About five hundred years ago, in what is
today Belgium, an unruly giant, very ruthless, rapacious and capricious -
like the Erymanthian Boar in Ancient Greek folklore - terrorised
residents of Antwerp City.
The giant had built a castle on River Schelde which passes through
Antwerp, like the odours Nairobi River, and the legendary Nile in Cairo.
The giant imposed exorbitant tax levies on anyone passing by his
castle. Woe unto boatmen who did not have money; their hands were
severed. A boatman needs his hands to pull the oars and row the skiff!
People were murdered and their cadavers given to sharks! A brave young
man barely known to the community emerged and killed the giant. He cut
off the giant's hands and threw them in the river. The overjoyed people
watched with amazement. They named their city "Handwerpen," which
loosely translates into "to throw a hand away."
Much about places and how they got their names! Nairobi is named
after a river, whereas Kenya is named after Mount Kenya. Nigerian writer
Chika Unigwe writing of Antwerp in On Black Sisters' Street is not in
the business of educating you on how your village or town acquired its
name. In fact this digression in her novel is an allusion to the sacking
of young African ladies into sex slavery. Chika Unigwe may not be the
hero who confronted and cut off the hands of the unruly giant, she is
however, the brave scribe who risked wearing the lipstick and a skimpy
skirt, as the undercover police do, and went behind Antwerp to unearth
an international cartel of sex trade and human trafficking.
Set in the Belgian city of Antwerp, On Black Sisters' Street is the
tragic story of four African ladies who find themselves ensnared in
forced prostitution in Europe. Wrapped in the glittering cellophane that
is "life abroad," the unsuspecting women in their prime are made to
believe that Europe offers a better life than their Africa. Like
trans-national drug trade, human trafficking is a multi-billion industry
that thrives under the nose, and with the tacit approval, of
immigration officers and security agents. The masterminds grease the
palms of these officers in order to circumvent the law. Once at an
airport in Africa, I saw a veiled woman overlap the queue with the aid
of an airport officer, who winked at the clearing officer at the desk,
and accompanied her through all the rigorous security checks and
delivered her to the waiting lounge where the lady sat secluded and
started making telephone calls.
Chika Unigwe makes the link between Africa and Europe. She unmasks
the players in Africa, invades the secret lives of their European
clients, and shows how the trade works: A girl is lured to Europe. She
is coached to present an almost believable story to immigration officers
in the host country; show her vulnerability and lay claim to asylum
status. The immigration officer, working in cahoots with the cartel,
punches holes into the story and declines to approve her application.
When the girl goes back to her hosts, she is told flatly that she is in
the country illegally, but she could be helped to live under fake
papers, but she must pay. Her passport is taken away and she is directed
into a brothel to start work.
"He was harmless, everyone knew it. So the hammer hitting into Sisi's
skull had come as a shock. She was not yet dead when he dragged her out
on a deserted road." That is how Sisi, a university graduate and major
character in the novel, meets her death. Nine months into her
psychological torments, Sisi decides to quit without reporting to police
because she does not want to jeopardize the lives of her "black
sisters" who are still entangled in the undignified business of parading
their flesh. Scared that Sisi knows much about their underworld, the
barons murder her, carefully covering their tracks. There's a resonance
here with the tragedy of a Kenyan university student who died in almost
equal circumstances. Depending on your call in society, you may remain
indifferent, disaffected, or be cajoled into doing something.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)