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Lindiwe had actually gotten here. In the town’s short history, few had suffered as much as Lindiwe to reach Ashton Lovelock.

But desperation had driven Lindiwe to extreme measures, as it had her fellow migrants who ‘d also endured the journey.

Lindiwe had not viewed the stops on her voyage as a traveler might, although there were few European tourists who would venture into sub-Saharan Africa nowadays. What she saw of the thousands of miles between Southern Africa and Northern Europe wasn’t through the round windows of an aeroplane overlooking the clouds and spotting ahead of a path of prohibitively expensive fossil fuel. She saw no airports and a lot of absolutely no passport controllers. Had she met even one in between Lesotho and London, she ‘d have been unceremoniously bundled away in the back of a migration police van either to be discarded back in her country of origin or detained in among the many refugee camps that lined the shores of North Africa. And from what Lindiwe had actually found out about these camps, her probably fate there would be a lonely death while she awaited a decision from the many federal government agencies and personal charities that were fruitlessly arguing with one another over the responsibility for feeding the countless desperate souls in their care.

Nobody would want to be burdened with such obligation when there were a lot of other more immediate needs to attend to.

Lindiwe didn’t expect Ashton Lovelock to treat illegal immigrants with anymore generosity than Nairobi, Cairo, Harare, Sarajevo or Rotterdam would have done if her presence had been found by an authorities at any point on her trip. And when she had been obliged to state her presence, well…

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There had actually been several times when she ‘d had to use her body as currency to keep her and her buddies safe. This had actually held true from the really start of her journey when she ‘d had to sacrifice her virginity just to secure an exit visa from the United States of South Africa. There were the weeks and, in the shanty towns of Cairo, the months of working for really little pay and a lot of physical and verbal abuse in occupations that were much more routine than her post-graduate degree and professional training had ever prepared her for.

Here in the Kingdom of England, there might be an opportunity to make great the credentials that were surplus to requirements in Maseru. Lindiwe had high hopes for Ashton Lovelock. Regardless of the collapsing decay of the hastily-built home she was staying in, it was a reasonably young town with energy-efficient housing, extensive parking spaces, and an abundance of windmills and photovoltaic panels.

The truth was that Ashton Lovelock was a genuine paradise compared to her original home in Africa. The years of African starvation had not lowered general population numbers by quite. Maseru still housed a population far greater than its facilities might support. The authorities were inefficient versus the criminal gangs that made it hazardous to venture out whether at day or night. The few available jobs paid very improperly if they ever paid at all. Offices and homes were collapsing from overlook. Queues of starving people wound through the high streets for the few goods the criminal gangs permitted to get here in the shops. Just a lucky few were ever rewarded for their perseverance.

This inevitably left a vacuum that was now being filled by the most current wave of immigrants: of which Lindiwe was one. She was just one of many. Many came from Africa, at least as many from the Middle East and Asia, and, inevitably, refugees from the racially intolerant Republic of North America.

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Aparo shared the same single mattress with Lindiwe in a room that had actually when been a loft extension. Apara and Lindiwe shared the mattress in the daylight hours.

” There are no jobs at KFC-McDonalds,” said Aparo, describing the franchise where she worked. “You’re just going to need to try to find work in other places.”

Lindiwe’s heart sank. Because Mr and Mrs Martin would be there and there weren’t many places open in the night where she might hope to discover work, she could not sleep on the bed mattress at night. This meant that her pursuit of employment would likewise suggest going without sleep.

Bored and bleary-eyed, after a night spent in the vicinity of the bus depot in the business of others with absolutely nothing else to do, Lindiwe resolutely roamed the streets of Ashton Lovelock in the hunt for a work opportunity. Not that there were many places to check out in the town centre. The proprietor of KFC-McDonalds, herself a South African immigrant, was sympathetic however pointed out that there was a long waiting list of similarly desperate candidates. The other fast-food chain, Yo Sushi Pizza Hut, was rather less friendly and more or less told her that just Muslim guys could apply. Besides that, the only grocery store– a Tesco-Walmart– was honestly hostile and told her that the company had a policy of reporting presumed immigrants. So there was little hope there either.

Lindiwe quickly realised that there were no tasks for her in Ashton Lovelock at all. The immigrant community had currently taken all the offered low-paid chances. And this was much to the evident distaste of native English people, much of whom openly teased Lindiwe with unsubtle pointers of the dishonest practices of the deposed Government of National Unity.

The ever-widening radius of her job search eventually encompassed a company estate on the border of Swindon where Lindiwe, at last, gained a position however as absolutely nothing more requiring than a nightshift cleaning-woman. Although this position required an expensive two-hour commute by bus followed by a half-hour walk it was still much better than having to spend the whole night avoiding the couple sleeping on her daytime mattress.

Her official tasks mostly included changing on and turning off the various cleaning makers and robotics. However, it wasn’t long up until Lindiwe found that cleansing wasn’t everything she was expected to do, although it wasn’t composed into her terms of work (which, in any case, were totally verbal and agreed with a handshake).

During the very first week that Lindiwe worked at the George Monbiot eco-business park, she became aware of the presence of spaces that were out of bounds to her and the other night-time operatives. This was odd since the only individuals supposed to be working at the offices so late at night were security guards and technical operatives.

When Lindiwe bumped into any of the individuals who had actually been staying in a locked space, it soon became obvious what was happening. It was constantly a man and a woman. The woman was usually much younger than the man and normally an immigrant. Lindiwe also saw the smell of sex that was lingering on their individual. Her nostrils had become well attuned to the smell after the weeks she ‘d spent in Sarajevo in which her survival depended on the provision of blow-jobs to total strangers.

” I like all the staff to chip in,” Lindiwe’s employer explained as he handed her the meagre rewards for her very first week’s work. He was an exile who ‘d returned home after the change of federal government.

” Why don’t people go to whorehouses and massage parlours?” asked Lindiwe, who understood that her ongoing work was likely conditional on her accepting this extra work.

” The change of government brought about numerous excellent possibilities,” Mr Singh stated with a sigh, “otherwise I would not be here, of course. This operation is comparable to numerous others you’ll find all over this nation.

And what they desired was something Lindiwe now had to provide about two times a week in one of the a number of out-of-bound workplaces. There was a constant stream of consumers who came to enjoy the affordable enjoyments that immigrant labour was now supplying: their hungers whetted by the VR fantasies they might enjoy in the convenience of their own homes.

For Lindiwe, this offered no pleasure at all until she squeezed into the office shower with the other nightshift cleaners to spray off the semen, urine and other bodily fluids that the clients believed was a necessary part of love-making but throughout which ordeal the vaginal penetration was most likely the least horrible part.

In the town’s brief history, few had suffered as much as Lindiwe to reach Ashton Lovelock. And from what Lindiwe had heard about these camps, her most likely fate there would be a lonely death while she waited for a choice from the lots of government agencies and private charities that were fruitlessly arguing with one another over the responsibility for feeding the millions of desperate souls in their care.

Lindiwe didn’t expect Ashton Lovelock to treat prohibited immigrants with any more generosity than Nairobi, Cairo, Harare, Sarajevo or Rotterdam would have done if her presence had actually been found by an official at any point on her voyage. Bored and bleary-eyed, after a night spent in the area of the bus depot in the business of others with nothing else to do, Lindiwe resolutely wandered the streets of Ashton Lovelock in the hunt for an employment opportunity. And this was much to the evident distaste of native English residents, many of whom openly teased Lindiwe with unsubtle reminders of the unethical practices of the deposed Government of National Unity.