The connection house
On that Saturday night, like every other weekend in the connection house, with very few exceptions. Sunny Bonga stood at the door of the ghetto, he was looking handsome in casual black trousers and a white T-shirt. Before him were hundreds of helpless passengers gathered, and he had grouped them according to their payment. He has separated them as a farmer separates the sheep from the goats. He counted them one after another.
The men and women with their babies, those who completed their transportation fares and passengers who haven't. They were separated from the groups. Yes, the desperate passengers who had early paid their fees were given some food and soft drinks. They were ceremonially welcomed in the ghetto against the journey ahead of them.
It was almost incredible that such quiet ghetto like Sunny connection house should exist in the Zuwarah. Although it was located on an alley port city in northwestern Libya, with a population of around thirty-two thousand individuals. A port city of about hundred kilometres to the capital and sixty kilometres from the Tunisian border.
To the right, there was a large old modern pastoral farmhouse, and to the left, there was a well-known seafood shop. The few stores across the road- An Araban's restaurant, cloth boutiques, and mobile phone stores were popular, and so, there was overflowed in the evening with rich business Arab men and women.
Suddenly, everything went hazy, passengers saw his anxiety, and quickly comported themselves. The only things he could do was beating them up. Everything about him that evening seemed distance. Hundreds of passengers were injured without a reason. Many passengers felt that something was really wrong with him, and would go as safe as possible lining up in an orderly manner. That was his usual way to treat those helpless passengers before boarding on a boat. Women passengers developed kinds of fear by his action. The grieving passengers comported themselves with grace and dignity during that difficult time.
He picked up his mobile phone and dialled a number of an agent who supplies rubber boats. He checked the time and noticed that it was already past 11 pm.
The phone rang off without answer the first, second and third times he dialled it. He heard a sleepy 'hello' and he sighed out.
"ayha al-rais ، al-rakab jahzon- Boss, the passengers are ready."
"How many of them are you pushing tonight?"
"Eight hundred passengers."
"Ok, I will come to you, soon,"
He recounted the passengers once again. Many of them had lined up all evening to get in. Some of the desperate passengers were queue-jumping which made the counting so difficult for him.
However that night, Sunny made different calls, arranging from one trafficker to another, making sure that street was calm before they finally head to the sea. The passengers were all desperate longing to be crossed to the blue sea, to another side of the world, the land of the green.
The passengers sense that the ghetto boss, the smugglers, the trafficking agents are all watching them with increasing interest, closing in on them. They have been watching young girls among them and the boss ghetto spends all day in the connection house making calls to their cloned policemen and soldiers on the road blocked. They have also seen Sunny calling helpless young girls among the passengers to his inner room once in a while.
It was overwhelmed to other passengers whose money had not yet arrived since they would all be manhandled by the ghetto boss. It didn't seem that the night would be peaceful for them, the stranded passengers. Many of them are left stranded in the connection house with no food or money for crossing.
Sunny was so mean, unlike other traffickers whose female passengers would pay them, with their body. When they arrived from the desert, they would open ghetto for them. The ladies gave them attention and love, paid with their pound of fresh and moved on to Europe.
Three hours later, and the trucked arrived. The passengers, those who paid their fee, were bundled in their hands, boarded the truck with many traffickers. Men and women gave up hope of living. The babies in their mother's arms cry uncontrollably. The poor babies held out their mother's shoulders.
A faint smile, maybe of pity, appears on Sunny's lips, hearing his desperate passengers saying, "goodbye, the connection house." In that case, Sunny would have been a good trafficker, only if they succeed in their green lands. Now, he was so mean to other passengers who haven't control money from home. The boss that ruin the ghetto, the very powerful trafficker-killing thousands of passengers on their way to Europe.
Passengers who failed not to pay up their money felt cold, they went from pillar to post making calls to their people, but that night, no one got money from home. The tension going on in the connection house was so terrible.
There were few indigenous men outside the house, grouped in a different corner of the ghetto, putting eyes on the activities outside the street and major road against some blind authorities. In that evening, Sunny was mean and bold on his business. He was strictly on business with his passengers.
When the night grew late and all the indigenous had closed store. Even people coming back from central mosque would trek faster to their homes, not noticing that night that the connection house was booming with passengers heading to the sea.
Sandra, a young beautiful girl, among the hundreds of passengers from Nigeria was found at the back of the house that night speaking with her parents. Her mother was so angry because Sandra being the only child of the family left the house to north Africa without her knowledge. Her mother scolded her severally on phone, after much shouting, she demanded to speak with Sunny, the trafficker.
"My son, how much will you take to bring her back to Nigeria?" Sandra's mother asked.
"I only need one thousand five hundred dollars to take her to Europe, Maa."
"Non, I want her back to the country, not Europe, please."
"Okay, then, send me one thousand dollars..."
" I don't have much money, my son."
"You're not serious."
"Send her back to me, please."
"Not possible, you must pay!"
Immediately, Sunny ended the call while the woman was still pleading to him. He collected Sandra's international passport and tore it. He said nobody joke with him and his business. Instead of leaving her behind, he dragged Sandra outside of the ghetto, before other passengers. Sunny quickly pulled her slightly close from him. Sandra has dragged herself before him, but he overpowered her. She continued to cry asking for help until he silenced her with a hot kiss. The kiss was so deep and hurtful and undemanding at the same time. Tears streamed down Sandra's face. She was helpless at that moment, never imagined that someone so heartless could exist in North Africa.
Suddenly the ghetto was filled with traffickers and smugglers who brought more passengers from Sahara desert. The oblivious cheers passengers begged him to have mercy on her.
Sunny bent his head and kissed her deeply, undressed, and deflowered, and rapped her before other passengers in the ghetto. He had wanted to do that for a very long time. No other thing felt so right or perfect to this heart trafficker.
His friends took turns to beat the helpless girl that night. They held her legs, chained the hands on the pillar as they took a turn to rape her. Other girls who owned fee were also raped that night.
Sunny and his friends continued for three hours, Sandra was seriously bleeding in between her legs, but these traffickers went on and on. At that point, she could not breathe, she could only stare into the cloud.
As if that one was not enough, Sunny invited another set of smugglers by a phone call to have turned. They all came in numbers and took turns to rape her. It was when the fat last smuggler was on her that she gave up to the ghost.