I met her on the streets one night. It was late, cold, and dark in more ways than one. Her eyes scanned the street as I stopped to say hello. I knew she was in trouble, as I had seen it hundreds of times before- scared, panicked even, drugged, suspicious, and at the same time, very childlike. But don’t be mistaken, cross her and you will see the fury…. She told me she was forced to sell herself every night. Her boyfriend, the notorious gangster was just down the street in a van, watching her every move. She was my age. When I walked away she asked, “pray for me?”
Months later I got a phone call from the organized crime investigating unit. They had a woman who escaped an infamous gangster and drug lord. Can I help? The answer was always the same at that point- you bet your ass. I raced down to find her, sitting there, just as shocked to see me as I was to see her. “Remember me?” I asked. She remembered. “I prayed for you, like you asked.”
She needed rehab, and fast. I put her up in a hostel for a few days. This was out of character for me, but responsibility had already overwhelmed me. She shot up the next morning before I could get to her. Ok, whatever it takes to hold her over until we can find rehab.
Hospitals won’t take her in. They had detoxed her 17 times before and were out of resources, grace and mercy. Rehab facilities were full and wouldn’t take her unless she was detoxed already. What the hell? Day two is going by and she is withdrawing in my car, in 5:00 Cape Town traffic. Fuck! Back to the hostel we go. They kick her out the next day. Can’t blame them. I find her on a come down just down the street. I call one last safe house and they take her in, but we still need her detoxed. At this point her hand starts to swell from an infection- dirty needle. If it reaches her heart, she could die. The safe house isn’t licensed for this, so I become the bearer of bad news. “I am sorry, you have to leave. I can’t help you.” I say with a lump in my throat and my heart racing. Here comes the fury….
My hands are tied. I walk her outside feeling like absolute shit. “It’s better for her to be arrested, then they have to help her,” I tell myself. I still feel like shit. I plop down on the couch across from my mentor and put my head in my guilt stricken hands and choke back a sob.