Woleté The Story of an Enslaved Ethiopian Girl

Part 5

The Catastrophe

Meanwhile, Woleté, rested and fresh and in a good mood, gathered her breath and continued her story, this time on how she and her two childhood friends were kidnapped. She did not even need Ashu’s prompt questions to do so.

One fateful day

“One market day, my two friends and I and two younger girls from our village, most of us 12 to 14 years old, woke up early in the morning and met at a hill where we would usually meet when we were about to run an errand somewhere. This time it was to the marketplace we went to, each with a basket full of farm produce that we would use to exchange for other goods. We were all set to walk the two-hour distance to this vibrant open market.”

“We were all excited, since, for some of us, including myself, this was our first trip to the market without our chaperones, who were almost always our respective mothers. When we were younger, we all enjoyed tagging along with adults; but now we were getting close to adulthood ourselves and we didn’t want any parental restrictions as to what we would do or who we would meet at the marketplace—something we really looked forward to.”

“You said ‘exchange’? What does that mean?” Ashu asked with a curious look.

“Yes, in our part of the country at the time, there was no money involved in the exchange of goods. Instead, we would directly exchange goods with each other. I have heard in bigger market towns further away, they use silver coin money they call tegerra birr.”

“What items would you be carrying to the market?”

“Oh, different things. Some of us carried ripe tomatoes, some carried bananas and mangos, some carried herbs and incense, etc. Some were carrying woven textiles, and I was carrying a couple of chickens and a few eggs. In exchange, we hoped to get things we did not produce ourselves, like oil, salt, and, if lucky, dried fish.”

“So, it was a bright, warm morning and we were full of energy when we set off on our way to the market. But, just before that, for some reason I still do not know, I glanced back at the village; little knowing that it would be my last glimpse of my childhood safe haven.”

Woleté paused, caught her breath, and continued.

“Anyway, as we followed the meandering path surrounded by lush green pastures and occasional forests, we immediately started talking about the latest gossip about the secret love affairs of the older women of our village. Then, we talked about our own dreams and hopes in our future lives, guessing who would marry whom, or who would have more children and how soon.

“When we got tired of that, we sang, sometimes with the birds, told stories and jokes to each other, and laughed our hearts out. Occasionally we ran into monkeys that followed us in the hope of snatching few bananas from our baskets, with some success. It was a lot of unrestricted girl chatting and giggling, which made the journey short and enjoyable.”

“We had almost reached our destination and could hear the chatter of people and smell of the spices at the marketplace, when, suddenly, three men, their faces partially covered with some old cloth, appeared in front of us. It was the same exact spot that my mother and I had passed many times before.”

“Did you see them coming?”

“No, I think they were hiding in the last section of thick forest that we would have crossed on our way to the market. They told us to stop where we were, and we froze.”

“They did this in broad daylight?” Ashu asked at the risk of sounding naïve about this whole thing.

“Yes, Ashu. Then, they blurted out some noise that sounded to us like orders. With no idea what was going on, we stood still, confused and frightened. We did not understand their language, we just heard loud, frightening noises.”

“You did not attempt to escape or to resist?” Ashu shot a quick question.

“No, we were just too afraid to attempt it and weren’t sure about their intentions. Besides, we were no match for the three mean-looking young men in front of us. What if we were injured permanently in the process? Also, not knowing the severity of the danger we were in at the time, we hoped this thing would be over and they would let us go back to our village safe and sound.”

“Then two of them approached us and, after briefly physically inspecting us one by one, they separated me and two other girls from the group. They set the rest of the girls free; I think they thought they were too young.”

“These girls, your friends, abandoned you?”

“The girls ran for their lives, of course! Ashu, they were all young girls, probably under 14 years of age. They were scared. I do not blame them.”

“You are right. Then what happened?”

“First the kidnappers took our baskets away and hid them behind the trees. Then, the two of them who had examined us earlier tied our hands while the third one watched from a distance. Then they covered our faces with sacks, except for a small opening at the top designed for us to breathe and asked us to walk in a direction we could not see.

“We had no idea where they were taking us. In total dismay and helplessness, we submitted to their orders. There was no escape.”

“Were the kidnappers armed?”

“No; except that two of them were carrying wooden clubs.”

“So, you were kidnapped just like that?” Ashu asked in disgust.

“Yes, Ashu, just like that we were enslaved!”

“But couldn’t you, at this point, at least have shouted for help, so some local people or administrators or chiefs could stop the kidnapping and set you free?” Ashu asked.

“I do not think there was such a thing as police at the time, not in our area. In fact, our local chiefs themselves may have condoned or even facilitated such practices because it was probably seen as a normal thing from which they benefited somehow. Or they were afraid of reprisals if they tried to interfere and stop it.”

“How is such a thing considered normal?”

“Well, if no one is willing or able to stop it, it eventually becomes normal. You see, Ashu, in those days, enslaving people and slave ownership was seen as a privilege for those who had the means. It eventually became an accepted practice. And the enslaved became submissive and obedient, or else.”

“What about your parents?” Ashu asked, desperate to know why somebody was not able to stop the kidnapping.

“Our parents knew nothing about it until it was all over and then it was too late. And even if they tried, they lacked the resources and the capacity to stop it. Or they too were afraid of possible retaliation. I believe they simply succumbed to the tragedy and surely spent the rest of their lives in agonizing grief.”

“What about your brother or cousins. They must have had the capacity to stop three men!”

“I am sure they would at least have put up a fight if they had seen the kidnapping taking place. But how could they have known? Maybe they were farming or isolated somewhere in one corner of the village.”

Ashu was listening with a mix of wonder and anger.

“In any case, after a very long and tiring journey, it was early in the afternoon when we reached what looked like a marketplace. It turned out to be one for slaves, where our kidnappers uncovered our heads, took us to the center of the marketplace, put us on display on a mud platform, and declared we were for sale.”

“What does that mean, ‘display’?”

“It means we were exhibited for sale, like a commodity, to attract potential buyers. We were required to sit or stand in ways that would be easy for the buyers to inspect us.”

Ashu’s face cringed with disgust. Woleté forced a short smile and continued.

“That was when we saw our kidnappers’ faces for the first time, and they were all young men. One of them was a bit different from the other two in that he was calm and reserved and closely watched what the other two were doing. Occasionally I could hear him arguing with them, not sure about what, in a language I didn’t understand.”

“Were you the only girls on display at the marketplace?”

“No, there were also many other young, kidnapped girls, mostly between the ages of 12 and 16, who were also being displayed like us, ready for potential buyers. We waited for someone to buy us.”

“Soon enough, the middlemen started to show up,” Woleté continued her story.

“Who were these middlemen?” Ashu interrupted.

“I think they were like brokers, who would not participate in the physical capture, but were involved in the buying and selling of enslaved people.”

“Where did these people come from?” Ashu was curious to know.

The Middleman

“They must have come from all over the place. Some were looking for good-looking girls while others were looking for those who looked strong enough to engage in hard labor.

“In our case, the middleman turned out to be a nervous young man who had made a living by buying slaves from the kidnappers in an open market and selling them to established slave traders for profit. He treated us as if he were buying a commodity or an animal. He inspected us briefly to make sure we were healthy and strong enough to fetch him some extra money at the slave trader’s warehouse.”

“Did you try to protest?”

“No, what ability did we have to protest? We just waited and waited and, finally, after a lot of back-and-forth, I saw the middleman pay our kidnappers what I later found out was a total of 15 tegerra birr for the three of us. I could also see, out of the corner of my eye, the kidnappers dividing the money among them.”

“And the kidnappers just left at that point?”

“Yes, but, before they left, one of them approached me and tried to talk to me in a language I did not understand. Failing to get a response from me, he put one hand on my shoulder and reached into his pocket with another hand and gave me a silver coin valued at 1 tegerra birr. I never had coin money before. It was heavy and glittery silver.”

Woleté paused for a while, probably thinking about this young man, and continued.

“I even remember he wore a metal cross on his chest, which he touched once in a while as he tried to tell me something. He looked really conflicted. I remember the sad face of this young man when he left me standing there, with the coin he gave me tightly grasped in my tiny hand.

“Then, before he finally left, he said the word ‘Getu,’ pointing at himself a couple of times. I think he was trying to tell me his name.

I never saw him again, but the coin he gave me and his memory remained among my few secrets for a long time—until the coin disappeared one day for reasons still not so clear to me.”

Woleté continued. She did not need any prompts from Ashu anymore.

“At this point, I was scared, tired, hungry, and confused. I still did not fully comprehend what exactly was happening to us, except that we were now at the mercy of this middleman.”

Woleté, sitting in a reflective yet fearful mode, continued her story.

“Back at the slave market, I could see the middleman smiling and satisfied with his purchase. He then promptly took all three of us to a large warehouse, like a holding area for humans, located at the far end of this market town. By then, it was late afternoon and getting a bit dark and cold.”

“What did this warehouse look like?”

The Slave Trader’s Warehouse

“It was a crowded makeshift structure surrounded by walls and fences and guarded by armed men so the captured slaves would not escape.

“It was owned by a famous slave trader, known for selling young girls into servitude—and more—at individual households. There, we joined tens of other frightened and tired young girls who must have been similarly kidnapped earlier by other kidnappers from other places.

“So, the middleman, after a brief business transaction, took his money, made some profit, and left. It now looked like our fate depended on what the slave trader would do with us.”

Ashu, to make sure he understood the process, asked,

“So, the kidnappers sold you to the middleman, who sold you to the slave trader? Each making a profit in the process?”

Woleté nodded and continued her story.

“It was at this point, sitting in this warehouse, that it finally dawned on me that I was about to be sold away to a master; to be totally cut off from my family members, my language, my culture, and my freedom.

“The good happy life I had enjoyed would be replaced by a totally different one, one of servitude and constant hard work. This warehouse would be where I would meet my master and thereby change from a free human being to an enslaved one—for life.”

“The next day, in the morning, sitting in this warehouse, I could see there were 85 to 100 girls aged 12 to 18, waiting to be sold. They spoke different languages and had different physical characteristics. Some were thin and tall; some were short and a bit heavy; some were light-skinned and some were dark.

“Almost all wore skirts, and some kind of ornaments around their necks. They all had short-cut hair styles, and some of them even had ribbons around their heads; all of them had been made to look more beautiful and healthier than they previously were, in order to attract buyers. Soon, my two childhood friends and I became part of them.”

Ashu was trying hard to visualize these girls, stored in a large warehouse, waiting to be sold away to servitude. Woleté continued.

“From the faces of these young girls, I could see that we all had something in common: all of us looked lost and frightened. Imagine, Ashu, even before the pain and tragedy of separating from our parents and dear ones had abated, we were about to be sent to who knows where.”

“We had no idea where we would end up or who we would serve for the rest of our lives. Our predicament was gradually sinking in, and it showed on our frightened faces.”

And Woleté continued.

“All in all, I stayed at the master’s house for about 6 years—all my golden years spent as an enslaved person, until something happened which I will tell you later.

Suffering and Survival at the Master’s House

“The first few years at the master’s house were the hardest part of my life thus far. I had just been forcefully separated from my loved ones and put into a strange culture to perform physically demanding and exhausting tasks. On top of that, I was constantly subjected to physical and verbal abuse at the hands of Shanko. I was denied my basic human rights and worse, not even seen as a human being.”

“Was all this under the guard of my grandfather?” Ashu threw out the question with a painful look on his face.

Woleté saw Ashu’s internal turmoil and tried to console him.

“The master and his wife might not have been necessarily bad people. But they unfortunately left the fate of all the slaves in the household, including me, totally in the hands of this man, Shanko—a demon in human form.”

“Still, I think they had their share of blame. Tell me more about Shanko. How did he relate to the master, my grandfather?”

“Well, your grandfather, not wanting to be involved in the day-to-day affairs of his slaves, let Shanko be the overseer who would be responsible for managing all the slaves and servants. Of course, Shanko was furious with those of us who did not carry out his orders efficiently. He had all authority to coerce us into performing better, using intimidation and physical violence as his favorite tools.”

“And,” Woleté added, “if you want to know, he was once an enslaved man himself.”

“That being the case,” Ashu quickly responded, “I should think he would go a bit easier on his fellow enslaved people like you.”

“No, quite the opposite! Shanko was a weak coward who had no regard for other enslaved people. He was willing to take on the task of being an overseer because it meant some minor benefits like more food or more freedom. He was a feeble person who enjoyed exercising his authority over helpless people like us, and he was wroth if we showed any sign of resentment or disobedience.

“In any case, when we first got to the master’s house, it was dark, and the first thing Shanko did was take me to the slave quarters—an uncomfortable, dark and cold mud hut located at the back of the main house—and lock me inside a small room with a straw mattress and an old blanket. It was a sharp contrast from the comfort and warmth of my parents’ poor rural house and, needless to say, I didn’t sleep that night at all.

“Instead, all throughout the night, I was trying to understand what had happened in such a short time that flipped my life upside down. I could not believe that I had now been separated from my loved ones, never to see them again.

“I thought about how my loving family back home, perhaps not too far away, felt when they realized that their fast young girl, they called Bitu was gone forever; and that they would never again see her run all over the place or listen to her giggles or watch with wonder as she insisted on having things done her way.

“For hours I imagined them sitting on the floor, cobbled to each other in grief and hoping against hope that I would indeed show up at the door one day and save them from this nightmare that had engulfed them all.”

Woleté wiped her tears and continued.

“I imagined my mother, my role model, crying her eyes and heart out, cursing the cruelty of the people who inhumanely snatched her poor little Bitu away from her.

“I imagined my grandfather, the brave man who had killed an elephant all by himself, probably now on his death bed but still swearing that he would cut into pieces whoever took his dear granddaughter away from him, if he ever ran into them.”

“I imagined my grandmother, who, during what turned out to be our last day together, held my forehead with her frail and trembling hands, telling me about the virtues of staying in a marriage and having children.”

Woleté took a deep breath and continued.

“The next morning, I had not eaten or slept for almost two days, and I was starving, cold, and shaking with fear—and, at times, with anger. Suddenly, Shanko opened the door and ordered me to come out and meet the rest of the servants, the enslaved, and the born-slaves in this household of my first master.

“The master had a huge house, at least compared to the one I was born in, and large landholdings where he grew mostly coffee, barley, and vegetables. He already owned quite a few slaves, male and female, who either labored on the farmlands or picked coffee or herded cattle. I was told later that he was a successful and well-respected man in the community.”

“So, was my grandfather a rich man, at least rich enough to own slaves?” Ashu interrupted.

“Relative to others he was, and he was also a successful farmer. You see, Ashu, in those days, one need not be filthy rich to own slaves, given that there were multiple ways of being a master.“

Ashu was confused, but Woleté continued.

“Day after day, week after week, life at the master’s house was all about endless work, work, and work. It was perpetual cleaning, cooking, washing, and feeding animals. We were also involved in dangerous tasks that exposed us to falling in swamps or from trees. On top of that, Shanko, the coward, with no iota of respect for human beings, demanded more and more, usually accompanied by physical and/or verbal abuse, but little reward in terms of decent food or some deserved rest.

“In addition to all this, we were also constantly struggling with our fear and loss of identity, our separation and loneliness, as well as hunger and diseases.”

Coping, Resilience, and Escape Attempts

“That must have been very difficult for you as frail young girls. How did you cope with all this? I mean, how did you survive?” Ashu asked.

“You know, Ashu, many of us were once free human beings who had lived with other free human beings and learned some values and virtues which came in handy now that we found ourselves enslaved.”

“Yes, but what specific things did you do, alone or as a group, to stay sane?”

“Survival for us was always a group action—a must, not an option. Over the years, we had overcome our varying ethnic and linguistic differences and formed bonds with each other, which was quite a natural thing to do because of our shared experience of suffering.”

Woleté laughed and added:

“We even created a new language that nobody but us slaves could understand. You know, Ashu, you should not underestimate the human ability to find hope and joy even under the worst of circumstances.

“We also shared stories, sang songs for each other, and laughed together. Some found relief in dancing or praying; some in just counting the stars at night. Of course, this would be done when and if we would get some free time and Shanko was not watching.”

Ashu was listening, also struggling to imagine what the new language they came up with sounded like. It was also more and more clear to him that Woleté, over the years, had quietly gathered so much wisdom and knowledge which she articulated so eloquently as she answered his questions and recounted her predicament as an enslaved girl.

“Do you remember any of the stories, or any songs you shared with your friends?” Ashu asked.

“No, Ashu, it has been a long time! But they forged a sense of hope, community, and companionship among us and, hence, provided emotional support to resist the physical and emotional hardship that we all collectively suffered. Hence, we survived!”

“Woleté, I don’t understand how stories or songs would help you if, for instance, you were hungry or if you were ill.”

“It is not just stories and songs. For specific problems we faced, we had our own specific solutions. Regarding hunger, for instance, we usually looked for edible plants and nutritious wild fruits if we were able to sneak out to the nearby forests. Or we may scavenge for leftovers or for spoiled food items that normally would be thrown away.

“When we got to the point where we were starving, we would simply steal food from the kitchen, knowing full well that we would pay for it in severe punishment.

“When we got sick, we relied on elderly slaves or enslaved people with the knowledge of local plants and animals that were medicinal. These served also as supplements to our bad diet. Hence, we survived.”

Ashu was listening to something that he wasn’t familiar with; and Woleté continued.

“The trauma of separation from our loved ones was one of the most stressful events we had to somehow deal with. In this case, we tried to alleviate the problem by forming strong bonds with other slaves of similar ages and similar experiences. We resorted to our common or varying beliefs, spiritual or otherwise, to find comfort and strength.”

Again, Ashu was amazed, not only by Woleté’s accumulated wisdom but also by the remarkable resilience that she and her fellow enslaved people showed against unimaginable odds.

Woleté continued her story.

“So, we always found some way of refusing to give in to the dangers of our survival as sane human beings, and, hence, I am here.”

“Now, Woleté, is this all done at the master’s, my grandfather’s, house?” Ashu asked, just to make sure, with a poorly camouflaged look of disgust.

“Yes, how many times did I tell you this? Are you not following me, Ashu?”

“Yes, I am. But I don’t understand how one could keep slaves and enslaved people and yet be a respected member of the community. Are they not mutually exclusive?”

“Not at the time; it was a common practice, based on traditional norms, mostly dictated by poverty, to use the services of slaves and enslaved people and still be a respected member of the community.”

Ashu interrupted her again:

“You see, Woleté that is what I do not understand. The masters or slave owners may not have been involved personally, but they must have known or heard about the injustice and cruelty that the enslaved endured ‘on their watch,’ so to speak. Don’t you think they, too, were responsible?”

Woleté kept quiet, but Ashu continued.

“In your case, for instance, I do not believe my grandfather was unaware of what Shanko was doing. If he was aware and did nothing about it, how can that make him respectable?”

“Ashu, I am just telling you how he was generally regarded by the community. Do not confuse me now by bringing up an argument that did not hold water at the time.”

Ashu kept quiet, knowing that this subject was likely to open yet another Pandora’s box and, if pursued, would derail Woleté’s story in another direction. Maybe another time, Ashu figured.

“In any case,” Woleté continued, “before you rudely interrupted me, I was going to say that your grandfather had 4 daughters and one son, a total of 5 children: one of them your mother, Yisgedu. They were mostly a few years younger than me or a few years older than me. But there was one girl about 4 years younger than me, Siye, a curious type who would sneak to the slave’s quarters once in a while to see what was going on.”

“What about my mother, Yisgedu? How was she as a young girl?”

“Your mother was somewhere in between. On the one hand, she was old enough to know that slavery was condoned by society, and she had to conform to the prevailing norms. On the other hand, she was not comfortable with having a slave in the house, especially a person who had grown up with her. So, as a young girl, she just watched what was going on from a distance.”

“I shouldn’t think that would make her innocent,” Ashu whispered, mostly to himself.

Woleté actually heard him and gave him a scolding look and continued.

“You know, Ashu, I did not really see much of the master or his wife; I suppose they were busy in their own ways and paid little attention to their servants, much less to a newly purchased and enslaved person called Woleté. Instead, they let our fate and well-being rest solely on the mood swings of Shanko, the cruel coward.”

Ashu laughed a little bit at Woleté’s persistent dislike for Shanko.

“Yes! Let me tell you Ashu, those who thrive on the weakness of other people are themselves weak people; they are cowards. A brave person has a heart, and does not enjoy hurting others, especially those who happen to be helpless.”

Ashu nodded to indicate his support for what she said, and could not help but think that Woleté, after all her experience, had acquired a sharp intellect and amassed knowledge which she was more than happy to pour out on him. And he happily obliged, as she continued.

“Shanko always carried a whip, a symbol of his insecurity, which he was quick to use at the simplest of mistakes by any one of the slaves. Should he deem the mistake warranted it, he even had the authority to chain a slave and throw her or him in a dark pit for a day or two.

“Ashu, can you imagine finding yourself at age 14 or less, in a strange place where you didn’t know anybody, or you didn’t understand a word of the language, or you had no idea what was supposed to be a mistake or not; or what was punishable or not?”

Ashu shook his head.

“So, the first order of business for Shanko was to ‘civilize’ me.” Woleté flaunted a sarcastic smile.

“What do you mean by ‘civilize’?” asked a bewildered Ashu.

“It means to ‘break’ me.”

“I still do not understand.”

“Shanko would use the ever-present whip,” Woleté explained, “and the chains, if necessary, to punish and humiliate me to the point where he wished the strength of my mind and body evaporated. Then, in theory, I was supposed to be respectful and obedient no matter what I was told to do.

“But, at first, this was difficult for Shanko to do, because I was a tough nut to crack. I resisted in my own ways. The more he punished me, the stronger I tried to be. He hated me. But I hated him more.

“As I told you, one thing I really disliked was my new name, Woleté. So, in the form of resistance, I would deliberately not respond when he called me by that name. But, in the process, I took a lot of whipping and verbal abuse, and, on a few occasions, he locked me inside a small, dark room for a couple of days as punishment.”

Ashu was trying, with much difficulty, to imagine what Woleté was telling him.

“But the more Shanko tried to break me,” Woleté continued, “the more I resisted his cruelty by adjusting to my new surroundings: endless physically daunting labor work, harsh treatment for the simplest of excuses, and regular threats of physical violence and verbal abuse.

“Even as I was going through this cruelty, I never stopped thinking and dreaming about my family, my friends, the fields I grew up in, the trees I climbed, the rivers I washed myself in with my dear aunt and with my childhood friends. He could not take that away from me.”

Woleté paused and cried a little bit.

“None of the master’s children tried to help you?” Ashu asked.

“Actually, as I told you, there was this girl, Siye, who was always laughing and fast talking who outsmarted her older sisters all the time. She was also unhappy, albeit secretly, because of the cruel treatment that we had to endure. For some reason, she paid particular attention to me and tried to help me get something, like sugar, that was a very rare event for an enslaved person. She also taught me the Amharic language and tried to tell me stories that I did not quite understand and even played with me whenever Shanko was not around to find out.

“Siye was the rebellious type, like me, but she also had a very kind heart. She eventually became a source of comfort and hope for me. In my heart I called her Bitu because she reminded me so much of myself when I was her age.”

“What did you talk about? What kinds of things did you do together?”

“Initially, we did not talk much, because of the language barrier. But I saw her as a replacement of the sister I was cruelly separated from. I enjoyed the time when she would sneak to the slave’s quarters to find me. Over time, and with her help, my Amharic improved to the point where I could easily understand her stories and tell what a punishable mistake was and what was not.

“Our friendship flourished until one day, during one of our secret rendezvous, Siye came up with the unthinkable idea of an escape for me.”

“Tell me what happened?” Ashu asked with a sign of admiration on his face.

“Ashu, mind you, we were young, naïve, and probably stupid. It was a child’s thing; we never got anywhere close to pulling it off.” Woleté laughed.

“You did not think about what would happen if you were caught?”

“No, all I was wishfully thinking about was escaping from this monster called Shanko and being back in my mother’s embrace and my sister’s joy, when I eventually got to my parent’s house.

“So, one day, when it was dark and the farm was quiet, I carried whatever belongings I had and, with Siye’s help, slipped out of the slaves’ quarters out into the nearby forest. I tried to take a few steps in the dark but then, I did not know or see where I was going, making no progress at all.

“The constant fear of being captured or being eaten by a beast made me tremble like a leaf in a high wind. Soon, all my energy evaporated, and my legs betrayed me.

“After a few difficult steps, every which way, I heard footsteps and Shanko’s voice behind me. I tried to squat and hide behind a tree but, with the help of the torches they were carrying, they found me easily. I cried for my failure. They tied my hands and, with a few painful slaps on my cheeks, literally dragged me back to the dark, cold pit, where they left me for the rest of the night.

“Now that I had committed the most serious crime of all that a slave could commit, conditions of life for me became harsher and more exploitative than for most other enslaved people at the household. I was punished in the form of physically demanding and exhaustive tasks, accompanied by beatings as well as verbal and emotional abuse.

“I spent several days and nights in solitary confinement, with scant water and spoiled food. Any pretense that I, too, was a human being disappeared. I was seen as a disposable object.”

Ashu listened in disbelief.

“Mind you, Ashu, I was only a 14-year-old girl who, a few months earlier, had been in the care of loving parents. But, after all this and to his disappointment, Shanko could not break me.”

“Good for you!” Ashu almost shouted.