Prostitution among African women is snowballing in Europe. Amely-James Bela, a business school graduate, has a long history of humanitarian and community work. She has been fighting to stop the traffic of women and children for prostitution. Her book La prostitution africaine en Occident sounds an alarm on this phenomenon. Afrik.com has also decided to follow her example by bringing this trend to light.
“If only I knew what was in store for me here, in this crazy place, this place that so many people admire, this place they all want to come to (…) a place where we, Africans, are considered as good for nothing, slaves who are made to eat human excrement and drink their urine. Some find it normal that sick people, perverts, rich people… use their money and influence to gravely abuse other humans.
They say that we are adults and therefore consenting, but this is not true because no one asked for my consent before throwing me into this hell hole. I was forced and threatened… and if we are adults, what about the kids who find themselves in this milieu? Those people pay a lot to abuse the youngest ones. Poor people do not pay such ludicrous amounts of money for such things, simply because all their money will still not be enough to buy these…
"I am not afraid anymore"
I am disgusted and no more afraid, and by the way, who cares? My days are numbered anyway. My aids is in its final stages. They have more respect for dogs than for us. I know that not all the girls go through what I have been through. But I know what goes on in this milieu and why the girls deny all those horrendous things so as not to fall victim to their anger. Their riches give them the right over our lives… If their drugs, their aids and alcohol had not brought me to my death bed, their filth and the filth of their dogs that I was made to swallow as well as their violence would have done it anyway.
I have prayed to God to forgive me and take me back. No human being can live with what I have in my head. I only have to close my eyes for a few seconds for all the horrors to come rushing back. Everyday and every night I go through the same torture. I need someone to help me end it all, I have no energy in me to even try it. My God! I want just a moment of silence to rest. I just want it over and done with and just go, go, go…
Recruited via the Internet
My troubles began in Lagos. I came across an internet announcement, which said that a businessman was looking for women who wanted to get married for his dating agency. There were photos and stories of happy and successful marriages. Apart from the internet announcement, I also answered to announcements posted in these magazines that we find everywhere now. It all went very fast. The man contacted me and we started communicating via the Internet. He promised me things that no woman would refuse. A dream. In a matter of three months, I had every single paper needed to leave for London. He also gave me the names of persons I had to meet and everything went well. I also had to go to Benin City (a city in Nigeria, ndlr) to collect a small parcel for him. I was a bit taken aback when I realized that the little parcel he was talking about were three young boys between the ages of eight and twelve. Their passports and visas were ready. Everything was ok. I went to see a guy called “wizard” for instructions.
Our trip took us through Ghana where someone provided us with Liberian passports with which we traveled to London. This was to help us obtain refugee status with ease. We left after spending three days in a shantytown in Accra where we were hidden to “avoid being spotted by jealous people who were not as lucky as us!” hmmm… The youngest boy was gripped by fear. He cried a lot, his whole body shook and could not utter a word. His only refuge were my arms and the only moment he left my arms was to allow me to go to the bathroom...
Defenseless children
At the airport, my fiancé and the person who was to collect the children were waiting. The separation was very painful. A lot of force was needed to tear the little boy from me. I never heard of those children again. I followed this man whom I knew nothing about apart from the fact that he called himself “Bryan”. We barely got to his house when the nightmare began. First of all, he wanted us to do it right away. But I told him that I needed a some time as it is not too easy to open up to someone I did not know, just like that. But his violent grip made me give in immediately. My first hours on the English soil were marked with rape and violence on somebody’s living room floor. He took a rest, drank whiskey and came back to do those horrible and painful things that I didn’t even know existed, again and again. I thought I was going to die.
I was forced to do what he wanted, I knew only him and he had kept all my papers. After sexually abusing me, he asked me to watch films in which girls were having sex with animals. He said to study what the girls were doing because I was going to do the same soon. He said that my arrival had cost him a lot of money and I was going to have to pay him back. He also said that because he is a very nice man, he would find good business and film contracts and split the money between the two of us. He gave me a little something to give me courage, but not to worry because there was a lot of money to be made. Lots of money. That little something to give me courage was, in fact, drugs. This is how, three weeks after my arrival in England, I became a bestial porn star addicted to drugs and traveling through eruopean capitals; Amsterdam, Berlin, Paris and London, my residence.
Women and animals
Once or twice a week, I was sent to film sets or individual homes to tape these nasty pornographic videos. Sometimes the master and his dogs would join in. It gave me nausea. His wife would look on, amused, while mixing herself cocktails. I took drugs and drunk before doing those scenes, because without getting high on drugs, I just couldn’t do it. These animals in me, their slaver, their hairs, their bad breathe, the scratches from their claws, while obeying their masters who would order them to go slow or use violence with me under them, forced to obey. I cried, I screamed, I prayed for the good lord to take me away. What was I doing? My poor mother would die if she knew. To prevent her from asking too many questions, I sent her money along with carefully staged photographs Bryan and I made.
The worst moment came was when I was made to perform oral sex on these animals. Sex with the animals were unprotected and the man told me that I was not at risk since God had made sure that animals could not impregnate humans. For years I did only that. Litres of animal sperm in my stomach. My body is so filthy that not a single child could possibly be conceived in it. One day, to spice up the scenes, the producer’s wife went and fetched puppies to suck my breasts. It was very painful because they sucked violently as there was no milk. The professionals sell these films across the world while others watch them during parties.
My family lives well and I live with aids
I have to confess that I made a lot of money. I had a house built back home and my family lives well. I pay the school fees for the young ones and I am respected and adored. My family is very proud of me because they know nothing about what I do. Out of greed, I worked more to get more money, which also meant more drugs and alcohol. Sometimes Bryan rented me out to a friend of his in the south of France, because in summer, the arrival of a number of yachts and celebrities at the côte d’azur means a big market for prostitutes and drug dealers. There are all night long orgies and they pay a lot. It is a change from the usual work and brings in a lot of money.
I think that is where I was infected with aids… and because I did not have regular medical check ups the disease was discovered too late. I was abandoned on the beaches of Saint Tropez. Bryan disappeared and changed his address. A prostitute from Poland came to my aid but since she was not able to cater for my drug needs as well as all she was doing for me, she introduced me to an African girl who was also involved in the same line of work, who introduced me to an association that takes care of African women with aids…
My disease is in its terminal stage. I won’t live past thirty. My body is covered with leeches, I am a drug addict, anorexic, alcoholic… I still work as a prostitute, but I am careful not to put my clients, who know nothing about my situation, at risk. I do it to help me buy drugs and alcohol. I take those things to speed things up, you know, my death. The images torture me and it is like a poison killing me in small doses. It is the worst kind of death. I regret so much for coming to Europe. Back home, I would be healthy, married and by now a mother…”
