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Lindiwe had actually shown up. 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 likewise survived the journey.

Lindiwe had not viewed the stops on her voyage as a tourist 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 soaring above the clouds and streaking ahead of a path of prohibitively expensive fossil fuel. She saw no airports and a lot of definitely no passport controllers. Had she satisfied even one between Lesotho and London, she ‘d have been unceremoniously bundled away in the back of an immigration police van either to be discarded back in her native land or apprehended in among the countless refugee camps that lined the coasts of North Africa. And from what Lindiwe had heard about these camps, her more than likely fate there would be a lonely death while she waited on a choice from the many federal government companies and private charities that were fruitlessly arguing with one another over the duty for feeding the countless desperate souls in their care.

No one would wish to be strained with such responsibility when there were a lot of other more immediate requirements to deal with.

Lindiwe didn’t anticipate Ashton Lovelock to treat prohibited immigrants with any more generosity than Nairobi, Cairo, Harare, Sarajevo or Rotterdam would have done if her presence had been found by an official at any point on her voyage. There were the weeks and, in the slums of Cairo, the months of working for really little pay and a great deal of physical and spoken abuse in professions that were far more menial 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 good the credentials that were surplus to requirements in Maseru. Lindiwe had high expect Ashton Lovelock. In spite of the collapsing decay of the hastily-built home she was staying in, it was a relatively young town with energy-efficient housing, extensive parking spaces, and an abundance of windmills and photovoltaic panels.

The fact was that Ashton Lovelock was a veritable paradise compared to her initial house in Africa. The years of African famine had not lowered total population numbers by extremely much. The few readily available tasks paid very badly if they ever paid at all.

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

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Aparo shared the exact same single bed mattress with Lindiwe in a space that had as soon as been a loft extension. Apara and Lindiwe shared the bed 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 have to try to find work in other places.”

Lindiwe’s heart sank. She couldn’t sleep on the bed mattress in the evening due to the fact that Mr and Mrs Martin would be there and there weren’t many places open at night where she could intend to find work. This suggested that her pursuit of employment 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 absolutely nothing else to do, Lindiwe resolutely roamed the streets of Ashton Lovelock in the hunt for a job opportunity. Not that there were many places to visit in the town centre. The owner of KFC-McDonalds, herself a South African immigrant, was sympathetic but explained that there was a long waiting list of equally 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 business had a policy of reporting thought immigrants. There was little hope there either.

Lindiwe soon understood that there were no jobs for her in Ashton Lovelock at all. The immigrant neighborhood had already taken all the readily available low-paid chances. And this was much to the apparent distaste of native English citizens, many of whom freely ridiculed Lindiwe with unsubtle reminders of the dishonest practices of the deposed Government of National Unity.

The ever-widening radius of her job search eventually encompassed a business estate on the boundary of Swindon where Lindiwe, at last, gained a position however as absolutely nothing more requiring than a nightshift cleaning-woman. This position needed 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 mainly involved changing on and turning off the numerous cleansing devices and robots. Nevertheless, it wasn’t long until Lindiwe discovered that cleaning wasn’t whatever she was expected to do, although it wasn’t written into her conditions of employment (which, in any case, were totally spoken and agreed with a handshake).

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

It soon became obvious what was happening when Lindiwe bumped into any of the people who ‘d been staying in a locked room. Lindiwe also noticed the smell of sex that was remaining on their individual.

” I like all the personnel to chip in,” Lindiwe’s boss explained as he handed her the meagre benefits for her very first week’s work. He was an exile who had actually returned home after the modification of federal government.

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

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

And what they wanted was something Lindiwe now had to provide about twice a week in one of the a number of out-of-bound offices. They were furnished with rather standard beds rather than chairs, desks and computer systems. The felt-covered partitions around each cubicle now served the function of concealing what was going on. There was a consistent stream of clients who came to enjoy the low-cost pleasures that immigrant labour was now offering: their hungers whetted by the VR dreams they could enjoy in the comfort of their own homes.

For Lindiwe, this offered no enjoyment at all up until she squeezed into the workplace shower with the other nightshift cleaners to spray off the semen, urine and other bodily fluids that the clients thought was an essential part of love-making but during which ordeal the vaginal penetration was most likely the least horrible part.

In the town’s brief history, few had actually 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 numerous federal government agencies and private charities that were fruitlessly arguing with one another over the duty for feeding the millions of desperate souls in their care.

Lindiwe didn’t expect Ashton Lovelock to treat illegal immigrants with any more compassion than Nairobi, Cairo, Harare, Sarajevo or Rotterdam would have done if her presence had been discovered by an authorities at any point on her voyage. Bored and bleary-eyed, 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 a work chance. And this was much to the apparent distaste of native English people, many of whom honestly teased Lindiwe with unsubtle reminders of the dishonest practices of the deposed Government of National Unity.