Episode 10

My traffickers started asking for a quota:500,000/ night or I couldn’t go home. I had a part-time job I was also doing at that time in a superstore when the demand to be delivering more money as a prostitute became too demanding for me. I used to take money from the pile of cash on my boss desks or steal his debit card and use it at an ATM (I knew the PIN of my boss). I stole from my co-workers and friends.Hurting my loved ones made me feel guilty, and I’d cover up my shame with more meanness.By and by, I was falling apart. I didn’t like David anymore and the feeling seemed to be mutual. I used to love being chosen by my traffickers over the other girls, singled out and praised. Even that did nothing for me after two years. I was miserable, completely numb. One night, I raided my medicine cabinet and swallowed a handful of pills, hoping to kill myself. It didn’t work. I just vomited and passed out. The next morning, I went to my friends place and grabbed an apple juice, but my esophagus was burned from throwing up all the drugs. I still hate apple juice.One weekend, I had decided to go visit my mum in Akure.I had managed to inform the guys about it so that they won’t think I had run away.
I didn’t like the guys coming over to my house—I was protective of my mum—but this time, I didn’t fight it. About 35 people came over for a party. We raided my mum’s liquor cabinet and the guys found my mum’s bank card. I gave them the PIN. Part of me thought that if they got enough money, they might leave me alone.Over the next few weeks, they gradually drained $10,000 from my mum’s account. One day, my mum called me downstairs. My mum asked if I’d taken the money. I denied it, but she told me the bank had the person who’d made withdrawals on camera, and I should confess before they looked at the tape. I was silent, totally shut down. Something switched off in me. She turned to her friend and said: “Something is happening to her.”
That day, I agreed to go for a drive with my mom. She wanted to get me alone, get me talking. I finally confessed that these guys were making me have sex for money. I think my exhaustion had overtaken my shame. She almost seemed relieved at first, that there was some sort of an explanation. We could get help and stop living inside this nightmare. She said we had to go to the police immediately.At the station, we saw two detectives. They kept asking me for information I didn’t have: exact floors and unit numbers; last names of clients. Words like “trafficking” and “prostitution” were never spoken. They treated me like a drama queen who got caught stealing and was trying to get out of it by deflecting blame. They seemed more interested in my mum’s money. The best solution, they said, was to just stop talking to the guys.
To be continued………

©Grace Dammy.

Interesting.... More inspiration to u... And more update pls

Thanks bro.