The Red Trade

By Andy Lang

Two must die so that one may live!
A truly frightening tale, more so because it is based on documented fact. The Red Trade is the heart wrenching story of a group of small children who are abducted from their homes by ruthless, heartless men, and sold for organ harvesting, sacrifice to superstition, and to satisfy the sick and twisted desires of wealthy foreigners.
Anita is a happy and healthy girl,but she has a problem, something that sets her aside from her peers,an inescapable condition. Anita is white, yet her heart and blood are pure African.
For Anita is albino. A cursed child; an abomination.
Junior and Uncle are happy,carefree twins. Mischievous boys, full of life, pranks and optimism.
Natasha is a happy go lucky schoolgirl without a care in the world.
But they all share one thing in common. They are targets for The Red Trade. Because a criminal gang is operating in their area, and customers around the world eagerly await.
Fortunately there are people willing to stand up and shout, "Enough is enough," Glenn Ridgely is one such man, and with the help of his street-wise Kenyan girlfriend Ruth, and world weary Kalanjin police officer, Morgan. He sets about dismantling their sinister and sordid empire.
The Red Trade
A story of human trafficking that reveals hidden truths that many wish to deny exist.
A story that ranges from the IDP camps of northern Uganda to the wide, majestic plains of the Serengeti, and far across the Indian Ocean to distant Pakistan. A story of abuse, subjugation, cruelty and superstition, morality, and finally hope and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PMO Publishing
• Release date: May 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781514372357

Andy Lang

Andy Lang was born in the north west of England in 1965 and worked in the early years as an engineer in an agricultural manufacturing company. Moving from the United Kingdom in the late 1990's he subsequently spent many years in the entertainment industry in Cataluña, Northern Spain and property sales in Andalucia, Southern Spain. After several years workings as an Independent Financial Advisor in East Africa, he now writes full time. Over the years he has travelled extensively and has lived in Spain, the west of France, Brazil, Kenya and South Africa.He currently lives with his wife and their young sons in Kenya.

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Copyright

Layout Copyright (C) 2015 by PMO Publishing. Published 2015 by PMO Publishing. eBook design by PMO Publishing. Cover art by Andy Lang.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the authors permission.

Chapter 1 – Anita

Munjiti, Western Province, Kenya.

Freak - freak - freak.

Anita had become well used to the continual juvenile taunting, but it still caused her pale skin to flush, the flush of course always provoked a more sustained and enthusiastic verbal attack.

I'm not a freak, she sobbed, surrounded by a crowd of her classmates in the dappled shade of the largest mango tree in the school compound. I'm just as black as you.

Their roars of laughter struck her sensitive heart and the dam that had held back her frustrated tears crumbled.

You are nothing like us, you aren’t even human, taunted her most devoted bully, "White freak... Muzungu."

"Muzungu - muzungu - muzungu," the chant began afresh, maliciously adopted up by the growing crowd.

I'm not white, she sobbed, I'm albino.

Monkey... white monkey, they continued, Go back to your own kind, you’re not welcome here.

***

Just ignore them, her mother crooned softly while Anita wept in her arms as they huddled together on the thin mattress that they shared in their tiny rented room behind a tumble down row of shops and kiosks on the edge of tiny Munjiti market. Children can be the most hurtful, you should pity them my sweet baby, they are just ignorant and uneducated.

Maragoli clutched her distraught daughter and lifted her eyes to the heavens, Why did you have to do this to her Lord? she asked silently, Why did you have to make her so different?

At the tender age of eight Anita had grown increasingly sensitive to her differences, and her peers were growing increasingly abusive. It wasn’t fair for the child to be so mercilessly ridiculed.

It's coming from the parents, Maragoli nodded as her thoughts drifted to the years of stigma and rejection that they had both suffered, They smile to my face, so friendly and understanding, but they pour out their scorn behind closed doors, children listen and repeat, that is where all of this spite is coming from... the parents of these bullies. Maybe we should move again?

It wasn’t really an option, and Maragoli understood that deep in her heart, she would simply be swapping Anita’s current tormentors for a fresh batch. Fresh staring, fresh laughter and pointing, the same hurtful comments, but issuing from fresh mouths.

We have to make a go of it here, she reluctantly conceded, we would only move from bad to probably worse... maybe they will grow out of the insults, surely they will tire of it eventually.

Her heart sank as she understood that her dream of Anita leading a normal life was, at best, unrealistic. She was different, very different, a child who on the surface belonged with the Muzungu, the white people... yet her features, her blood and bones and heart were pure African. Black African.

Why Lord? she begged again.

***

Do you have any homework? she asked as the young girls tears dried and the shuddering sobs reduced to an occasional gasp.

Only social studies, replied Anita as she unzipped her tattered and mud stained back pack.

Empty your bag... and I will clean it for you, said Maragoli softly. Anita claimed that she had slipped in the sticky clay mud as she had walked home and fallen on her back, her mother suspected differently. In her heart she knew that the taunting had continued after school. The evil brats, she thought, they had stolen the bag and thrown it into one of the many mud holes left behind after the heavy seasonal rains, the smearing appeared too obvious. Her young daughter had tried to clean it with handfuls of course grass, the marks were clear to see and told the true story... children could be the most cruel.

What really happened? she asked quietly and saw Anita’s pale pinkish grey eyes glance up from her homework.

I told you already mum, I slipped while I was coming up from the river.

If that is true... then why are your clothes still clean?

I slipped, Anita stated more forcefully and avoided eye contact, I'm just clumsy.

OK little one, sighed Maragoli, she didn't need to make an issue out of a sensitive situation.

***

The heavy rain started again and Maragoli quickly grabbed a small stack of plastic containers that would protect their meagre belongings from the constant trickle and drip as the deluge found the many small holes in the rotting corrugated metal sheet roof. Discarded cooking oil tubs gleaned from the piles of refuse that littered the market quickly sat beneath the incessant drips filling rapidly, and outside the door three wide bowls collected the downpour. At least the rainy season reduces the number of trips I have to make down to the river, thought Maragoli, the daily chore became back breaking after the third trek down to the concrete lined deposit that supplied the water needs for the village. She had to replenish their supply of water daily, so the heavy rains became a mixed blessing.

The wind shifted direction and began to hammer against the rough hewn and ill fitting planks that formed the rear wall of their room driving a fine spray inside. With a communal sigh the woman and her daughter struggled to plug the gaps with cardboard and tattered polythene bags torn into strips, during the rainy season it became a constant battle against the elements.

The battle won for another evening Maragoli returned to the small pan of githeri she had been busy preparing for their evening meal, the plain mix of white maize kernels and dried beans signalled a hunger food to many, a staple to fall back on when all other sources of nourishment failed, but at Margolis level in society it constituted the daily diet.

At least I got lucky today, she smiled happily. She had managed to earn enough to buy a few spoonfuls of oil and a tomato to add to the mix, Anita will enjoy this.

Maize and beans! she sighed sadly as images of stewed meat drifted into her mind, these were the sole concession she received from her delinquent husband.

Within hours of Anita’s birth he had disappeared amidst a storm of accusation and threats.

Black father, black mother... white baby, his conclusions were reached without a moment of consideration. The doctor had tried to placate Anita’s father as he dived between the combatants,

Your wife has not been unfaithful, he had stated, Your baby daughter has a genetic condition called albinism.

Moses had paused, instantly silenced. Then I have been cursed. he finally stammered as he glared at his exhausted wife and the helpless abomination she held in her arms.

It is not a curse, the doctor had snapped, It is a rare genetic condition, and one of you must be carrying the recessive gene. His patience; worn thin with the narrow minded attitudes he saw, even if very infrequently, Your baby is healthy... and beautiful.

That thing... Moses enunciated slowly and clearly, That thing is not my blood. And turning on his heel he walked away from his family forever.

Of course under tribal law he couldn’t shake off all responsibility, and after being summoned by the local sub-chief he was ordered to supply Maragoli and her child with sufficient dried beans and maize to keep them from starvation on a monthly basis. Moses grudgingly agreed but washed his hands of all other obligations.

So for years Maragoli had raised her daughter alone, and it became a deeply depressing time in her young life, she constantly faced so much superstition and fear.

She must be a witch!" they all gossiped behind her back.

How many times had she heard that whispered statement? She had lost count.

There are demons inside her, drive them both away.

How many times had narrow minded attitudes forced her to move? Once again she had lost count.

But despite the animosity directed towards her she never resented Anita, she simply prayed for their tormentors and begged for a world where her daughter would be accepted.

Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain increased in intensity to torrential, with a look of dismay Maragoli saw the rising water begin to encroach on their small living space as thick mud began to ooze through the narrow doorway. Quickly she grabbed her jembe and darted out into the downpour determined to dig a hurried and shallow ditch across the entrance in an effort to channel the sticky red clay mess away from their sanctuary. Within seconds she was soaked to her skin and began to shiver despite her frantic efforts, the rain felt icy cold, the chill of high altitude pelting down onto hard baked earth still hot from the intense sun of daytime.

Get back inside, she snapped as Anita stepped to the doorway, "If you want to be useful, make sure the mattress isn’t getting soaked, and check the githeri doesn’t burn... or we won’t be eating again tonight."

Maragoli dreaded the thought of sleeping hungry again, too many nights they had slept curled up around empty and complaining stomachs, so often Moses had been late delivering their due.

He does it on purpose of course, the thought was ever in her mind, she knew he resented feeding his greatest shame and would always ignore her desperate pleas. Many months she would be forced to approach the sub-chief and ask him to interject, only he had the power to enforce the agreement that he himself had ordered. Yet his assistance always came at a cost, some months she was lucky and had been able to save the five hundred shillings he demanded, other months she would leave his hut in the early hours feeling used and degraded after having given him the only thing that she possessed of value in his eyes. With tears rolling down her cheeks she would creep through the darkened market and pause in the narrow passage that led to her room until her emotions had settled, she didn't want Anita to see her in distress. What she had to give to get his assistance represented a terrible price to pay, but with a silent prayer begging for forgiveness she would accept that it had been a better price than starvation.

Maragoli diverted her attention back to digging, and the usually hard baked earth rapidly began to turn into a sticky morass beneath her bare feet. The rain had been constant for weeks but never had it achieved the intensity or volume that she was experiencing as the jembe swiftly rose and fell. Thick mud splashed with each powerful stroke of the heavy digging hoe coating her arms and legs, but eventually she had a shallow trench dug across her doorway and the flow had been diverted.

Anita giggled as she saw the mud coated apparition on the threshold, You look a real mess mum.

"Just stir the githeri. Maragoli laughed as she attempted to scrape away the worst of the thick sticky clay. Oh well, she sighed as she glanced around at the neighbouring closed doors that surrounded her, No-one is going to come outside while it's raining so hard." and quickly she peeled off her clinging dress. Completely naked in the full moonlight she stepped into the largest bowl of rainwater and began to rinse the mud away from her arms and legs. Clean again she quickly washed the dress, hurriedly wringing out the chilly water, and slipped it back on.

Back inside she huddled over the small jiko that glowed with a comforting orange light in the semi darkness, the charcoal in the tiny earthenware stove had burned low, but there would be just enough heat left to boil their chai.

Covering the githeri she placed the smallest of her suffuria over the coals and split a small polythene bag of fresh milk adding it to the mix of sugar and tangawizi, the spicy mixture of tea and ginger that Anita loved so much. It would be left to bubble away in the pan and infuse before the charcoal faded away completely. With sweet chai they would end their day before snuggling up on the thin mattress, their heads filled with silent prayers.

The food was really nice mum. said Anita as she washed her small bowl in a rivulet of water that cascaded from the corrugations of the tin roof.

Maragoli smiled, the young girl personified gratitude, for even the smallest of blessings. Just the addition of tomato had made such a difference. How desperately she wished she could make a better life for her daughter.

Don’t forget to clean your teeth. she reminded and passed a small stick she had cut earlier from the bush.

Anita knew the drill well and began to chew the end until it turned into a bundle of thick fibres before dipping it into a small pot of salt that was kept aside for just this use, and with the rudimentary brush coated in course white crystals she began to scrub her perfect white teeth, rinsing with rainwater.

***

Fingers of hazy sunlight crept through the holes in the metal sheet above their heads as dawn broke, the rain had stopped and an eerie silence surrounded them. Sleep had been elusive as the downpour had hammered the thin tin sheets like a thousand frantic drummers, now silence reigned broken only by birdsong and the muted conversations of neighbours.

A new day had begun in Munjiti.

You must hurry or you will be late for school. Maragoli fussed as she watched Anita making her preparations. The school bag hadn’t dried but at least it was cleaner. Put your books in this bag. Maragoli insisted as she gave up one of the scavenged plastic carrier bags that she valued so highly. It will keep them dry... And what are you forgetting? she demanded as her daughter stepped through the doorway.

My hat, blushed Anita, Sorry mum.

Oh Anita... how many times do I have to tell you how important it is to always wear your hat?

Anita flushed but pulled the wide brimmed hat onto her shaved head. The hat was just another sign of how different she was, her peers could run and play with indifference under the burning African sun, but for Anita the powerful rays spelt pain and misery. Her pale skin would quickly redden and blister if exposed, and on their meagre income, sun block could only be considered as an expensive and unattainable dream.

I know it's important mum. she answered quietly and began to pick her way bare foot through the pools of mud.

Maragoli quickly washed the breakfast bowls, cold githeri left over from the night before had been their scanty daybreak meal washed down with rain water. Lunch would be the same if she had time, she hoped she wouldn’t! No time to eat would mean that she had been given some small job, washing clothes or carrying water, maybe digging land ready for planting. She didn't care what she did, any work would bring her a few more shillings to add to her small savings, she was still seven hundred away from Anita’s school fees for the next term... and seven hundred represented a mountain she wasn’t sure she would be able to climb before the fees were due.

The padlock clicked reassuringly in her hand as she secured the door to her room, despite having nothing of any real value Maragoli knew that without the security her precious pans would be at risk, or the mattress, old and thin as it was, someone would consider it better than their own.

"Jambo Nafula." said Gladys in welcome as Maragoli settled herself into the small group of women who, like her, would be gathered waiting all day for any small opportunity to earn.

Of the whole community Gladys had been the only woman who had taken the time to learn Margolis given name. She had been christened Nafula, a traditional Luhya name, but by almost everyone she was given the nickname Maragoli; the name of her sub tribe within the Luhya people.

She didn't mind, she was an outsider, Munjiti wasn’t her village, and Maragoli wasn’t any form of insult; simply her heritage.

Gladys was a simple woman, and in Margolis mind the closest she had to a friend.

Being considerably older, and at thirty four, ten years Margoli’s senior, maybe the fact that Gladys had a slow son at home made her a little more understanding and more reluctant to throw verbal stones, possibly she could empathise, her own misfortune had also led to ridicule and pointing fingers.

Samuel her second born son had been a feeble and sickly baby, and at the age of three years she had begun to understand that he was not developing at a normal rate, he couldn’t manage the most basic of tasks, now at the age of eighteen his body had developed, but his mind was still that of a toddler. Barely able to feed himself, and in constant risk of injury he spent his days tethered to a tree in the home compound. It pained her heart to tie him like an animal, the heavy chain around his ankle chaffed and rubbed him, but she understood without restraint he became a danger to himself... and others.

So many times he had burnt his fingers as the cooking fire had attracted him like a moth to a candle, both boiling water and the glowing coals themselves had blistered skin, yet still he never learned from the painful lessons. This would have been sufficient to merit the restrictions placed on him, but the day that he had been caught with a neighbours young daughter pinned to the ground as his rampant yet incomprehensible hormonal urges had surfaced had forced the issue. Gladys considered herself lucky that her neighbour had been forgiving, but her son’s freedom had cost her several chickens, and him a severe whipping before the crime could be buried.

With a heavy heart she had agreed with her husband during one of his infrequent visits that to save their child extreme measures needed to be taken, he had condoned the tether and slunk away to his third wife, and his visits to their matrimonial bed became more and more scarce.

***

The market proved to be very quiet that morning, with only a few kiosks open as the group of women settled themselves down for a long day of inactivity, and the sun had risen high in the sky before the first potential employer approached limping heavily.

George Onyango hobbled towards then, infamous in the local community, and a wealthy man by village standards with a large farm and a generous government pension. He also had a reputation, a reputation well deserved most agreed as a womaniser, single or married, young or old, fat or thin, all women were equally desirable in his mind. A communal shudder travelled through the group, they knew him well, but as one they all understood that an opportunity approached to earn, a chance to feed their families for another day.

Good morning ladies, he grinned and leaned heavily on his stick, I have work for one of you today... if you are interested?

What work? one of the group voiced, George was notorious for paying little for hard labour.

Just a little light digging, he chuckled as most of the group lost interest and resumed the quiet conversation they had left on his arrival, Easy work for such strong young girls.

How much... and for how long? asked Maragoli.

It is a very small plot, only two acres, he gave a smile, I'm offering fifty shillings per day, it shouldn’t take more than two or three days.

Gladys spluttered, That’s an insult, even by your usual standards George.

Take it or leave it, he replied, I am not begging.

One hundred and fifty a day. declared another woman.

George shook his head slowly, Sixty.

One hundred. replied Maragoli to a chorus of muted disapproval and tutting from the group.

Eighty... and that’s my final offer. replied George as he began to turn away.

OK, I’ll do it. replied Maragoli quietly in resignation and watched his smile broaden.

Are you crazy? hissed Gladys.

Maragoli shook her head slowly, Maybe... but I need that money.

***

I'm only paying fifty bob for today. George declared as Maragoli surveyed the overgrown wilderness rank with course grass and vines, It's late now, you will not be giving me a full day.

I understand. she replied as her jembe struck the first blow. In her mind she thanked the heavy rains, at least the ground had been softened by the nightly downpour, rather than the more usual consistency akin to concrete experienced at drier times of year. The work promised to be an ordeal but it could have been much worse.

George settled himself under a spreading tree and watched her work, he was paying by the day so he would be with her for every second, I'm not paying for her to daydream or sleep, I will certainly get my get money’s worth out of this one. He thought as he watched her powerful strokes.

You work well. he shouted from the shade after she had been toiling for an hour, the sun had beaten down viciously since the rain clouds had cleared, and Maragoli constantly wiped the stream of sweat that trickled down remorselessly and stung her eyes.

Asante. she grunted as the jembe swung down and cleaved a stunted bush at the roots.

How old are you? he asked as he struggled to his feet heaving hard on his stick.

Twenty four. she replied and swung again freeing the roots.

How old do you think I am? he chucked as he limped across the freshly dug earth.

I don't know. answered Maragoli as she straightened her aching back and wiped the sweat from her brow with a rag.

I'm seventy seven, he laughed, But don't let that worry you, I still have the stamina and appetite of a twenty year old.

So I have heard. Maragoli swung the jembe again with force, she had never worked for him before but she had listened to the tales, most she hadn’t believed. Now she understood that each story must have been true as she felt his hand stroke across her buttocks as she bent into her task.

Please don't do that. she snapped as she stood upright and faced him, I know all about you Mr Onyango, and you are paying me to dig only.

You must forgive a lonely old man a small indiscretion, he chuckled, I have so little fun in my life, and it would be such a pity if I had to find someone more understanding to prepare my land.

Just let me dig. he heard her sigh and watched the realisation sink in.

That is better girl, he thought and reached forward, I like to get value for money.

I'm sure you will do a very good job now. he laughed as he ran his hand across her round posterior again before limping back to the shade to continue his vigil and daydreaming. Oh yes girl, you understand the rules now, you know exactly what I expect from you. He studied her closely, despite advancing age he prided himself on retaining perfect eyesight, he saw her outline clearly as the sweat soaked dress clung to her slender figure. Oh yes my girl, you are certainly going to earn this money, I am going to have fun with you.

***

By mid afternoon Maragoli had cleared what she estimated to be a third of an acre, the sun glared mercilessly and her dress had become as wet as it had been the previous night, the mornings dampness of rainwater replaced by the sweat of her labours.

I smell so terrible, she groaned as she took a draft from the water bottle that she carried with her always when she hunted for work, And my back aches so badly.

Did you bring food? George called from the shade and smiled as he saw her shake her head,

"Then come in the shade with me and eat, I have some sukuma and ugali... if you are hungry."

The food had been delivered to him at least an hour earlier by one of his many wives, Maragoli understood that he offered her only the cold scraps but she welcomed the break.

Thank you Mr Onyango. she said quietly as she sank down to her knees and accepted his plate.

Call me George. he replied and pushed the rubbery cold ugali towards her with his stick.

Thank you… George. she answered with a small smile.

Are you married?

Maragoli nodded as she chewed the cold and greasy vegetables.

Such a pity, he frowned, I would have looked after you nicely.

Maragoli suppressed a shudder at the thought, his total confidence an affront to her dignity, his wealth feeding the arrogance. Not for one second had he considered that she would have refused his offer had she been available, in his mind he would have told her to be his latest wife and she would have fallen at his feet in gratitude!

I like younger women, he whispered, And younger women like me, they appreciate my experience, come closer, you don't have to sit so far away... I don't bite girl.

Reluctantly Maragoli shuffled to his side and instantly regretted her actions as a wrinkled hand reached forward and tugged the front of her dress, but she knew better than react, he had made his position clear to her, she closed her eyes and tried to close her mind as she felt the cold dry hand caress her breasts.

Do you like this? he gasped breathlessly as he squeezed her soft flesh.

Maragoli shook her head but didn't pull away, with her eyes tightly shut she didn't see his wicked grin, she was perfect, so desperate for money she would accept his advances without complaint.

Please Lord, help and protect me she prayed silently as his fingers kneaded her, Give me strength Lord I beg you... only you know how much I need this money.

Chapter 2 – Twins

Khumusalaba, Western Province, Kenya.

Hurry up Uncle. hissed young Justus, She’s going to see us!

Stop panicking, laughed his twin from the branches above and tossed down another ripe avocado, You’re just like a girl Junior.

Don’t keep saying that. snapped back an indignant Justus, he had grown increasingly tired of his more adventurous and confident sibling taunting him relentlessly for his timidity.

Perhaps mum can sell these avos, Uncle joked, Maybe then she can afford that dress you wanted.

Tears welled as the casual insult stung, maybe he wasn’t as rough and ready as his brother, maybe he did prefer to read rather than raid, but he had feelings, and those feelings were constantly crushed.

Why do you always have to say such nasty things to me? he implored as a tear broke free, the cutting reply never came from the leafy branches above as loud shouting broke the silence.

They had been discovered.

You young thugs, shouted a frail old woman from the doorway of her mud walled house, Get off my land... I know who you are... I know your parents, they will hear about this, I promise you that.

Uncle hit the ground laughing, Don’t waste your breath granny, I don't think you have much of it left... do you think they will seriously listen to a mad old cow like you? Well, don't just stand there Junior... run. he chuckled.

Justus groaned inside, he knew well what loomed on his horizon. The theft would be reported, and his father would placate the old woman with a token beating of his wayward sons. But, as always, once she had been satisfied that they had learned their lesson, they would all enjoy the pilfered fruits of their dishonesty.

Uncle would receive the punishment without flinching, it was as if he felt no pain, not even his cold eyes would register any reaction as the kiboko raised welts across his naked buttocks, for Justus Junior the pain would be only slightly worse than the humiliation he would feel as his trousers were tugged down before the prying eyes of the aggrieved neighbour.

Why do I always follow him? he asked himself as they sprinted through the bush laden with stolen avocados, Because he’s my brother, my twin, he admitted. Always Uncle’s sheer force of personality beat down his caution and sense as his sibling dreamed up ever wilder and riskier escapades.

He will get us into serious trouble one day, he reminded himself as they shot through a small gap in their fathers compound fence. But serious trouble or not... he knew he would follow.

***

You have to take those sons of yours in hand. their mother had sighed. When they had done wrong they always became their fathers sons, almost as if she were mentally disowning the boys in the face of yet another disappointment.

Justus Senior laughed, Leave them alone woman, I was exactly the same when I was their age... and I turned out fine.

Mary considered that statement debatable, her husband; the thief, he would steal anything that wasn’t physically nailed down,

Oh why couldn’t he be more like his brother, she sighed inside as she