Wednesday, December 5, 2007

I Am Constance

I am Constance and this is my story…

I was a typical 13-year old girl in my small and poor village. My life was filled with helping my mother and siblings, doing chores, and spending free time with my friends. Lucky to be in school, my time was also spent doing homework for the simple education I was getting.

One day, at the market, I noticed a man in elegant clothes talking to some friends of mine. I was curious; why was a man of such elegance in our little village, and why he was talking to my friends? As I waited for the lady to give me my change, I became aware that I was staring at him. I was shocked when I realized that he was walking towards me. He introduced himself as a factory owner and he was looking for young women to work for him in the city. He mentioned that the women working for him loved what they were doing and made a lot of money doing it. I was very interested in what this man was saying. He ended his proposal by telling me that he was leaving in two days to begin training his factory recruits and if I didn't accept, I would be passing up a chance of a lifetime.

I went home and asked my mother what she thought about the proposal. She didn't seem to like the idea at first but when she realized that the money I would be sending her would be a great help, she gave me her blessing. The next day, I said my goodbyes and I packed up the few things I had and waited for the night to pass. I was ready for my new life.

The next morning, a van pulled up to my home and I was escorted in. I was alone with three large men. There were no windows and we sat in silence. I finally got the strength to ask my boss where I was going to stay and what kind of factory I would be working at. He didn't answer me and just turned the radio on. I became scared, but remained silent.

After a while, the van stopped. I was escorted into another van with a large, impatient driver. My boss followed me into the van and spoke with the driver. He said he would be followed to the motel and that he had an hour to do what he had to do. The driver gave my boss a roll of what seemed like American money and shook his hand. My boss counted the money and told him to enjoy. I don't know why, but I felt numb all over.
My boss got out of the van and waived the man and me goodbye. We drove in silence before he pulled into a motel parking lot. He walked me up some stairs and led me into a room. I was terrified because I knew he was about to harm me in the worst way. He began to touch me and started to unbutton my blouse. I slapped his hand and ran towards the door. The door was locked. I could not get out. I started to fight him off. I kicked, I punched, I scratched, I cried, and I screamed, but his strength was greater than mine. He slapped me and dragged me by the hair to the bed. He tore my clothes and covered my mouth as he began to rape me. I felt so much pain. With every move of his body, the pain grew. I was crying and screaming, but it did not seem to bother him. My entire body felt numb and the sweat flowed down from the man's forehead and onto my face. I felt so hurt, so dirty, so helpless, so betrayed…I wanted to run far away, far enough to escape what was happening. Once he got off of me, I noticed blood all over the bed and on him. I leaned to one side and vomited on the motel floor. I couldn't stop shaking. He told me it wasn't that bad, and that I would eventually get used to it. I hated him so much, but I hated my boss even more. I wanted to kill them both.

The man finally opened the door and I ran out. My boss was waiting outside the door and grabbed me. I tried fighting him off but I didn't realize I was so very weak. He threw me back into the van. I couldn't stop crying. I asked him why he lied and why he would allow something like this to happen. As I waited for a response, all he said was, "You'll get used to it."

In the days that followed, I tried "getting used to it". I tried to stop feeling. I tried to convince myself that I hadn't done something to deserve this. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't going to die here in this place. And I tried to convince myself that God had not forgotten about me.

They send me off with different men most of the day and most of the night. The men don't ever really talk to me. They don't care that they are hurting me. And they don't care that they are killing me.

Some of the men have cameras and they take pictures of me even though I'm not smiling. Some of them bring video cameras and they film all of the horrible things that they make me do and that they do to me. I want to ask them, "When you watch this will you ignore the part where I'm crying? Will you fast-forward, rewind; edit the parts when I'm not? Or maybe they won't even show my face?"

And who else is going to watch it? Why would they want to? And why wouldn't they come help me if they saw…

this is the link to the artist who created a song for Constance:

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