Short Story: I Own Your Life

Short Story: I Own Your Life

Nana was surprised at the modernity of Entebbe International. From what she had heard and read about Uganda, she barely expected to find any tarmac on the strip let alone the automated baggage carousel. She spent less than seven minutes at the immigration desk just as Patel had promised.

Thinking about Patel, she smiled. The guy had promised her so many things she had started to worry he was telling lies, so seeing some of his promises come true was a relief. He had promised her a high paying job as director in one of his companies, a chauffeur-driven car, a house with a live-in maid, a gardener and an armed guard 24 hours a day! All that plus a salary that would translate into hundreds of thousands of Rupees. She was so excited she feared she would pass out in ecstasy. She did not know what LSD heaven was but she felt she was experiencing something very close to it.

She had met Patel Kana at the University of Mumbai. After graduation they had both gone their ways and three years later, years of hardship and struggle, Patel had contacted her through an old boy of theirs asking her to come to Uganda for work. Looking back at the three years she agreed immediately. Nana had lost both her parents and sister to a nasty accident that flowed out of a bottle of whisky her father had befriended to the bosom. She suspected her mother’s incessant bickering added fuel to the fire but she couldn’t be certain. She had come to the conclusion that for the rest of her life she would always wonder if a sharp mouth or a bottle of Irish whisky took her family away from her. There was also the possibility that the sharp mouth and the bottle took equal responsibility which made it Either, Or and most likely, Both.

Sending all that to the back of her mind, she picked up her one-piece luggage and followed the arrows. Outside the airport, Patel was on hand to receive her and despite their culture, they openly hugged, both in their individual ways and for individual reasons happy to see each other.

“Welcome to Uganda, Nana,” said Patel. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Thank you, it’s nice to be here.”

“Please, this way. The driver is waiting.”

“A driver, nice! I see you really have made it.”

“Not as I would like but am getting there,” Patel answered. “Besides, the car is only a Prado. In two years time I want to own a Lexus and a Hummer, then I can finally get married.”

“Well, wish you all the luck, Patel. If anyone deserves it I’m sure it’s you.”

“Thank you, Nana. I really work hard at success.”

They walked past the auto-parking machines as a sleek black Prado Land Cruiser with smoked glass rolled up. Patel opened the door for her and tossed in her one bag then jumped in after her. Nana was surprised to see an Asian driver.

“I thought,” began Nana, then paused to clear her throat. “Sorry, I thought he was Ugandan.”

“Why would I employ a Ugandan?” Patel sounded a little bit cross.

But then Nana chalked it up to her own jetlag; all that pressurized air must be playing bhangra beats in my drums, she thought.

“Just thought that being in their country … anyway, I think I like it here already.”

“Just wait until you start earning money and sending it back to your family, huh?”

Patel laughed but turned a puzzled look toward Nana when he realized she did not join him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, sounding more like a gentle interrogator than an interested listener.

Nana still believed the flight had played tricks on her ears for so long that she was picking up nuances that did not belong. So she told him about the accident, being very careful and tactical like an editor of an independent daily in 1920s Soviet Union. She talked about the accident without mentioning any drinks, bottles or sharp tongues.

Thirty minutes later, they stopped at Muyenga, the Kampala rich man’s slum. A mammoth gate opened electronically and they drove in. The size of the house was palatial, including a pool chasing Olympic size. The house itself was two stories with an eight-car garage.

The car dropped them at the main entrance and then drove around to the back. Nana stood on the steps looking at the grandeur in wonder. Only very rich men in India ever lived like this. The house was all glass, marble and gold trim with ornate doors and a balustrade that must have cost a medium-sized house to build.

Part II

Once they went into a large living room the size of a small conference hall, Patel turned to her and held out his hand.

“Give me your bag.”

Nana was puzzled by his tone but before she could react in any manner, six girls came in - all Asian and ranging between 18 and 24.

One by one they walked up to him and kissed his proffered right hand. Nana was further puzzled by this behavior. The girls were treating her former school mate like some sort of Godfather.

Once this ritual was dispensed with, Patel again held out his hand for her bag. She handed it to him and watched as he rummaged inside and pulled out her passport. He then threw the bag on the plush Persian and proceeded to tear up the passport. Nana was aghast!

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked in a voice trembling with great rage. She did not like his reply.

Patel swung a back hand straight for her beautiful face and caught her on the jaw, knocking her right to sleep. He then instructed the six girls to carry her to their dormitory.

Presently, they came back and stood before him, eyes lowered. One by one they handed him various amounts of money.

He nodded and addressed the tallest of the six.

“Loy, you make more money than the others so you are now officially in charge. Remember the earlier you make my money, the sooner you can leave for anywhere a free girl.”

Loy nodded then bowed slightly.

“When the new girl wakes up I want you to prepare her then place her in my bedroom. I need to introduce her to her new trade and also find out if she won’t disappoint my clients. Any messages while I was out?”

“Yes, Mr. Paresh says he wants two girls tonight at the hardcore rates,” answered Loy.

“Good. That means the lucky two get to make a hundred dollars each for pleasing Mr. Paresh.”

Not to mention the pain and humiliation they would go through and the four hundred bucks each girl would make for Patel. But Loy did not say this out loud for that would be suicide. She had worked for Patel for six months now and had made him close to one fifty grand in that time. The worst bit of it was that as they worked, sleeping with all sorts, mostly fellow Asians, none of the girls actually had a penny to her name and neither did they have papers. She and her fellow slaves were prisoners in a country thousands of miles from their own with no one to turn to.

“One of you fetch me a drink quick while another runs a hot bath for me. I also want two of you to get in with me so get ready. Now move!”

Part III

When Nana came to, Loy washed her and cleaned her bruised face all the while explaining their predicament.

“We are all brought here to work as highly paid prostitutes. Patel’s clients are extremely wealthy Asians, a few whites and Africans. These are people who don't want to go through the hassle of picking up a prostitute on the street either because they are already married, have a sensitive position in society, are diplomats or work in high positions in government. Most of the time, though, it’s a combination of all three.”

“Why don't you run away?” asked Nana.

Loy looked at her wide-eyed.

“Without papers which country are you going to run around in? We all stay, screw everything that picks you and hope to Buddha that Patel keeps his promise to get us fresh papers, money and a way back home.”

“You know that’s never gonna happen, don't you?” Nana asked, tenderly touching her swollen cheek which felt like marinated turkey in the microwave.

“Well, we don't have much option do we?” Loy retorted resignedly.

“We could run away and take our chances out there. The whole world can’t be all bad.”

“Girl, I like your enthusiasm and optimism but now it’s time to get you ready for sex with Patel. He is going to violate every part of you so better take it like a woman or you will suffer a lot worse than a leavened cheek.”

“I have never even had sex before and now you are telling me …” but she failed to finish, tears welling in her eyes and rolling down her face to stain her canary-yellow sari.

“I’ll give you something for the pain and your nerves. Never thought I could say this but once you get used to it, it’s not that bad actually.”

Loy handed Nana a color-less pill. Nana hesitated and Loy inclined her head in a you-will-thank-me-later motion. Nana took it and gingerly laid it on her tongue, wondering what the hell she was getting into. Being forced into prostitution was bad enough but now she also had to become some sort of drug addict.

By the time she was through with the ritual shower, she was smelling like an angel and looking like Miss World. Except she had on no crown. Actually the only thing she had on was a see-through gown. The gown was trying to restrain her perfect breasts with the attendant erect nipples to no avail. Looking at her own reflection in the full-length, Nana felt turned on by her own image.

“Let’s go, he is waiting and there are penalties for keeping him in that state,” Loy said reaching a hand to straighten a stray hair on her shoulder and brushing her fingers lightly on Nana’s left breast as she pulled it back.

At the touch of Loy’s fingers, Nana shuddered and felt herself become wet. The touch had apparently reached deep within her sensuality and triggered something beautiful. She gently reached for Loy and passionately kissed her, passing her tongue over the back of the other girl’s throat. When they released each other, both were panting like bitches in heat.

Part IV

Just as Loy made a move to reach for her again, the door opened and Nisha said, “Patel has a brief business meeting but says you should be ready in thirty minutes.”

The girl did not wait for any kind of response but pulled the door shut and they heard her footsteps echoing down the short hallway to the Common Room.

Loy made for the door and Nana started to call after her. Loy shushed her by putting a forefinger to her own lips. She reached the door and instead of opening it turned the lock and removed the key. She turned back pulling off her dress which she threw across the room. Reaching Nana, she dropped to her knees and went to work, first spreading the other girl’s legs.

Nana did not know how but somehow there was a dildo in her hands and another in her vulva. She felt a little pain when Loy thrust particularly hard but for the rest she felt all right. Twenty-seven minutes later they lay side by side, spent and content.

Nana was starting to dose off when a loud knock on the door brought her wide awake. She sat up, almost beating Loy at the move. They looked at each other and Nana could see the naked fear in the other girl’s eyes.

“It’s Patel,” Loy said. “My God, he is going to kill me! What have I done?”

Nana remained in that position, her whole body shaking, realizing the look in Loy’s eyes was a mirror image. She had been in this house less than three hours but she already knew what Patel was capable of.

Meanwhile outside Patel was yelling at them to open the door. The more he yelled the further away from the door Loy moved. Nana stayed where she was, immobilized by terror; her mind frozen solid.

Patel did not give them any more time. He kicked in the door, sending it slamming hard against the wall, its upper hinges coming loose and several nails flying around the room. One nail came to rest between Nana`s naked thighs.

Nana curled herself into a ball, drawing her knees to her chest and closing her eyes as Patel walked in. but he strode right passed her and grabbed Loy by her lush raven hair. Loy screamed like a fat pig being branded.

“Who told you to play with my toys?” Patel shouted, his moustache twitching. “I told you to make the girls manageable but refused you to touch them in that manner.”

“But we did not do anything!” pleaded Loy. Nana felt tears running freely down her cheeks, stinging from her earlier encounter with Patel’s diplomacy.

“This whole house is full of cameras, so don't lie to me you bitch!” said Patel, hitting her hard with his free fist. She would have fallen like a log but for the strangle-hold on her hair. Even then, most of it tore at the roots but the only pain she felt was from the punch.

Nana turned to say something but froze when she saw the knife in Patel`s hand. One hand flew to her mouth to stifle a blood-curdling scream. Once again, she froze. Patel’s next action sent her into a frenzy.

Patel swung the knife at Loy, stabbing her in the stomach without releasing her hair. Loy gasped and her knees buckled. Patel swung the knife, this time aiming for her throat. He sliced through it and blood spurted forth, staining Nana’s negligee and part of Patel’s shirt front.

Without thinking, Nana sprung to her feet, frantically searching the floor. She picked one of the four-inch nails that had scattered around the room and lunged for Patel, her left arm going round his neck and her right thrusting the nail into the back of his head. She then released him and jumped back as he turned, a surprised look on his anger-contorted face. It did not stay there long for he collapsed after taking two steps towards Nana.

Nana warily walked to him and nudged him with her toe. He did not move and when she reached for a pulse, first stepping on his knife hand, there was none. Patel was dead! She ran to Loy and felt for a pulse but there was none.

Part V

Nana stood up shakily and backed away from Loy, making certain she did not step in Patel`s blood. She tried to think of what to do next but her mind was a total blank. Then one word jumped into her brain: Money.

Distasteful as she found the action, she could barely see herself contorting in ecstasy with a live Patel, but she touched his dead body, patting his pockets. She found one thousand dollars and Uganda bills totaling three million shillings. She did not know the exchange rate but right now that was the least of her problems. She also found a Uganda passport on his body and this surprised her as she knew Patel was completely Indian- the passport declared him a Ugandan by birth.

She ran into the girls’ hostel, making sure to lock the killing room behind her first. She rummaged through dressers and came up with jeans and a t-shirt that somewhat fit her and some comfortable shoes a size too tight. Having changed, Nana walked very fast through the house, not knowing where to go but looking for an exit. After several wrong turns she managed to walk out the house and started down the drive way toward the gate she estimated to be a hundred meters away. No one challenged her until she got to the gate itself.

An armed guard stepped out of the guard house and asked her where she thought she was going. Nana failed to respond for several minutes, which time the guard used to repeat his question every fifteen seconds or so. Repeating the question to her did not enlighten her in the least but seemed to make her dumber. Much as she tried her brain failed her and her tongue stuck to her palate; she hadn’t thought out things to this far—hell, she hadn’t thought out anything to any point.

The guard made a threatening move toward her, unslung his rifle and pointed it at her left breast that was curiously very erect in the tight t-shirt.

‘Go back to house,” said the guard in slightly broken English. “Mr. Patel say girls in house, leave with mister or gentlemen, no alone.”

The communication here was not the best but Nana got the drift, especially after the guard cocked his gun and pointed it at her sternum.

“Kem cho? Saaru che?” Nana said in Gujurati. “Gorr nem che?”

“What you are saying?” asked the guard.

Nana gave up on that line of tactics and in a moment of age-old inspiration lifted her shirt, revealing her beautiful, well-rounded and erect breasts. Right from her early teens everyone around Nana had admired her breasts. At thirteen they looked like fresh apples with date seeds sticking out the center. Presently, they resembled medium-sized Ugandan avocados with whatever-you-fancy sticking out the top.

The guard gaped and his aim lowered and shifted off to the side. Encouraged, Nana opened her jeans button and unzipped. The guard started shaking, saliva drooling down his chin and staining his uniform. A bulge appeared at his groin and Nana gave herself a pat on the back. This was Girl-Power at its best. But she wasn`t smiling, at least not yet.

The guard made a step toward her and that is the next to last thing she saw. The last was a flash before she heard a deafening sound and passed out- again.

She came to and found herself on her back with her jeans down around her knees, her shirt high around her neck and a burning sensation in her vagina and tenderness in her breasts. The good news was that she did not see the guard anywhere and the gate, the small one for human traffic, was ajar. She hastily got up and straightened her clothes as she walked out of the compound. As she stepped through the gate, she tripped on the guard`s rifle and another shot went off. She ran through the gate and straight into the mother of all searchlights.

Part VI

Blinded, Nana stopped dead in her tracks. Instinctively, she raised her arms high above her head and tried to penetrate the blinding illumination; which was akin to steering with one’s feet: the idea might be novel, and noble, but couldn’t produce any positive results.

“Get down on the ground!” an authoritative voice shouted.

Like a banana stem felled by a machete, Nana collapsed onto her knees. In a moment, rough hands were securing her with handcuffs and she was quickly hauled to her feet. Several men in uniform ran into the small gate and a moment later she heard shouts from them and screams from the girls.

Everything was happening too fast for Nana. She tried to process what had just happened but failed. The guard had let off two shots; no that was not true, she corrected herself, she had let off the second one. Could it be that the guard`s shot had attracted these men in uniform? Then that would mean that it took them some time to get here as he had evidently had time to enjoy her womanhood before he took off. That made him either a One-minute Man or he had had lots of time.

Nana was not sure if the men in uniform were police. Fingers would point at her and she would be in for it. She mentally shook her head; in a few hours she had gone from a law-abiding individual to a twice-raped lesbian murderess! That had to be some sort of record.

Her reverie was rudely interrupted as the uniformed men were ordered to bundle all the girls and house staff onto a pickup truck and in short order they were driven to a sick looking building, dirty as the canals in Holland and grimy like a Mexican bordello.

The girls were separated and questioned. She stewed for almost three hours before someone came to question her. Her interrogator was a tired looking man who looked old enough to be the grandfather of the oldest policeman on record! And he asked interesting questions.

“Why did you disarm the guard at Mr. Patel`s house?”

“But I did’nt!” Nana protested.

“We have a witness who says otherwise,” the great-grandfather said in a bored voice.

“You don’t understand. That man tried to shoot me, raped me and then took off!” Nana was furious.

“We have the man in question. All this will be sorted out,” he assured her.

“I sincerely hope so.”

“Another witness puts you in the same room with two very dead people. How about that?”

“True, Patel knifed Loy and slipped and fell on something sharp. I ran out of the room and the guard stopped me, put me at gun point, fired off a round and raped me as I lay passed out.”

Great grandfather raised grey eyebrows. “If you were passed out, how do you know he raped you?”

Nana first gave him a `WHAT!` look then asked,” If you were sleeping, how would you know you had a wet dream?”

“Touché, my girl, touché.”

“Patel is an evil man, he brings girls over here from India and turns them into prostitutes. “

“How come none of them said that?” asked Great grandfather.

“Because they are too scared of the man, I don’t know but it’s true. He runs a whore house.”

“That would mean the girls like it, otherwise why do they stay?”

“He has armed security, he beats them into submission…”

He interrupts her.

“All the more reason to run away, to seek the law for redress.”

“The first thing he takes off them are their passports, so they have nothing. We are all illegal here. I saw that shallow, hare-brained bastard tear my passport earlier this evening and when I protested he smacked me right across the face.”

“You will tell all that to the judge,” and with this he stood up to go.

“You don’t believe me? What are you charging me for?”

“Murder, robbery, discharging a firearm without a valid license, fleeing the scene of a crime, failing to report a crime, illegal entry into a sovereign country, attempt to disarm a licensed gun bearer, libel which in court will turn itself into perjury, being in possession of counterfeit money and hoarding a narcotic substance.”

Nana shook her head, her lush henna-ed hair falling all over. Murder, drugs, robbery, illegal … She looked up at him and asked in a small tiny voice: “How much jail time am I looking at here?”

“With a good lawyer, not much. Possibly only twenty-four months,” he paused dramatically, “before you are executed.”

Nana passed out again that night.

Part VII

All the girls testified against her, claiming she had come into their house, assaulted their boss and eventually killed him after knifing their comrade. One of the girls, Ishar, even suggested she could be insane. It was two days since her arrest and she had failed to secure a lawyer, main reason being that she had no money.

When she thought about the whole thing, drowning in her own tears; tears of pain, anger, betrayal, frustration and hopelessness, she realised she had nothing at all. She had no money, no status and was a nobody in a country miles away from home. What hurt the most was that there was no one left at home to seriously miss her!

When her turn came to present her defence, she called back one witness after another. She shook most of the testimony, challenging the girl who had come to tell them that Patel would take a meeting first and making her assert that yes, Nana was not an intruder.

She tasked prosecution to explain to court why they refused to examine her after she had claimed a rape and there was no viable reason. She asked Ishar if insane people were responsible for their actions to the amusement of the court room and Ishar just stammered.

Everything seemed to be going well until she had to get up on the stand for cross with the prosecutor. The well-clad young woman asked her if it was not true that she was in the country illegally, and forced her to answer with a yes or no answer.

Then she asked Nana if the prints on the nail did not match hers but before Nana could respond, assured her one print actually was a dead-ringer for her thumb print. She allowed that maybe the murder of Loy could not be proved to have been carried out by her but she had to take punishment for the murder of Patel, even it was in self-defence.

Nana asked her what she would have done having seen a rage-filled man stab a woman in front of her and knowingshe would be next. The prosecutor reminded her who was asking the questions. Nana told her she was representing herself so she was both lawyer and suspect. The judge prevailed on the prosecutor to answer the question.

“I`d have run out of the room, and sought help.”

“And if you were in a strange house in a strange country and were scared half out of your wits and thought maybe you could still save the life of a new-found friend?” asked Nana.

“I guess I’d have taken some measures to protect myself and try and save the life of another young woman,” the prosecutor relented.

“That’s what I did, your Honor,” reiterated Nana.

“And it cost the life of a young successful investor, a loving father of two and caring husband to that lady in the white Sari.”

And therein lay the rub. However noble her actions, she was still going down for murder. In the hush that followed, a messenger handed the bailiff a note for the Judge. The Judge read it with increasingly raising eyebrows and then called both Nana and the prosecutor to the bench. There was some whispering and Nana looked shocked, then pleasantly surprised and finally let out a `Yahoo!` upon which the Judge banged his gavel. When the duo left the bench, Nana walked to the defence table and sat down while the prosecutor turned to address the court room.

“In light of new and compelling evidence, the state withdraws all charges against the accused and hereby offers full immunity and restitution of all rights and privileges to the same. Furthermore, the state shall handsomely compensate the lady after reaching an agreed upon figure.”

The Newspapers had a field day even if they did not have all the facts. Immigration had collaborated Nana’s story and had produced a copy of her passport. But investigative journalists still wondered how and why all the charges could be dropped in such a case.

Nana, barefoot, dirty, hungry and smelly; left the court room smiling. The smile reduced a bit when she wondered how she was going to survive up until the state gave her what she now regarded as hers. Outside the court room, a combat-clad soldier in a red beret held open the door to a black Mercedes SL for her. Nana climbed in.

Part VIII

When Nana entered the car, there was an old and distinguished-looking Asian gentleman in the far corner of the back seat. He seemed at pains to stay far away as possible from her and actually reached for a small bottle of air freshener which he squeezed with abandon, filling the car with a jasmine fragrance.

He had a deep baritone when he spoke and his cadence gave the impression he had all the time he needed in the world.

“My name is Eshan Khan. I’m the father of the Patel; so you did not only kill my only son you ruined a very good business operation. People should pay for those kinds of actions.”

Nana shivered. The old man had spoken in a non-threatening tone of voice which made his words even more chilling. She wondered if she had just escaped the proverbial frying pan only to land in real fire.

The man continued, “I have been making a lot of money through my son, Patel. He has been a dedicated son and employee and the money we have made from girls like you is in the billions of rupees. Until you happened on the scene, that is.”

Tears started welling in Nana’s eyes and rolled down her dirty face onto her perfect breasts and shirt front. She wondered why Buddha was punishing her. There was something heavy in her throat that she could not even talk back or respond.

“Now my prostitution ring will have to be dismantled as I relocate the business elsewhere. I will lose about fifty thousand US in that time. And all this has happened because of you.”

Finally, Nana seemed to have recovered her voice. “Please let me work for you like the other girls. I don’t care for how long but I have already suffered enough.”

“Suffered enough? My son is lying on a concrete slab in the mortuary waiting to be cremated and you talk to me about suffering?”

Though there was anger in his words, his tone was still low and level. Then he cleared his throat and added; “The reason I used my connections in Foreign and Internal affairs is because I knew the Ugandan justice system would be lenient on you, maybe give you a hard slap on the wrist and then only let you rot away in prison. But that`s not happening now. You killed my son using a nail that you drove into his brain. I have hired someone to kill you slowly; he is a doctor so he will always take you to the point of death and then bring you back. At least until I think you have suffered enough and that`s when he will kill you. You deserve it.”

From somewhere within her feet where her heart had dropped, Nana plucked up some courage and mixed it with indignation.

“You think you will get away with this? I was undergoing trial when all this happened; people are bound to wonder who sprung me and where I ended up.”

“Or so you think,” responded Khan. “I own all the rich folks in this city; black, brown or white. Money is power and I head some of the richest companies in the region, five of which I own. I wine and dine with presidents, prime ministers, kings and ambassadors. Every year I donate millions to police, judiciary and army welfare. I’m the patron of the East African Journalists Association, and president of the East African Law Society. I own the largest law firm in Sub-Saharan Africa and I’m the biggest donor to the region’s largest hospital. Can you begin to comprehend the kind of power I wield?”

TO BE CONTINUED ...