The Trafficked

37

‘It’s a lovely place, Father.’

They pulled up outside the white-painted villa, shaded with mature palms that left their shadows on the white walls. A mosaic front of blue tiles gave the place a Moorish feel.

‘We renovated an old government building, but it has a beautiful Spanish feel to it, and it’s important that we are in the city where the trouble is. But it is not as beautiful as the refuge in Angeles-that is built on the side of a mountain, surrounded by forest-you will see it, I hope.’

‘And how many children do you have here?’

‘Five more than we should-thirty-five, at the moment. We have expanded the refuge so many times over the years and still it never is big enough, but we are always working on ways to improve it. We have created small centres in the countryside. We realised early on that it was not enough just to rescue the children from the brothels and the prisons and streets. There was no point in just returning them to their families. The whole family needed to change. We are providing them with an income by reviving traditional techniques, basket-weaving, coconut-shell jewellery, that kind of thing. We sell the things over the Internet and to trade fares. It has really taken off in the last two years. We now have five hundred families supported by the scheme. Supporting themselves and supporting each other.’

‘Where did most of the children come from?’

Father Finn’s face turned distant and troubled as he turned to talk to them.

‘From the streets, from the jails. The children are not supposed to be imprisoned any more. They have their own detention centres. But they are, sadly, not much better than the prison. They have very little to eat and no exercise; there are eighty to a cell that was only meant to house twenty. They have to take it in turns to sleep and the place is regularly flooded.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘We still find children locked up with adults, even though the government promised that it would stop. We go around regularly, usually every Saturday night, and see if there are any children locked up. We find it often.’ The Father looked back to the door to make sure he had time to tell them before they got inside the refuge. ‘When we found Eduardo he was locked in a cell with twelve men, made to clean their faeces around the stinking hole that is the toilet in the corner of the cell, and he was passed from lap to lap, raped in the corner of the cell. If he refused to let them have sex with him he was beaten and starved. If he cried he was beaten and starved. When we found him he was lying on the floor of the cell, covered in sores and septic wounds, bitten by cockroaches and mosquitoes. He wasn’t even allowed the dignity of clothing…’ Father Finn banged his palm against the steering wheel and the anger returned to his face. ‘That’s why it is important to bring Eduardo’s case before government. They must be held accountable, no?’

Excited faces had begun appearing at the windows as soon as Father Finn parked up. Small hands waved furiously at them. The Father excused himself and marched off in his usual military fashion, as he went inside to organise the staff and children to come and greet their guests. Mann got the cases out of the boot and walked around to the front of the car. Becky stood and stared at him over the bonnet.

‘How can he bear it?’ She shook her head incredulously and shrugged her shoulders.

Mann could see that she was shell-shocked by the volume of human misery that they had encountered in one day. Maybe he had become desensitised over the years.

‘It’s one horrible story after another,’ she said quietly.

They heard the sound of excited children being organised at the front door. Then Mann thought it was not so much that he had gone numb; more likely he had been infected by Father Finn’s relentless hope.

‘He can bear it because he has enough love and hope to see it through. He will never stop trying. As long as the world allows it to carry on, Father Finn will keep fighting, and along the way he makes a big difference to people’s lives. He saves so many of them.’

‘But it’s hard to believe that such things go on here, the place is so beautiful and the people so positive and happy. It just seems so wrong. They are lucky they have the Fathers to fight for them. I’m surprised that they are not deported.’

‘People try and get rid of the priests all ways. Some of the Father’s friends have been murdered, others have been beaten up. Father Finn has the scars to prove it, that’s why he walks so fast everywhere. He lives under the constant threat of assassination. The paedophile westerners that he attacks would just love to see him dead.’

Father Finn came back to hurry them and escort them into the refuge. He was obviously immensely proud of it and all the people inside it.

‘Come on, Becky, I would like to show you some of the work we do here and introduce you to the staff.’

‘That would be great, Father. I would love to see around.’

By the time they reached the door, Becky had ten girls hanging off her arms.

‘They think you’re a film star!’ said Father Finn. The staff-a group of four women and two men-had been patiently waiting to be introduced, smiling hopefully at Becky and Mann. Father Finn ushered them forward. ‘Mann, you remember most of these people, I am sure?’

‘Of course.’ Mann did the introductions. ‘Becky, these two lovely ladies at the end are Jenny and Clementa, they do the cooking.’

Clementa was a robust-looking woman in her sixties. Her ample breasts were contained in a pink T-shirt but not supported by a bra and were resting on the waistband of a white apron tied around her waist. She was head cook. She spoke very little English but was so overcome and embarrassed that she hid her mouth as she smiled, to disguise the fact that she had two front teeth missing. Pretty-faced Jenny, her assistant, gave them a big toothy smile and a small curtsey.

‘Here is Maria-she is the housekeeper, keeps us all in line,’ he said, whilst introducing a woman no taller than a child but with the sinewy outline of one who never stopped working. ‘And this is Philip, the gardener, the newest addition to the refuge, who does a great job, as you can see…’ The young man eyed Becky over as he thanked Mann for his praise. ‘…and this wonderfully pregnant lady is Mercy, with her husband Ramon.’ Mercy was a no-nonsense-looking woman with the strong, pretty features of a woman of Spanish ancestry. Her husband, Ramon, was a man in his prime, with broad square shoulders and a handsome face. Mercy looked ready to pop. Her tight round stomach was a source of great joy to all those around, including the children, who kept rushing up to touch it.

‘Mercy and Ramon met here at the refuge, they were street children. Now they are responsible for setting up all the resource centres around the country. We now have twenty-five working cooperatives in the rural areas-all as a result of Mercy and Ramon’s hard work.’ Father Finn was obviously immensely proud of the couple. ‘You will see them when you come to Angeles. Like me, they are only visiting here in Davao and we have to get Mercy back home before she pops.’

They stepped forward to shake Becky’s hand. Mercy smiled and shook her head. Her English was very good. She remonstrated with the Father: ‘It is always a team effort. Please, come in, and welcome to our refuge.’

Mercy led the way through the first building into the second, which was a large high-ceilinged room with paintings and posters that the children had produced all around its walls, along with handicrafts they had made.

‘It has taken a few years to really take off, but now we have outlets all over the world. And we send representatives to tell schoolchildren about our work.’

‘Come inside and meet the rest of the children,’ said the Father.

From the corner of her eye Becky saw a small boy standing in the corner. He did not rush forward with the other children. He had a broad forehead and newly shorn hair that stood up bristly and black. His eyes were dark and smudged. His thick eyebrows were pinched together, giving him the look of someone carrying a weight of sorrow and pain on his small shoulders.

The father caught sight of him and went and knelt in front of him. ‘Eduardo! How is my brave boy today?’

Eduardo did not speak.

‘He is doing fine, Father,’ Mercy answered.

Father Finn turned the little boy’s arms over and examined his wounds.

‘Getting better already, Eduardo. Soon you’ll be as handsome as that man over there…’ He pointed to Mann.

Mann held his hands up in a surrender gesture. ‘He’s much better looking than me.’

Eduardo was not taking any notice of the Father or Mann, because he was staring transfixed at Becky.

Father Finn traced his line of vision. Becky smiled and mouthed ‘hello’.

‘You have an admirer,’ Father Finn said when he came back to join her. ‘Eduardo can’t keep his eyes off you.’

‘He’s so little to have suffered so much. It must be heartbreaking for you, Father, he looks so ill.’

‘The scars will heal, and one day he will smile again and then my heart will break with joy. One day we’ll have justice for him. I fear for his life unless I can make sure he is by my side twenty-four-seven. It’s going to take years to bring the government to justice. They are going to make it as difficult as possible.’

‘Is it really possible to recover from an ordeal like he’s been through?’

‘He will never forget, and we cannot undo the damage that has been done, but we will give him a home for life and look after him, that’s the best we can do, no? Come, Becky, we don’t often get visitors and the children want their autograph books signed. Sit here please.’

Becky thought he was kidding until she saw the children and the open books and eager pens waiting for her. She dutifully sat on the battered sofa in the open-plan lounge area, which was tile-floored and white-walled. The children had created a Filipino history frieze that ran around the walls. As she sat and chatted to them and looked at their pictures, Eduardo inched closer until he was sitting so close to her that he was touching her, and all the time he kept his eyes glued to her face. When she stood to follow the children and be shown around the refuge, he slipped his hand into hers.

Mann left them to show Becky around; he’d been to the refuge many times. ‘Have you got Internet here, Father?’ he asked. ‘I can get it on my phone but it’s painfully slow.’

‘Of course, when it works-brown-outs are still the plague of the Philippines.’

Mann was in luck. The Internet was almost as slow as his mobile, but it was working. He checked his email and worked through it all until there was one left in Mann’s email tray. He almost deleted it as spam-he didn’t recognise the sender-but decided to open it.

BLANCO sends you greetings and he has a presentfor you…press Here to collect your gift.

Your time is running out.

Mann clicked and waited. An image appeared. It was Amy Tang with a noose around her neck.