Husband Plans to Traffick Wife into Prostitution

Some days later, when Adesuwa had had time to reflect on the discussion with Nosa, she shook her head in despair.  There was nothing she could do but to obey Nosa.  She began to feel fear of the unknown future that would soon be opening before her.  She had spent her childhood in Benin.  She had attended her primary and high schools in Benin City. She even attended the University of Benin for her diploma in computer science.

          How could she get on with the strange people in Italy?  In all her twenty four years, she had spoken with only two Europeans, and had no experience of civilized life beyond what she’d known in Benin.  She could chop wood, fetch water, and cook well enough according to her husband.  Perhaps, she thought, some of this would be of help in the new and frightening life awaiting her on the other side of the world, she hoped so, but she did not know for sure.

          She then decided to meet Alero Dudu, her friend, to discuss the new development.  As wivies went, Adesuwa was probably as good as any in the African traditional standard.  She stayed home, looked after her husband’s home, cooked his food, and was active in religious activities in the church.  Alero was a welcome respite from the pressures she experienced in her own household. There were good reasons for these pressures; Nosa’s extramarital flings; his growing financial problems and the latest – the trip to Europe.

          “Adesuwa, you’re welcome.  Long time!  How are you?” Alero asked.

          “I’m fine.”

          “And your husband?”

          “He’s fine.  Only we’ve been finding life a bit difficult since his electronic shop got burnt down.”

          “That was a tragedy.  What is he doing right now?”

          “Nothing. He has been looking for loan from the banks, but none is ready to give him because he has no collateral.”

          “Banks and collateral!  What will he do, now, he can’t obtain bank loan?”

          “He wants me to travel to Europe.”

          “With him?”

          “No.  Alone.”

          “To do what?”

          “To work.”

          “What type of work?”

          “Housekeeping.”

          “And what did you tell him?”

          “I’ve accepted to travel after much pressure.”

          “You did what?  Have you gone bananas?”

          “How can you say such a thing to me?”

          “Could be I’m your friend.  Maybe your only true friend.  Nosa is sending you into prostitution, half a world away from everything you’ve ever known, and you accepted.  You must be mad.”

          “I am not going for prostitution but housekeeping.”

          “Who told you that?”

          “That is the job Itohan Don Carlo has promised to find for me.”

          “And you believe that human trafficker? She is lying.  That is how she has deceived many young girls to Europe only to force them into prostitution.”

          “My case will be different.  She knows I am married.”

          “Rubbish.  Is she not married to that stupid Italian, and still sleep around with other men.”

          “I know it must sound a little crazy, but I got interested because of the amazing possibilities in Europe.  I just have to give it a try.  Europe is a land of opportunities.”

          “Our people paint over-glamorized picture of life abroad when they visit home without mentioning the traumatic experiences they go through over there.  Traveling to Italy from what I’ve heard is studded with hazards.  Many have died trying to cross Sahara desert, some fell to death while climbing mountains, and some drowned when the Boats they were traveling with from northern African countries capside in the Mediterranean Sea or Atlantic Ocean.   They have nightmarish experiences in foreign cells when they are arrested for immigration offences.  Many girls in this Edo State have been tricked into prostitution abroad.”

          “Alero, I’ll not deceive you, I’m fed up with this country, with its melancholic ambience. It is not a place to live.  Since Nosa’s electronics shop got burnt, we’ve been living in shadow of starvation and destitution.  And with political instability, monumental economic tragedy, rising unemployment, incessant pump price increases of petroleum products, which we fortunately have in abundance and resultant inflation coupled with lack of electricity, this country is now a hell.”

          “I can’t believe you’re willing to completely forsake your husband, your friends and relations to go to do some odd job especially prostitution in Europe.”

          “I am not going into prostitution; I know some our girls in Europe especially in Italy and Spain are prostitutes, but not all.”

          “Fine.  Well, explain to me my adventuress, what you’ll do if you find yourself being forced into prostitution in a foreign land?”

          “I’ll come back.”

          “I still feel that Nosa is out to use and dump you.  Especially now, you’ve no child for him.”

          “Nosa is a nice husband.  Don’t forget what he did for me when I was attacked by that sick son of a bitch. He is only thinking of how we can solve our financial problems.  I hope to visit twice a year.”

          “You think you’re going to Lagos?  Some have gone to Europe and didn’t succeed and so could not visit home in years. Many people are trapped in countries in northern Africa, like Moroco, Libya, Egypt, and Algeria; and some are even in West African countries like Senegal and Ivory Coast, but their families believe they are already in Europe.”

          “If it doesn’t work I’ll come back.  No venture no success.  But I think I can really make a success out of this adventure.  Many of our girls have.”

          “Why are you so gullible to put up with Nosa’s rotten plots? Such a selfish man is not worth being called a husband.”

          “Don’t tell me, I ought to leave him.”

          “But why not?   A husband who decides to send his wife to Europe for prostitution does not love her.”

          “Are you deaf?  How many times do I have to remind you I am not going into prostitution?”

          “Adesuwa, stop deceiving yourself.  Leave Nosa now, he has decided to used you for money, irrespective of what happens to you.You’ve got the guts.  Where’s your backbone gone?  I can’t understand why you can’t just leave Nosa before he ruins you.”

          “It is not that simple.” Adesuwa shook her head.

          “Don’t say that!  Why don’t you stop inventing obstacles?  Why don’t you decide to do something, now?  Adesuwa, there is nobody that will save you.  Nobody.  You got to save yourself.”

          “I know you mean well, Alero,” Adesuwa said, “But I’ve decided to go.”

          “Itohan will break her words to you.  This is the biggest mistake you’ll ever make in your entire life, by trusting her.  She’ll betray you. And I don’t think Nosa means well, either, “Alero added. “I’ve watch him smash your self-confidence.  That’s not a well-meaning thing to do.”

          “Nosa only criticizes me to be helpful.  To make me better.  He means well. He is a kind person.”

          “There is no such thing as being cruel to be kind.  People like Nosa are cruel to be cruel.  Don’t mistake that for kindness.”

          “I know he loves me.  Really loves me.”

          “A funny sort of love!  I can see that you love him with your whole life – and you’ll make endless sacrifices for him.”

          “Yes and he loves me, too.  If not for him maybe I would be dead by now.”

          “Maybe he does, Adesuwa, I can’t speak for him,” she said.  “But I don’t think so. Not the way he treats you.  And don’t you deny it.  Yes, maybe in his own twisted way he does love you. But what’s gone and what you’ll never get back is the protection he used to win you over, and that’s what every woman needs.  It’s an important aspect of every woman’s life, and only a few men understand it, or respect it, for that matter.  Many men think it’s silly.  But it is not, and when it’s gone, it leaves a vacuum.”

          “You know I can’t leave him.  I’d walk into fire for Nosa, considering what he did for me.”

          “Italy is not the kind of place a young woman of your delicacy should ever be exposed to.  It is a place where our young women sell themselves to men.  A woman can have wealth and beauty but without reputation she has nothing.  Going to Italy will destroy your reputation, Adesuwa.  Think about it.  But if you decide to go, and this arrangement with Nosa blows up in your face, do not say I didn’t warn you.  I only hope that if somewhere down the road when you wind up neck-deep in trouble, you’ll be able to find your way back.”

          Alero was the only person who dared criticize Adesuwa, and who wasn’t particularly tactful about doing so.  To each of the women, these minor arguments were proof of affection.  Their friendship could withstand the arguments.

          In Adesuwa’s quiet moment, when she got home, she became confused.  Her conversation with Alero had made her feel as if she was about to do something extremely adventurous and had been unfairly chastised by her friend.  But what if she was right?  Was it safe to leave Nosa behind and head for Europe?  Where was their relationship heading? It was Nosa that saved Adesuwa after she was attacked by a rapist.

Exerpt of The Glamorous Actress II

With Barbara’s earlier experience, she never thought she would become a celebrity. She was very intelligent but her father withdrew her from school because he didn’t believe in girl child education. He had to give her out in marriage in order to pay his indebtedness to the Igwe of the village.                                                                                             

“Barbara, you have a great gift for learning. You work at your lessons with seriousness,” Brenda Gibson, her class teacher said.

“Yes, ma’am. I hunger after learning as a starving man hungers after food, because you’re a very good and patient teacher. You encourage me to learn.”

“I encourage all my students, but you’re the one learning more words and getting more practice all the time. I am very sure you’ll pass your final examination with distinction.”

“I hope so ma’am. I’ll put in my best in order to pass.”

“I have a great deal of respect for your intelligence. I am optimistic you will be able to get a scholarship for higher studies.”

“Thank you, ma’am for your encouragement and support.”

                                               ***

After eating his dinner, Amadi Jones invited his wife Chioma to his hut for a discussion.

“Chioma, please come and sit down; I want to discuss something very important with you.”

“What is that?” Chioma asked as she sat on a wooden stool.

“The Igwe of our village, His Royal Highness, Chief Ike Ochendo wants to marry Barbara.”

“Marry? But Barbara has not finished high school.”

“Girl child education is useless. My priority is the boys. Barbara will be better off marrying His Royal Highness, Chief Ike Ochendo than going to school. He has more money than he knows what to do with.”

“But you know that Barbara wants to be educated. She will be highly disappointed.”

“Disappointed?”

“Yes. Disappointed.”

“She should be very happy for the great opportunity to marry Igwe. He will give her a life of luxury especially if she is able to give him an heir to the throne.”

“I believe you know the secret of His Royal Highness, Chief Ike Ochendo’s wealth?”

“I don’t know. What is the secret of his wealth?” Amadi Jones asked angrily.

“It is rumoured that he used the womb of his first wife to make money that is why she couldn’t bear children. And when he wanted to renew the medicine which he does every three years he used that of his second wife and that is why she cannot born another child after her daughter. I don’t want him as a son-in-law.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I am not asking for your approval. I am only informing you. She must marry Igwe. He has not only promised to write off my debt but has also agreed to give me more money which will enable me, send Elliot to the university.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious all my life. What Barbara needs is a rich and powerful husband like Igwe to take good care of her.”

“A husband? Igwe?”

“Yes. A rich man who has the wherewithal to take good care of her. And there is no better person than Igwe.”

“After what he has done to his wives only a lunatic would want his daughter or any member of his family to be his wife.”

Amadi slapped her. “Shut up. That’s an order. Can you prove your allegations? Or you want to talk yourself into real trouble?”

She was almost dislodged from the wooden stool. Stunned, totally bewildered, she stared wide-eyed at her husband, and lifted a hand to her cheek.

“But I really believe His Royal Highness, Chief Ike Ochendo is not a good man. I don’t trust him.”

“I do.”

“He cannot marry my daughter, I don’t trust him.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t want His Royal Highness, Chief Ike Ochendo to feel you don’t trust him, so be very careful.”

“Remember the Igwe is thirty years older than Barbara.”

“Don’t just bring that up. A man is supposed to be older than his wife. Prior to Western culture, our culture gave opportunities to marriage proposals to minors in many circumstances. Specific marriage choices and arrangements were generally organized by the couple’s parents and betrothal was traditionally arranged when each intended partner was still a child or even at birth. Relationships, exchanges, and alliances formed between the prospective families formed the main points of the marriage decision. And where a family was weighed down by financial burden, like is my case, they might be forced into giving out their girl-child in early marriage to a family with a better prospective future, like Igwe’s.  So I am not doing anything strange.”

“But not with that margin. Igwe is a shameless old man who wants to marry a helpless little Barbara, without regard to her well-being, safety, success, emotional make-up, education and survival. In time past, minors could be betrothed to an adult man but she would not live with him until she came of age. Both families and the entire community would know that she was legally tied to the family of her would-be husband. In that case, no other suitor was welcomed; neither would there be any kind of trespasses upon the betrothed girl. But the most important and honorable aspect of this special arrangement was that sexual indulgence was not permitted.”

Barbara started to open the door and then inexplicably stopped, just there holding it ajar, peering into the sitting room.

Amadi knocked Chioma to the ground and was sitting on her. “You have no right to insult the Igwe or question my decision. In our culture, another child marriage is often recorded when a polygamous man passes on. According to law and custom of our people, his young son inherits his stepmother. She becomes his wife. Unfortunately, both may never have sexual intercourse but the widowed stepmother regards and takes the little boy as her lawful husband. Oftentimes, the boy grows up and marries a woman of his choice and age. In case, his stepmother gets pregnant through an affair, the child so delivered is for her stepson not her late husband. So who are you to challenge our culture?”

“I don’t support child marriage. It is sheer evil. The consequences are enormous. It comes with both health and psychological implications. It is a case of a child giving birth to a child. What do you think will happen to her psyche? She will be mentally battered. It is sheer immorality. Any man who derives pleasure in marrying an under aged girl is a paedophile. It is dishonorable and debasement of human dignity. In any case, why would any man give out his little girl in marriage before maturity? ”

“You’re still talking?” Pinning her shoulders with his knees. He tormented her, slapped her, punched her face and pulled her hair. Barbara watched mesmerized, unable to move or speak. She watched her father beat her mother as if she was an enemy. Her mother struggled to free herself, writhed and kicked, but he was far stronger than she and weighed nearly twice as much.

“I have said and I will continually say it that a man who has erection at the sight of a girl child needs castration, not marriage. And yet, a 14-year-old girl cannot vote, or drive, but can be married away. This is perversion. It is morally wrong to even consider giving out a child in marriage. It is criminal to even consider such.”

Amadi seeing that beating had not quietened Chioma, decided to leave her alone. He started to climb off her, hesitated, glancing furtively about to make sure they were alone, then gave her a hard punch again in the face. He bounded up and dashed out of the room to behind the house. A few moments passed. Silence prevailed. He slowed to a walk, smiled to himself, and then disappeared around the corner toward Igwe’s palace.

Chioma sat up, coughing and gagging, spitting out blood. Her nose was also bleeding where Amadi had struck her. She wiped it with the back of her hand, and looked at the blood. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Barbara eased the door shut and walked away, shocked with the treatment her mother received from her father.

Excerpt of The Glamorous Actress

When Arthur Martins arrived, Barbara Jones was still being attended to by the hairdresser before her make-up artist and finally by her dressmaker. He sat in the living room, and waited for at least an additional one hour before Barbara was ready.

Her hairdresser attached beads to Barbara’s braided hair. Twice Barbara rejected and asked for a change to the hairstyle the proverbial hairdresser created. Never had her hair looked as attractive or gleamed as brightly. The gown her dressmaker, Joy Leonard designed for her and the hairstyle became talk of town.

Her face for the event was made up by the world-famous Lydia Harold. She had put on all her make-up and even darkened her eyelashes.

As she sat in the chair, the make-up artist, and Barbara gossiped. She gave Barbara good advice for a new life as a celebrity as if she wanted to make sure that she didn’t get into troubles.

For many years, immediately she left high school, she had been bending over world-famous faces, covering them with creams and rouges and powders. She had attended to the bodies of women who had been the causes of sweet dreams for men all over the world. She had made them up before being taken to the wardrobe and laced and padded out in the appropriate places.

The wall on the right held an enormous mirror. A long vanity table was covered with jars and tubes of make-ups, exotic cream and powders. In the left corner were bottles of perfumes, so many it looked like a shelf in the cosmetics section of a department store. Her bedroom reeked of her perfume. She turned to the mirror again and ran her finger over her eyebrows. Lydia Harold applied lipstick to her lips with all the care of an artist applying finishing touches to his masterpiece. Barbara turned and looked herself in the mirror again.

Finally, wearing her strapless black Joy Leonard’s original white, diamond-sequined, skin-tight evening dress, with a coat over it, she came down the stairs. She wore a Tiffany necklace with the oval diamonds and matching oval diamond earrings and oval diamond bracelet. Before leaving her dressing room, she checked herself out in the full-length mirror again.

“Prettier than anyone. You’re going to dazzle everyone tonight,” Arthur Martins complimented. Everything had changed. Her old life was gone, literally swept away overnight, and she was on the threshold of a new one. She looked different, she felt different.

Gone was the abused village girl who’d sat in Igwe’s palace day after day. In her place was a sober young woman, hardened by grief and disillusionment, but determined to succeed. Climbing the social ladder, attaining a measure of respectability, getting out of abject poverty were the conditions that motivated her.

 The movie had brought her instant stardom and recognition, and in some cases a good deal of unwanted attention. Barbara’s Best Actress of the Year award gained her a considerable following in Lagos. Young men flocked to Lagos, to see and meet this newly discovered glamorous actress. She was besieged with offers of all sorts and demands for interviews and pictures.

The “Abused Girl” made her a star and hence she was to be presented the award  tonight she spent more time on her hair and make-up because she believed she had an opportunity and even the responsibility to look good. When she entered Eko Hotel and Suites, the venue of the award ceremony, you couldn’t help but notice her, she was such an exquisite creature.

She was somehow upset about herself because she had added three pounds no matter the new diet she followed. She had consulted a dietician to recommend foods that could help.

“If you want to take good care of your look, drink a lot of water, and stay away from greasy, heavy foods and always leave the dinner a little hungry. Never stuff yourself. It’s unladylike, besides it’ll be ruinous to your figure,” the dietician told her.

Arthur Martins was dressed in an expensive black Italian suit and white shirt with a light gray silk tie, also designer’s. A few Nigerian filmmakers have brought some innovation and technical superiority to the usual dross dished out in the Nollywood. And Arthur Martins was one.     

The driver opened the door of the limo, and Arthur Martins assisted Barbara into the car. When they arrived at the Eko Hotel and Suites, Barbara stood for a moment smiling at the crowd, and then taking Arthur’s proffered arm. “Good God, you’re an eyeful! How am I going to keep the men off you tonight?” He held her closer as they began to walk into the hotel.

Barbara was still smiling, and Arthur thought for a moment that he had said the right thing. Barbara knew that she was beautiful, and she had long since become accustomed to being the center of attention wherever she went.

She had noticed that evening that Peggy Ricardo not only sat next to Arthur Martins, but monopolized him for most of the evening. Arthur was completely unaware of it, and kept glancing down the table at Barbara who was seated between Martha Sylvanus, an actress and Taiwo Amechi, a producer. But from the head of the table, where Barbara sat, she had a good view of all the proceedings. He had been watching Peggy all night.

“I think Peggy Ricardo has the hots for you,” Barbara said bluntly, and she didn’t seem pleased about it. Peggy was young and beautiful, and their professional interests weren’t entirely unrelated. It was an indignity she wouldn’t tolerate, and had never suffered. She was used to being the only star in his sky, and it was what she expected. She liked it when everything revolved around her.

And she had a heavy heart when she went to bed that night, not just because of Peggy, but because of the piece of Arthur Martins she saw that was missing. She found it depressing. In her mind, the missing piece was huge.                                     

After five different musicians had entertained the crowd, the master of ceremony came forward to announce the presentation of awards. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have come to the high point of this evening’s event.” He paused for a moment, holding up his hands to still the starting applause. “The reason why we’re here,” he continued. He waited until laughter died away.

He read out the actors that had been nominated for the best actor of the year before announcing Albert Kennedy as the Best Actor of the Year. He did the same for the best actress of the year. “I present to you the Best Actress of the Year, Miss Barbara Jones.”

 “Fasten your seat belts,” the master of ceremony shouted. The lights suddenly dimmed and a spotlight picked up Barbara’s head as she stood from her seat and walked toward the stage.

 A roar rose from the audience as she cautiously and tentatively, in a manner in which, she had thoroughly rehearsed, climbed to the stage, and stepped forward.

The noise washed over her and she came to a stop in front of the microphone. She stood there quietly, looking at the audience, her braided hair with beads catching and reflecting the gleaming light. The audience whistled and screamed and stamped.

After a few minutes had passed, during which the noise showed no sign of abating, she leaned toward the microphone. “If you will give me just a minute,” she said in a low voice, giving the audience a smile.

The noise grew even louder as she slowly and deliberately took off her coat. She let it fall to the stage and stood there, revealed in a white, diamond-sequined, skin-tight evening dress. She leaned toward the microphone again.

The audience roared enthusiastically. “Now I don’t know what to do,” she said in a soft voice. She held up her hand.    “Don’t do anything, baby,” came a voice from the down front roll, near the stage. “Just stand there.”

Again, pandemonium broke loose as she smiled and peered in the direction of the voice. She waited until the sound died down slightly. “I’ve a little song I’d like to sing for you in appreciation of your support,” she said. “Would you like that?”

“Yes!” the sound came back from thousands voices.

“Okay,” she said and moved closer to the microphone. “Now,  just pretend you’re at home, listening to a cool music, with your eyes closed.”

“Eyes closed?” a voice roared again. “Baby, we may love you but we’re not stupid.”

She smiled helplessly at the roar of applause as the music slowly came up. Slowly the spotlight narrowed to just her face as silence came down on the audience. The music was fine. She came right on cue, her eyes half closed against the spotlight, her lower lip shining. “I love you, all,” she sang huskily. “And nobody else but ya.”

The roar came rolling out from the audience all but drowned out her voice and for a moment she was frightened of all the repressed sexuality she had in it.