Not Without My Sister (15 page)

One day during devotions, an elephant walked up our drive and stood outside our living-room window. The magnificent creature began to empty his bladder on the sandy ground while staring in at us through the window. A real life elephant in our garden—we were all excited! Mum halted devotions and we all piled outside to gawk at this unusual event. We were so small that the elephant appeared gigantic at such close quarters. But we weren't scared—his eyes were wise and gentle. It took him a further fifteen minutes to finish his business.
"Look we have our own pond!" I joked, pointing at the massive puddle.
"Can we keep him, can we keep him?" Kiron, who was two, asked, his eyes bright with excitement as he hopped about from foot to foot.
"Don't be silly," Jonathan, a more knowledgeable four-year-old replied.
The trainer emerged from the palm trees, running towards us, frantically waving a colorful stick in the air and making clicking sounds. He chided our new animal friend sternly, imploring him not run away again or to pee in people's gardens. He apologized to us and rode his charge away.
The elephant heralded in a wonderful surprise later that day, when Mum called us into her room. We gathered around her on the bed as she glanced up, her face smiling and happy.
"I've got a package from Celeste," she said.
My heart jumped as I stared at the little parcel. It had already been opened—all our letters were censored—but I was still full of joy. This brought Dad and my big sister closer.
"What's in it—can we see? Open it quickly!" I urged. I noticed that there weren't the usual UK stamps. (Our letters usually came via the UK; I had a large collection of stamps by now—all I had of Celeste, and a faint memory of speaking with her and Dad on the phone when we were in England.)
The younger ones crawled for a position nearest Mum on the bed while she made a huge fuss of opening it. Celeste sent a pair of panties she'd made in her sewing class and a letter with a striking drawing of two mountains. On one peak Celeste stood, all alone, and on the other was Mum, David and me. In the speech bubble Celeste was crying out "Mum!" and we were calling "Celeste!" We noticed Dad was not any-where in the picture. She had also made an A to Z with pictures cut out from posters and Mo Letters to help Kiron learn to read.
After that, when I had the time, I would write letters to Celeste and Dad. Sometimes they replied and when I got a letter of my own, it was a glorious, red-letter day and I walked around, my heart singing.
Dad wrote, "Nina, you're a shining example working for the Lord. We'll all be together again soon in the Millennium after Jesus' return. It won't be long now!"
I would fall asleep happily and dream I was running into my daddy's arms; he would scoop me up and kiss me and everything would be perfect.
But dark clouds were ahead. One day the regional shepherdess came to visit the Home. She and the Home shepherdess had a meeting with Mum in which they falsely accused her of not working hard enough in the Home. They told her that she was being demoted to Babes' status—what beginners were called. Mum hadn't been a Babe since she had first joined the Family and she was shocked and mortified.
The punishment and shame was worse than even she thought. Our whole family was to return to the UK—which along with all other Western countries was considered to be "the pit," a place fit only for backsliders and un-spiritual, half-hearted Family members.
"Nina, this is terrible. I can't believe I am being shamed like this," Mum wept.
I patted her hand. "It's all right, Mum, it's all right," I said, but inwardly I was alive with hope. I was going home! I would see my nice grandparents again.
We took the train to Bombay, where we lived hand-to-mouth while waiting for Granny and Granddad to send us the airfare back to England. When the money came, instead of buying regular tickets, Joshua thought he could save some cash when a Family couple who had recently arrived in India with their five children offered to sell us their return tickets for a cheap price.
On Christmas Eve, we got up at 3 a.m. to go to the air-port. Soon I would see Granny and Granddad and my Mum's younger sister, Auntie Caryn, again! But I tried hard to hold back my excitement because Joshua was livid at having to leave the mission field—and somehow it was our fault. Everything was our fault—never Joshua's. When we finally got to the front of the line at the check-in desk, the lady looked at our tickets. She called in her supervisor, who called one of the immigration officers. The officer explained sternly that the names on the tickets were not the same as the names on our passports.
Joshua implored the man to change his mind, and although he was sympathetic, there was nothing he could do. If they let us fly, we would be arrested and put in jail when the plane touched down in Bahrain. We waited at the airport terrace in desperate prayer while Joshua tried to resolve the crisis. We watched luggage being loaded on to the plane through the window, growing more anxious by the minute. To our horror, the plane started taxiing down to the runway. In tears, we watched it take off, just as the sun came up.
I ran to the ladies room and bawled my eyes out. I had so looked forward to spending Christmas with my grandparents again. Now it wasn't going to happen. We were all in shock as we took a taxi to a cheap hotel. We had no money at all because Joshua had spent the profit from the cheap tickets on new clothes and shoes, so he took us children over the road to the Salvation Army hostel for a traditional Christmas lunch—and soon we moved into the hostel itself. My poor Mum had to go Flirty Fishing again to pay the bills. She hated it but had no choice.
When we had first arrived in Bombay my mother wrote a letter appealing to the leadership to let us stay in India. Several weeks after the aborted departure a reply was finally received which granted us this permission. So in March 1986, we were sent south to Madras to a large commune with many families. Later that year, in September Mum discovered she was pregnant for the seventh time. She never complained, but she must have always dreaded it. She was bedridden once again, unable to keep down food or water.
Not long after the Home shepherds informed Mum that she was to be sent back to England without any of her children. They insinuated that because she was not bright and cheery there was something spiritually wrong with her. They did not seem to understand that after six weeks of not eating Mum was still very weak and not back to her normal self. They told her that she had no rights over us children because we belonged to the Family and God. However, she begged them to let her take the two youngest, Kiron and Rosie. For fifteen years she had given her life to the Children of God, and now they judged she was a bad apple? I did not understand. She was the nicest person I knew.
Why had it not been Joshua?
My world was turned upside down. Joshua was given the choice to go with her but he chose not to. I couldn't believe this.
One afternoon, I was given a few minutes to say goodbye to my mother, who was seven months pregnant, Kiron and Rosemary, then they were gone. I had lost my dad and my elder sister. And now I lost my mum, a brother and my baby sister. I felt numb and could not even cry. But I was angry with Joshua, and blamed him for breaking up our family. I had forgiven him time and again, but this was the last straw. I closed my heart to him completely.

I had been a confident, outgoing child, but after Mum left I became quiet and withdrawn. I did not imagine things could get worse, but they did. It felt sometimes like I was suffocating with the weight of my suppressed emotions. I missed her desperately and talked to her all the time in my mind, wondering how she was and what she was doing. Was she sad without my brothers and me? They cried into their pillows at night, but I felt like stone inside and couldn't, as that would mean my acceptance of this frightening situation.
I was now ten, and I could not help wondering the reason for it all. It seemed unlikely to me that God would approve of physical and emotional cruelty to small children as I had observed from every direction, especially from Joshua and the Home shepherds. However good and obedient we children were, it never seemed to end. Instead of behaving like a loving family—the happy, smiling face they presented to the world—behind our closed front doors, the Family created a cruel and hostile atmosphere, one driven by suspicion and paranoia. Every word sent down from Mo was an admonishment and a rant for us to do better. Joshua was no better. However hard I tried, it was never good enough.
When I began teaching a group of four- to seven-year-olds I started to realize that the way I dealt with the children differed greatly to how the adults treated them. The adults' interpretation of the rules were inconsistent and constantly changing from home to home and person to person. For example, we were always instructed to peel apples as the skins carried germs. Then a new Mo Letter said that this was unnecessary as long as the apple was soaked properly with salt water. My six-year-old brother Jonathan was eating an apple for snack, when suddenly an uncle grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.
"How dare you eat the apple without peeling it first!" he bawled. "Disobedient boy! I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget!" He dragged my terrified brother into the bathroom and beat him with a flyswatter. He had not read the new letter yet and thought Jonathan had defied the rules.
Even though we knew it could lead to punishment for us, David and I were banging on the door. "Uncle—it's not what you think! He didn't disobey the rules. Please uncle!" But the sound of the whacks and Jonathan's screams continued. When my brother came out whimpering, he ran to Joshua, who was unable to do anything. Adults were not supposed to interfere with each other's correction of the children.
I glared at Joshua, panting with frustration—what kind of a man was he? What kind of a father was he? But I could say nothing.
When it was my turn to go on a "road trip," I was glad to be getting away. The commune was beginning to feel like a
prison. Road trips were witnessing trips to areas that did not have any communes and could last for weeks. I went with a teen boy, Steven, and two adults—Auntie Esther, an Italian-American and Uncle Peter, an Indian national. Our bags were laden with thousands of posters to distribute and Heaven's Magic tapes to sell.
After a long and tiring day knocking on the doors of shops and offices, we returned to our hotel room. There was a double bed and a mattress on the floor. Auntie Esther officiated over the sleeping arrangements.
"The first night, I'll share with Steven," she declared, "and Nina, you can sleep on the bed with Uncle Peter. Tomorrow row night, we'll swap."
I was worried. I could not stand Uncle Peter! He was always saying stupid things and scaring the younger children. He would accost me in the kitchen while I was cooking, or in the dark bend of the stairwell, lifting my top and pawing at my developing breasts. I always managed to excuse myself with some duty. Now there was nowhere to run.
Help
, I thought.
I heard Auntie Esther and Steven pray before making love. They went on for hours as I gritted my teeth and tried to get to sleep. Beside me, Uncle Peter was becoming increasingly horny and inched over towards me. Suddenly, his hands were all over me, his erection rubbing into my bottom. Every muscle in my body was tense and I tried to pretend I was asleep. He turned me on to my back and his mouth assaulted me. He persistently tried to penetrate me and the more I resisted the more demanding he became.
"I'm tired," I mumbled in protest.
Uncle Peter made some strange noises then collapsed on top of me and fell asleep. He was too heavy to wiggle out from under, and I hardly slept.
After the first night, I did manage to keep him at a distance for a few days. But then, one afternoon after witnessing, we headed back to the hotel earlier than usual. I was proud of my achievements that day. I was a good salesperson and had got rid of all the posters and tapes in my bag. I felt happy and relaxed, but his words chilled me to the marrow.
Uncle Peter said, "Nina, you've done so well today, that we'll take an afternoon off!"
I recognized a look in his eye and when we got up to our room, I realized I was not going to have a nap. My fears were confirmed when I stepped out of the shower and he approached me. I dodged when he reached out to grab me and let out a slight scream. I had never screamed in my life and I could not find my voice. He grabbed me then and threw me on to the bed with his hand over my mouth, saying "Shhh."
"Why are you being so selfish?" His hot breath fanned my face. "The others have been getting all the sex while you keep denying me. I'm desperate and you're refusing to share with me!" He then implored more gently, "Come on."
I could not breathe easily and he was hurting me. I tried to wrestle myself out from under him but he clamped my two hands down over my head.
"No, no, no!" I shouted.
"You little tease!" he said aggressively, taking both my wrists in one hand and cupping the other over my mouth. It did not take long for him to climax. Shaking, I rolled over and sobbed quietly under the sheet till I fell asleep. That evening when I awoke I went straight to the shower. It took many of them to rid me of his smell.
The next few nights were no different and I found it hard to bury my disgust. I wrestled with the concept that if I found him repulsive, it was my own fault for not having enough love. I did not mind sleeping with some of the boys my own age, but I felt sick and it was painful when I had sex with the older teens and grown men.
My best friend, Sunshine, was also unhappy and, when I got back from the road trip, we discussed running away together.
"Where will we go?" Sunshine whispered.
"England," I said confidently. "We can follow the stream down to the sea and find a boat bound for England. Then we'll find my mother—she'll look after us."
"But we have no money for our fares," Sunshine said.
"We can stowaway!" I said, grabbing her hands. "Oh, Sunshine it will be such an adventure! Let's start hiding our food now, so we'll have enough to last on the journey!"
We made a plan and squirreled away little bits of food. We were confident that we could live on the fish from the stream and peanut-butter sandwiches. The excitement of planning it all distracted us from the daily drudgery of Home life.
The night of our escape came. Still dressed, we got under the covers and waited. We were nervous but ready. When we were sure all the adults in the house had gone to bed, we got up, grabbed our "flee bags" and started to inch our way down-stairs in the pitch black. I thought of unseen wild animals outside—snakes and tigers—and started to quake. We reached the front door and slid open the first lock. The noise startled us and we stood frozen for a good ten minutes, while Sunshine waited for me and I waited for her to make a move. A slight noise in the house made us panic and, holding hands, we slunk back upstairs and into our beds, our dreams of escape and freedom just ashes.
Then, for the first time in years, I had really good news. Joshua's parents, Nan and Papa, were coming to India!
We made the long journey to pick them up at Bombay airport. We recognized Papa first, then saw that Nan was in a wheelchair. She was exhausted but cried when we greeted her with hugs and kisses. They had just spent four months in England with our mother and stayed for the birth of their new grandchild, Christopher, who was born in June 1987.
When Joshua heard my new brother's name, he was livid. "Christopher! She has called him Christopher?" he seethed.
"Yes, dear," Nan smiled. "He's a lovely little baby, a real sweetheart."
But I knew without him saying that he was livid that Mum had named his child after my dad. It seemed a smack in the eye to him.
One evening Papa walked into our room as we were reading
Life with Grandpa
. We had wrapped it in a new cover so that it could not be identified as Family material, I was very aware that I needed to keep it hidden from outsiders' eyes. When Papa walked in the room, I stopped reading.
"What are you reading?" he asked, picking up the book and flicking through it. There were a few stories with graphic sexual images and strange scenarios and he stared at them shocked. He looked up and glanced at me, and I looked back guilelessly, though shaking inside. To me, these images were not "wrong"—these were the valuable words of God's prophet. However, I could see shock and disgust on Papa's face, and felt shame creep over me.
Immediately, Papa took Joshua into the next room and I could hear their raised voiced as they quarreled. Afterwards, Joshua was tense and strained and it seemed that Papa and Nan might leave. Nan stayed in her room in tears for three days and we worried that we had upset her. I'd creep in and hold her hand, and take her cold drinks, but she seemed over wrought and could barely speak to me. But on the third day she got up, determined to give us an amazing holiday. They took us on excursions to the safari park, the zoo, and to see the other sights of the city. It was our first real holiday and we wallowed in it. I wondered why our lives couldn't always be like this—full of happiness, kindness, and fun without lectures and constant, harping criticism from adults.
But Joshua didn't change. The kinder his parents were, the more morose and hostile he became. He did not allow us to use the toilet for hours; David held it in so long that eventually, to his embarrassment, he peed himself. Nan took him up an alley to clean him up. Later, she finally exploded at Joshua. "For God's sake, just leave them alone! They're just children! You're constantly nit-picking!"
He just glowered at her and snapped, "He's old enough not to wet his pants."
For the last night of their visit, Nan and. Papa said they would take us to eat at Bombay's grandest hotel, the Taj Mahal. We had a lovely meal accompanied by a string quartet. We chatted together and ignored Joshua altogether as he sat sulking through the meal. As we expected, he waved away the dessert menu.
"Well, I'm having dessert!" Papa insisted and ordered the king of banana splits.
As soon as Joshua left to go to the toilet, Papa pushed the amazing mountain of ice cream, cherries and nuts over and told us to tuck in. It was a rare moment of defiance so we quickly stuffed our faces while Nan kept watch. By the time Joshua returned the banana split was gone. When we took them to the airport, we were all in tears as we hugged good-bye. I was heartbroken to see them go. On the train back to Bangalore, I was silent. It was difficult to come down from the high of their visit.
After Christmas, we received a bulletin that Grandpa Mo was ill again and Maria had serious problems with her eyes. A worldwide prayer vigil schedule was set up so that prayers were offered for their health at every moment of the day and night. When I caught the flu and was quarantined, I was told the sickness was because of some spiritual sin of my own. But when Grandpa and Maria became sick, it was the fault of the Family members for not praying hard enough. I remembered all the hours I had spent on my knees praying for them and I knew it wasn't because of any lack of desperation and sincerity on my part. I began to wonder if there was not some sin in them.
My doubts seemed to be confirmed when I read about Mo's granddaughter, Mene, in a Mo Letter called "The Last State," which accused her of being possessed by demons for
daring to question Mo. Mene had become disillusioned with her grandfather after seeing the standards he set for himself were different from those he expected of the Family.
Why she would criticize him seemed clear to me. Members had to stick to a weekly ration of an eight-ounce glass of wine, while we read that Grandpa was always getting drunk. We were punished for using bad language, but in his Letters Grandpa swore four-letter words all the time. We could never get angry and always had to show love, while we read Grandpa's angry letters in which he ranted, belittled and tore people down. When Family members were ill, God was punishing them for their sins, and yet Grandpa was always sick. How could he accuse Mene of demon possession for having a few bad thoughts, when he depicted graphically in the Mo Letters how he was plagued with demonic oppression and hellish nightmares of monsters from the Nether-world?
Like Mene, I had to pray against my mother's negative influence over me. Which meant that what I felt about her didn't count. I knew it was not natural to have to turn against your own mother because someone who didn't even know her said she was lacking faith. After my prayer of "deliverance," I had to choose a new name for my new self. Every year, a candlelit ceremony was held to usher in the New Year. Each member lit their candle and stated their resolution for the New Year. When my turn came, I stumbled through my pre-pared speech and announced that I had taken the new name of "Angel Dust." Though I paid them lip service, inside I was still angry that I had to denounce my mother for backsliding. Nothing made sense anymore.
I was scared what would become of me and wrote down my fears in a diary. I invented a code that was indecipherable without the key, which I kept hidden in the back of my diary. It became my way of release and a secret area that was truly mine alone. I had to share my body with men—many of them complete strangers. My diary was something I didn't have to share with anyone.
Many young girls were falling pregnant and this caused the rules to change. When a girl started her period, she could no longer have sex with a "semenating" male, and the men could only have sex with someone over sixteen, or under twelve. I was glad when I started my periods, as I became relatively safe, though I worried about what would happen when I turned sixteen. My friend, Phoebe, was about to have her sixteenth birthday and she confided to me her terror, as the men in the commune were queuing up like randy dogs in heat. I quietly sympathized with her. I was desperate to get away from these crazy communes with their irrational, sex-obsessed adults. I heard about a teen training center called the Jumbo opening up in the Philippines and worked up the courage to speak with Auntie Rose about going.