Breaking Free (4 page)

How was it possible that she was here? Who were these aunties, and since when did Grandfather “owe” them something? And why did Somaly have to pay this cruel man’s debts with her life?

When Somaly was released from the punishment room, the same girl who’d warned Somaly the first night found her again. She slowly wiped Somaly’s wounds with peroxide. It was the first gentle touch Somaly had felt in years.

Isn’t there some way out?
Somaly longed to ask the girl. But the girl’s lips were shut tight. When she was done wiping away the blood and sewage from Somaly, she walked away. Then she started putting on her white face paint again. Silently.

Whether she wanted to or not, Somaly fell into a kind of routine and learned the ropes. Aunty Peuve and Aunty Nop were
meebons
. That meant they were in charge of feeding, clothing, and housing the girls during the day. Every night the
meebons
rented out the girls to whoever came by. Somaly had no choice but to obey if she wanted to stay alive. Most nights, she wondered if she
did
want to stay alive in a world like this.

Life at the brothel meant that each night Somaly had to have sex with a new lineup of angry, heartless men: soldiers, shopkeepers, truck drivers, even policemen. The soldiers were definitely the fiercest. They threw Somaly around like a rag doll. Sometimes she was forced to go to the central market and have sex with taxi drivers. The taxi drivers rented wooden planks and lined them up on the sidewalk, so people walking past could see them with Somaly. She felt so horribly degraded with every footstep she heard going by.

Other times she was sent away with businessmen for the night. Most of the time these were Chinese men who had a lot of money or a lot of friends. They would throw parties with ten or twenty of their pals. They would pass Somaly around like a bottle of wine, and she couldn’t leave until she gave them each pleasure.

When daylight came, Somaly tried desperately to purify her body. Smelling the stink of these men was the worst torture of all. There was no soap at the brothel, so she boiled tamarind leaves in salt water and dressed her wounds just like she’d done for the soldiers back in Chup. It wasn’t that she cared about the scars on her skin so much. She just wanted so badly to feel clean, to wash away everything that happened the night before, hoping for a new today.

After she soaked her skin in the tamarind water, Somaly slept in fitful nightmares. If she earned enough, the aunties fed her a bowl of rice when she woke up.

And then it was time to start all over again.

Somaly decided that in order to survive she had to pretend she was a magician. Every night at dusk, while she stirred together the coconut oil and white powder for her face, she imagined that she was turning into a wide, snowy plain. Or a mountain peak so high it kissed the sky. Untouched and untouchable.

She took her time, scooping out the gluey paste and spreading it on her cheeks. Then she drew on dark eyes, rosy cheeks, red lips. By the time the clients came in, she looked like an entirely different being. She closed her eyes forcefully. She shut out the world and left her body. She pictured herself drifting into a sea of white nothingness … disappearing completely.

“For myself it was too late. I felt like I had died. I had no idea where to go. My life was in darkness.”

~ Somaly Mam

I Was Once You

Somaly lived at the brothel for three brutal years. It wasn’t exactly “living.” It was numbing her body and her mind, again and again. Most of her waking hours felt helpless, hopeless, and bleak.

Somaly tried to run away from the
meebons
. A few times there were clients who promised to marry her and get her out of the system. But they were all liars. Each time she tried to flee, she was caught and tortured. After a while, she stopped plotting her escapes and just prayed for the morning, when she could boil more tamarind leaves to cleanse her body and try to sleep.

When the
meebons
discovered that Somaly was good at cleaning, they made her do some of the housework, too. They were kind to Somaly as long as she followed their orders. Over time, they even trusted her to stay alone in the house or to take care of the younger girls.

Every time a new girl was brought in, Somaly felt like she was dying a little bit more. Some girls already knew what was happening, but a lot of them walked in completely unaware. A “long-lost uncle” promised to take them to school. Or a “family friend” swore she knew of an easy way to make money. The worst was when girls were brought in by their own parents who sold them to Aunty Peuve for a small wad of cash—right in front of their faces.

How can you do this?!
Somaly wanted to scream. But she knew it wouldn’t help to say any of this out loud. She tried always to give the new girls a gentle smile and sterilize their fresh cuts and bruises after their first night behind the scarves. That was all she
could
do.

Or was it?

There was something about those two new girls. They were a few years younger than Somaly, maybe thirteen or fourteen. Their hair was dark and shiny, laughing down their backs like hers used to do, too. Somaly watched as Aunty Peuve shoved them into a corner and tied them to a wooden pillar with wet rags.

Somaly felt like she was watching her younger self being led into this hell. Everything about their darting looks and untouched skin seemed so hopeful and desperate at the same time. They still smelled like soap and innocence. Seeing them tied up in the corner made Somaly wince like her whole body was knotted with pain. It was like rewinding her life … but maybe with the chance to play out a new ending.

She had given up on saving herself. She already felt dead inside. But she couldn’t take her eyes off those two girls huddled together. She couldn’t sit still and watch this happen to someone else again.

She knew she’d be punished. Her skin was already stinging with the memory of her last lashing. She could envision the snakes in the cellar without even closing her eyes. But she was done being trapped by fear. She stared at the new girls’ long hair and still-bright eyes. They had no idea how dark and hellish this existence could be.

Somaly was their only way out.

She had to be stealthy and smart. She waited until Aunty Peuve left to run errands. There was little light inside, but she guessed it was midday because there were no customers and only one guard by the staircase. Somaly knew this guard; he was fat and lazy and usually drunk on rice wine. Somaly stared at him out of the corner of her eye until he melted into a heavy, snoring sleep. Then she crawled over to the new girls without making a sound. She was quieter than a stone. It was like she’d practiced for this moment for the past three years, locking away all her words and emotions and sculpting her body into a shadow.

The girls were crouching and trembling now. There were no windows, of course, but through the cracks of straw and soot walls she could see their wet cheeks. Tears, because they were new. And also because they
knew
.

She found their wrists, tied tightly to a wooden pillar. How many times had Somaly wished the wood would just rot completely and crumble so they could all flee?

She worked quickly and precisely, kneading the rags apart, tugging with her teeth, even. Aunty Peuve had bound them fiercely. The cloths were wet and cold. The girls whimpered while Somaly slogged away. She pulled and clawed with a strength she didn’t even know she had. Finally they were both cut loose.

She couldn’t let the girls stop to thank her. She just got on her knees and crawled toward the door. They followed her past the rotting grass pallets. Past the cooking hole. Past the broken stairwell.

The guard was still passed out and drooling as they crept by. The alley below was deserted. It reeked of garbage and human waste. Nobody ever came here before dusk. Nobody even knew it existed besides men demanding sex.

Somaly saw the girls’ faces for one fleeting moment. Their skin was lighter than hers. Their eyes were wide and frightened. Their mouths were trembling and wanting to ask
why, how, where?

Somaly said exactly three words: “Don’t stay here.”

They clutched each other’s hand and started running. She watched their skirts skimming over the broken ground, the puddles splashing as they darted between buildings.

Somaly knew she was once just like them. And now, thanks to her, their lives had become possible again.

The
meebons
figured out what had happened as soon as they came back. Somaly was dragged downstairs and punished severely, but no abuse could take away her feeling of victory. She knew she’d done right by those two new girls.

For days afterward, with every crack of the whip and every hour in the snake cellar, Somaly thought of their skirts and their bare feet underneath, sprinting to freedom.

FICTION:

Girls who work in the sex industry are there because they like it. They get treated to fancy clothes and cell phones from their pimps.

FACT:

Most girls in the sex industry are forced in by family, kidnappers, and rapists. It’s hard to measure because trafficking is so secretive, but UNICEF (a worldwide organization that defends the rights of children) estimates 1.2 million children are trafficked every year.

A Way Out

Business was slowing down at the brothel. Aunty Peuve made Somaly stand on the side of the road leading to the central market more and more to grab men. One night, Somaly saw a Land Cruiser driving slowly by her. It had a sign on it for one of the foreign humanitarian agencies that was sending money and food to Phnom Penh. The man who got out of the car wanted to rent Somaly for the night.

His name was Dietrich, and he offered to take Somaly to a guesthouse to sleep with her. Aunty Peuve agreed as long as he swore to bring her back by morning.

Somaly had never met someone like Dietrich. First of all, he was white and only spoke Swiss German. Somaly spoke Khmer. She didn’t understand what he was saying when he offered to buy her some supper. No one who had paid to be with her had ever offered her food. Dietrich wanted to sit with her after supper and chat. He used a lot of wild gestures and laughed. Somaly got the feeling he was trying to make her laugh, too.

Then Dietrich took her back to the guesthouse where he was staying. To Somaly, it was incredibly fancy. Even though she was nineteen years old by now, she’d never seen a mattress or running water. The bed was so soft, she thought she was falling into a sinkhole when she sat down. When Dietrich asked if she wanted to wash up, the only water she saw in the bathroom was in the bottom of the toilet, so she splashed that on her face.

Dietrich turned on the shower for her, and when the water came shooting out of the spigot, Somaly shrieked in fear. Dietrich was patient and explained that the pipes couldn’t come after her or hurt her. He also handed her a bar of soap, which was the most delicious thing she’d smelled since the forest she’d called home as a child.

Though that night felt pretty decadent to Somaly, it was still a transaction. No matter how kind Dietrich was, she knew he had paid to use her body.

When Dietrich returned her to the brothel the next day, he handed Aunty Peuve the fifty cents he owed for Somaly’s services. Then, when Aunty wasn’t looking, he gave Somaly herself twenty dollars. (That is the equivalent of about two thousand dollars today.)

Somaly didn’t want to be bought for any amount of money, but she had to admit she was fascinated by this man. He came back and requested Somaly night after night. Within a few weeks, Dietrich asked Somaly if she wanted to become his “special friend.” She could live with him in his villa that had a gate, a kitchen, beds, and soap. Dietrich promised to give her spending money and a key so she could come and go whenever she wanted. Somaly knew it wasn’t full freedom, since she’d be “his” at night, but it was much better than the alternative of staying at the brothel. So she said yes.

The
meebons
never argued or came after her. Somaly didn’t know why. Maybe because after working for three years, she had already paid off Grandfather’s debt and then some. She was never allowed to know how much he owed in the first place.