they would remove her if there were problems. And yes, she spoke English pretty well. Truth be told I knew I would say yes before asking the questions - always up for something different.
In the end I agreed - a few days at first, and they had to check with me. Sandy smiled. "Do you want to meet her - she's out in the car."
I smiled at the cheek. "You sneaky bastard! You knew I couldn't say no. Okay, bring her in."
Sandy disappeared for a few moments, then brought in this woman, introducing her as Maria. I was dumbstruck. I was expecting a victim, someone bowed and scarred by age and experience. Maria was a goddess! A black goddess. She stood 5ft 10 inches - as tall as me, and was slim, with long wavy black hair. She was quiet. Respectful. Her face lit up when she smiled, although she was clearly very nervous.
After talking for half an hour, although Maria was pretty monosyllabic, I spent a few moments showing her around the house, showing her the spare bedroom which she could have, telling her about what I did - that I worked from home making "bespoke" furniture in my workshop, and she could help if she wanted, as well as come out on deliveries. Sandy had fetched her luggage which was in a suitcase and two bin bags, and put it in her room. He then left.
Maria quickly disappeared to her room, and seemed to be sorting things out. She accepted a drink, she showered, and I heard nothing from her until the next morning. She appeared as I was eating breakfast. I asked if she wanted some thing. She nodded and said nothing.
Truth be told, that was how the next few days continued. I put a lock on her bedroom door to help her feel safe. I got her helping with some of the chores about the house. We chatted briefly over meals, and I learnt a little about what had happened to her since she had arrived in the country, and a little about her family, and her fears for them back in her homeland.
It was on about the third night, at evening meal, I asked her to stay and watch the television with me - that she didn't need to hide in her room. Suddenly she exploded! "Is it tonight that you are going to rape me? All you men are the same. You just like to get women like me and make us prisoners and use us for your lust."
I was stunned. "What????"
"It's why you and your friend set this up." Maria was suddenly in an emotional rant. "You don't have a woman in your life so you trap a woman like me so you can use me. You are a monster. It's what all you men are like..." The rant went on for several minutes, with me being called a series of names, accused of all sorts of things I wouldn't think of, and my "integrity" greatly challenged!
I was furious. "SIT DOWN," I yelled at her, pointing to a chair. I had to repeat the order twice before she sat. "BE QUIET." She went quiet, sat, but looked terrified. "Now you listen to me," I ordered.
Her eyes were looking hard at the ground. I continued "You are right - I don't have a woman in my life because my wife was killed by a drunk car driver nine months ago. And you are right - I do look at you and think you are a beautiful lady. You are a stunningly beautiful lady. But hear this..." I paused. "I have talked to Sandy about you. He has told me a little of what you have been through and it has hurt you terribly. I cannot help that. But I have committed myself to look after you, to feed you, to help you. And I will do that. And I am a man of honour. I will not touch you. Do you understand? It won't be easy, but you are here for sanctuary, and sanctuary you will have. You have to trust me." I stopped. There was a pause, and Maria stood and went to her room silently.
The next few days continued in the routine we developed. She did start to watch a little television with me, and was a help around the house. We got her some new clothes, practical clothes such as jeans and t-shirts - until now she had only worn African clothes. Sandy called once or twice to see how things were going. It was Sunday evening, a week or so later, when I was relaxing after cooking our tea, that Maria came and sat opposite me.
"Mike," she said quietly. "I want to say sorry. Sorry that I was so horrible to you. I too have lost my partner so know a little of the pain you feel. And sorry - you have been honourable up to now, and I have begun to hope you are always honourable."
In the pause I responded."Maria, we men are not always honourable in our thoughts. You are a beautiful woman, but we try to be honourable in behaviour."
Maria burst into tears. She sobbed for a couple of minutes before speaking again. "How can you find me beautiful? I am ugly and horrible and filthy and no man can possibly want me."
"What do you mean, honey?" She sobbed again and I remained quiet until she might hear me. "Why not tell me what you mean?"
Maria controlled her sobbing before she began to speak. "The first time it was in our village. The rebels came. They took all of the women. Including me, and my sister and my mother. They stripped us in the bush. Then they grabbed whoever they wanted. And we had to watch. I saw two men take my mother. One in her mouth, one..." She paused. And then three of them one after the other took my sister, until she was crying. And my friends. And then it was my turn. They said I must be a princess. And lots of them wanted me. I remember everyone. Seven of them took me between my legs, stuck their things in me. And four of them made me suck them, and they came in my mouth. Then two of them took me..." she paused before continuing. "...took me in my bottom."
I remained silent and allowed Maria to continue. "My husband made me feel good, but these men made me feel terrible, and it hurt. And then I was taken by a group of them and had to march with them, and they used me every night. For two weeks they used me. Then I was rescued by the government army, and they took me as well. Until my mother told them I was on their side, and my husband was fighting with them. And he sent money for me to get away, and I went to the capital and my mother texted me to tell me he was dead, but gave me an address of an agent to get me out of the country. And then I saw him, and he would only help if I paid, and did things with him and his three friends."
I still remained silent as she told her story, a story she spoke amongst sobs. "And then I got out, and came here. But I am so filthy. No man will want me now. After all those men have been in me. I don't deserve anyone to care for me."
