Trafficked

By Rita Michaels

Anna is from a poor home. It's only a matter of time before she loses her sick younger sister to a deadly illness. Without money for constant medical care, she would die.

Anna seizes an opportunity to travel abroad, but she is in for a surprise when she finds herself among trafficked teenagers heading to Italy.

Caged in a web of human trafficking, she must either choose to flee from her nightmare, or stay and prevent her sister from dying.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rita Michaels
• Release date: Aug 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301282203

Rita Michaels

Rita Michaels enjoys writing inspiring stories from real life experiences that touch the heart. While not marrying pen to paper, and running after her overactive kids, she wanders in her thought; creating the next story in abstract.

Book preview

TRAFFICKED

A tale of human trafficking

RITA MICHAELS

COPYRIGHT

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, and a part of the incidents were the product of the author’s imagination, or they were used fictitiously. Places are real, and the events are factual. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 Rita Michaels

Smashwords edition

All rights reserved.

www.ritamichaels.blogspot.com

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

DEDICATION

Once again, for my husband, Michael, and my children, Raphael and Rachael

EPIGRAPH

There is no art to find the mind’s construction in the face.

Shakespeare.

Chapter 1

The rickety lorry grunted and shuddered as it weaved through the vast, sandy Sahara desert.

Its twenty-one cramped occupants grumbled as the car jerked their fatigued, tarpaulin shaded bodies back and forth.

After much struggle without success, the car puffed and died. The driver cursed and yanked the door open. He alighted with his head wrapped around with a large white cloth, like a turban, and covered his nose to prevent the desert dust from occupying his sinuses.

He stride toward the hood, touched it and retracted his hand from its scalding hotness. He grabbed a handful of his enormous Boubou (a flowing wide sleeved robe worn by men in much of West Africa), wrapped it around his hands and heaved the hood open. He nodded in displeasure.

Anna glanced at the vast desert through a tiny tear on the tarpaulin, listening to the wind howling around her.

The lorry engine had masked the sound of nature until it succumbed. She had not fully immersed herself in her quiet surrounding before one of the male travelers disturbed the peace.

Driver, wetin de happen? Meaning what is going on in Pidgin English; a language often spoken by Nigerians, and a few other African nations.

The engine don die.

Huh? The travelers gasped in utter disbelief. Commotion followed.

How could you let the car die in the middle of the desert, one of the male travelers; a tall, lanky, and light complexioned young man, with mustache said and hopped off the lorry, landing on his emaciated bottom. He rose from the earth, dusted the brown sand off his pants and stride toward the driver still standing and mopping at his car engine.

Other travelers joined, hopping off the lorry as well. Anna gazed at the scene unfolding before her. Her agent, Theresa, sat beside her and seemed disconcerted. She was in charge of Anna, and the other girls. The men traveled solo.

How can you get us out of here? One of them asked, concerned and furious.

We need another lorry, the driver said, and the travelers up roared.

How long would it take to get a lorry? They asked.

It depends….

It depends on what? They howled at him. They were a group of young men, who had little patience for delay, and considering the stories shared during the journey to the desert; it seemed fair they feared for their lives and safety.

The Sahara was a limbo, with bandits hiding in every mountain crevice, waiting to lunge at the next unfortunate group of travelers heading to Europe on foot for greener pasture.

I don’t know, but I need some money to get another vehicle, and then, find someone to fix the bad one.

You are a thief! They blurted at him.

You think we are morons? Another said.

He is a 419 driver, another said.

Anna gazed as the youngsters closed in on the driver, threatening him if he did not get them out of the arid and lonely land. They had paid a lump sum of money to smugglers and drivers to make their trip through the desert stress free.

After paying so much money to get us through this dry land, you are requesting for more?

The driver replaced the lorry hood and stepped away from the mobsters.

Where are you going? They asked as he opened the door, picked up his little Jerri can of water, adjusted his nose scarf, shut the door, and began to walk away from the lorry.

Hey! Where are you going? They yelled, some advancing toward him.

Let him go. He’s going to get another lorry like he said, one of the male travelers, still seated in the lorry, said, softly. They watched him go until he disappeared from their sight.

Anna glanced at Theresa, and then, at nine other girls like her heading to Italy.

Is it normal for this to happen? She asked Theresa.

No.

Anna’s heart sank. She gazed at the woman, panic-stricken.

First, she shouldn’t be in the desert, in the middle of nowhere, after her agent promised her family she would be flying economy class on a KLM Airline. Second, her agent told them the journey would last two days after leaving Kano State, Nigeria; a place she learned they would issue a visa to Italy. However, to her chagrin, there was neither plans to issue her a visa, nor to the other girls journeying together to the same destination.

How long are we stranded in the desert? Anna asked.

Does it seem like I know? Theresa flared. Anna shuddered and withdrew from her.

No more questions from you. Allow me to think, she said. Anna rose and joined the others, who had long alighted from the truck and sat on the rocks; some lay on a piece of cloth laid on the hot sand, while some sat upright, eating and drinking from their water kegs.

I think we are in big trouble here, Abigail, one of the girls heading to Italy said.