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After numerous months of battle and sacrifice, the difficult journey was finally over. Lindiwe had arrived. In the town’s short history, few had actually suffered as much as Lindiwe to reach Ashton Lovelock. Few might have endured the rape, appetite and hardship. Couple of would have willingly paid so much from so little cost savings to make a home in the fifty years of age English New Town.

However desperation had driven Lindiwe to severe steps, as it had her fellow migrants who ‘d also endured the journey.

Lindiwe hadn’t viewed the stops on her trip as a traveler might, although there were few European travelers who would venture into sub-Saharan Africa these days. 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 streaking ahead of a trail of excessively expensive fossil fuel. She saw no airports and the majority of definitely no passport controllers. Had she met even one between Lesotho and London, she ‘d have been unceremoniously bundled away in the back of a migration police van either to be disposed back in her native land or apprehended in one of the countless refugee camps that lined the coasts of North Africa. And from what Lindiwe had become aware of these camps, her most likely fate there would be a lonesome death while she awaited a decision from the many federal government agencies and personal charities that were fruitlessly arguing with one another over the obligation for feeding the countless desperate souls in their care.

No one would want to be strained with such obligation when there were so many other more instant needs to deal with.

Lindiwe didn’t expect Ashton Lovelock to treat illegal immigrants with anymore compassion than Nairobi, Cairo, Harare, Sarajevo or Rotterdam would have done if her presence had actually been discovered by an official at any point on her voyage. And when she had actually been required to declare her presence, well…

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There had actually been several times when she ‘d needed to utilize her body as currency to keep her and her companions safe. This had been the case from the very 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 run-down neighborhoods of Cairo, the months of working for very little pay and a good deal of physical and spoken abuse in occupations that were much more menial than her post-graduate degree and expert training had ever prepared her for.

Here in the Kingdom of England, there might be a chance to make good the qualifications that were surplus to requirements in Maseru. Lindiwe had high hopes for Ashton Lovelock. Despite the falling apart decay of the hastily-built home she was staying in, it was a fairly young town with energy-efficient housing, comprehensive parking spaces, and an abundance of windmills and photovoltaic panels.

The fact was that Ashton Lovelock was a veritable paradise compared to her initial home in Africa. The years of African starvation had not reduced general population numbers by very much. Maseru still housed a population far greater than its facilities might support. The cops were useless against the criminal gangs that made it dangerous to venture out whether at day or night. The few available jobs paid very badly if they ever paid at all. Homes and workplaces were collapsing from overlook. Queues of starving people wound through the high streets for the few goods the criminal gangs allowed to show up in the shops. Only a fortunate couple of were ever rewarded for their perseverance.

This undoubtedly left a vacuum that was now being filled by the latest wave of immigrants: of which Lindiwe was one. She was only one of many. Lots of 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 once been a loft extension. Apara and Lindiwe shared the mattress in the daylight hours.

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

Lindiwe’s heart sank. She could not sleep on the bed mattress in the evening due to the fact that Mr and Mrs Martin would exist and there weren’t numerous places open in the evening where she could wish to find work. This implied that her pursuit of work would likewise suggest going without sleep.

Nonetheless, bleary-eyed and bored, after a night invested in the vicinity of the bus depot in the company of others with nothing else to do, Lindiwe resolutely roamed the streets of Ashton Lovelock in the hunt for an employment opportunity. Not that there were lots of locations to visit in the town centre. The proprietor of KFC-McDonalds, herself a South African immigrant, was sympathetic but mentioned 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 informed her that only Muslim guys could apply. Besides that, the only supermarket– a Tesco-Walmart– was openly hostile and told her that the company had a policy of reporting presumed immigrants. There was little hope there either.

Lindiwe quickly understood that there were no jobs for her in Ashton Lovelock at all. The immigrant community had currently taken all the available low-paid opportunities. And this was much to the obvious distaste of native English people, a number of whom openly taunted Lindiwe with unsubtle pointers of the dishonest practices of the deposed Government of National Unity.

The ever-widening radius of her job search ultimately encompassed a company estate on the border of Swindon where Lindiwe, at last, got a position however as nothing more demanding than a nightshift cleaning-woman. This position needed a pricey two-hour commute by bus followed by a half-hour walk it was still better than having to invest the whole night avoiding the couple sleeping on her daytime bed mattress.

Her official tasks mainly included switching on and switching off the numerous cleaning makers and robots. However, it wasn’t long up until Lindiwe discovered that cleaning wasn’t everything she was expected to do, although it wasn’t written into her terms and conditions of employment (which, in any case, were completely verbal and agreed with a handshake).

Throughout the very first week that Lindiwe worked at the George Monbiot eco-business park, she became aware of the presence of rooms that ran out bounds to her and the other night-time operatives. There would inevitably be an e-paper sign posted on the door of these spaces that asked for that they be cleaned up later on. In case there might be some misconception, these doors were locked from the within. Since the only individuals supposed to be working at the offices so late at night were security guards and technical operatives, this was odd.

It quickly became obvious what was occurring when Lindiwe bumped into any of the people who ‘d been staying in a locked room. It was constantly a guy and a woman. The female was inevitably much more youthful than the man and normally an immigrant. Lindiwe likewise saw the smell of sex that was sticking around on their person. Her nostrils had become well attuned to the odour after the weeks she ‘d spent in Sarajevo in which her survival relied on the provision of blow-jobs to total complete strangers.

” I like all the staff to chip in,” Lindiwe’s employer explained as he handed her the meagre benefits for her 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 additional work.

” The change of federal government brought about lots of great chances,” Mr Singh stated with a sigh, “otherwise I would not be here, of course. This operation is similar to numerous others you’ll discover all over this nation.

And what they wanted was something Lindiwe now needed to offer about twice a week in among the several out-of-bound workplaces. They were furnished with rather basic beds rather than desks, computers and chairs. The felt-covered partitions around each cubicle now served the function of concealing what was going on. There was a steady stream of clients who came to take pleasure in the economical pleasures that immigrant labour was now providing: their hungers whetted by the VR dreams they could 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 physical fluids that the clients believed was a needed part of love-making however during which ordeal the vaginal penetration was most likely the least horrible part.

In the town’s short history, couple of had actually suffered as much as Lindiwe to reach Ashton Lovelock. And from what Lindiwe had actually heard about these camps, her most likely fate there would be a lonesome death while she waited for a decision from the many government agencies and personal charities that were fruitlessly arguing with one another over the obligation for feeding the millions of desperate souls in their care.

Lindiwe didn’t expect Ashton Lovelock to deal with unlawful immigrants with any more compassion than Nairobi, Cairo, Harare, Sarajevo or Rotterdam would have done if her existence had been found by an authorities at any point on her trip. Bored and bleary-eyed, after a night spent in the area of the bus depot in the company of others with nothing else to do, Lindiwe resolutely wandered the streets of Ashton Lovelock in the hunt for an employment chance. And this was much to the evident distaste of native English citizens, many of whom openly ridiculed Lindiwe with unsubtle tips of the dishonest practices of the deposed Government of National Unity.