Melanie's Story
1999 Entered the first Refuge with my two children. I had natural way of connecting with the women and children in there and took it upon myself to organise programmes to promote a life away from violence, involving willing participants (after dinner when the workers had gone home). The group grew at a rapid rate and soon enough I had 100% participation, which extended to lunch times based on demand. At that point I had no experience, just excellent people skills and a heart the size of an Ox; however staff were impressed and recommended I pursue studies in Children and Community Services after the refuge (which I did later on in life). The refuge welfare worker was the only person who did not support my efforts, as she felt I was stepping on her toes but the way I saw it is that she wasn’t taking action to promote a positive residential experience, which is part of the reason women were returning to their abusive partners – they simply did not like the refuge. To strike a compromise, I agreed to offer my programme to residents after hours only.
Then one day a new resident entered. Her name was Melanie and she was unfortunately a severe case, no one knew how to deal with her except for my case worker, who was also hers due to short staff. The residents upon Melanie’s admission into the refuge were asked to vote for her stay, due to the severity of her situation; all who refused her (in fear) except for me. I put my hand up tall and fought passionately for her stay, in fact I insisted. My case worker asked me to take into consideration whether I can handle her problems undergoing counselling for Domestic Violence myself and again I insisted she stay under humanitarian rights if nothing else.
All the residents turned sour, as no one wanted her to stay and to transfer her, case workers needed 100% of votes, so I was sure not to give mine. The residents immediately withdrew from my programmes and held their children back from attending, despite the children protesting loudly. Soon enough the refuge welfare worker found her long awaited opportunity to accuse me of causing discord, as the children were throwing tantrums for not being allowed to attend my programme under the instruction of their mothers since Melanie’s entry; but the case workers weren’t stupid and knew exactly what the problem was and it wasn’t anything I was doing. The residents were reacting in fear and to be honest, they were entitled to their concerns to some degree.
In a nutshell, Melanie’s story broke my heart. When she entered the refuge, she was only 17 and quite isolated. Here is a girl who’s mother died at two or three and her father was a drug dealer involved in gang related crime. When Melanie was only 10 (and yes I am shedding a little tear at this computer having to remember her story – it’s very sad...) her father sold her to a pimp in Melbourne, who happened to be Maltese, to clear a drug debt he could not pay. Since the tender age of ten, this poor soul has been tied down like an animal on a daily basis and force-fed drugs until she became addicted in order for compliance to take effect. Then she was forced into prostitution from then on, men having sex with her by numbers to make money for her Maltese Pimp who was too clever for the honest cops and slipped through the system because of the dishonest ones; there were rumours that he knew police in high places who failed to charge him accepting blood money made on Melanie’s back (and she wasn’t the only one, he had other victims (and I am using the word victim, because they are children who had no say in it)).
At the age of only 12, she became dependant on her pimp, was addicted to Heroin and God knows what else, living a life according to dictations handed down by the devil himself – we couldn’t work out how on earth this girl slipped through the system, I mean she never went to school and no one knew about her; it assumed that his contacts with corrupt police officers in high places made a difference.
At 17 she was ganged raped against her will, her pimp tied her legs and arms and further covered her mouth with gaffa tape forcing men to have their way at a price, one after the other and it went on all day without access to food, clothing and water, that was her turning point!
She waited for her pimp to untie her, bruised and injured and then tried to escape, screaming as loud as possible in an apartment block she’s was held in for many years where no one even knew she exsisted. He grabbed her as she reached for the exit door and stabbed her with a large knife in the vagina – the door opened and she ran bleeding like a hunted animal. Residents called the police immediately after hearing her screams and that’s how she came to the refuge infected with Hepatitis B – everywhere else was full and this fucking monster of a man was looking for her like crazy to finish the job. In fact, it was my case worker, Nesli (a Turkish lady who was married to a Maltese) who initially gave her entry against protocol. So you could imagine the fear this caused the residents, in particular living with a lady infected with an STI and addicted to a substance we did not understand.
Melanie was excluded from the belonging by all the other residents who also refused her communication, socially isolating her like she didn’t exist but I took her side regardless, as I could not stand to watch such inhumane acts of cruelty;;; this girl has been through enough and I understood her pain to some degree but not her suffering, thank God. I took her under my wing and put my level of suffering on the back shelf, as it was nowhere near as bad as hers, including her as a family member. The other residents were trying to scare me by warning me that my children will catch her diseases if I keep hanging around her;;; I used to tell them that germs go where they want to go and they favour people like them, as it is God who choose our punishment. I drew up a programme specifically for her, which involved exercise, good nutrition and daily meditation and allowed her to freely play with my children and we had some fun playing kiddie games that she never even heard of, like ring a ring a rosy for instance... it was very sad to watch and at times I had to remove myself from the scene to stop myself from crying in front of her, as pity was not what she needed. I realized that she needed to be a child again and included child’s play into our morning routine and my kids loved her – she was surprisingly very good with them. The only difficulty I experienced is that she was on the Methadone Programme to clean her up and having no experience with drug use what so ever, I really didn’t know how to deal with it; I certainly was not qualified to deal with her addiction by way of experience nor education. My case worker was not the only one who was pleased with how much progress Melanie was making in such a short amount of time.
Melanie broke my heart one day when she said, she wishes God appointed me to be her mother in this life and she further added that my children are the luckiest in the world. She was becoming dependant on me and you can’t blame her, because for the first time in her life, she found a mother. The welfare worker started raising concerns to upper management, claiming that it’s unhealthy for Melanie to become dependent on me and they soon transferred her but waited till I was out all day with my children, as they knew I would put up a fight – I loved her like my own daughter. I returned to the refuge to find her gone. I was furious with that damn bitch – the welfare worker – and punched the wall outside hard and broke my knuckle, (blood going everywhere) after hearing about her transfer; the scar remains on my left hand, middle knuckle.
After being transferred, Melanie was once again not coping and escaped; she returned to the only life she knew and her pimp killed her.
Sorry Melanie!
...to violence against women Malta, Let’s Say NO MORE!
