by Johan Twiss
But within the last ten years, Bokatar had been legalized. Munny was more than eager to help train them. Like James, he wanted to help in any way possible. But he had more than one reason for coming back to the Mongoose House each week. Whenever he and Chemsi were around one another, both of their colors would flare soft pink and yellow.
When Chemsi turned twenty-one, the two married.
It was a beautiful wedding, full of colors, laughter and happiness. Even her giant, James Moore, flew from America to attend the wedding as Munny’s best man.
My giant, Veata thought, still wondering if he remembered her birthday. Every year he sent a package full of gifts, toys, candies, and books. But lately he’d been so busy as a spokesperson for the United Nations’ efforts against human trafficking, his new book tour, fundraisers for the Mongoose House, and visits with his other grandchildren, that she wondered if he’d forgotten this year.
Thanks to James’ support, the Mongoose House Charities had grown to sixteen locations covering Cambodia, Thailand, and Laos. They received substantial funding and support from the United Nations in addition to many of James’ celebrity friends.
Hundreds of girls and boys were being freed from brothels each year, and the traffickers were being arrested and sentenced to prison.
Things are changing, Veata thought as she took a seat on a stool in the corner of the kitchen.
“Ah, Veata, you’re awake,” Boupha called as a gaggle of children swarmed around her. Many seemed to be hindering Boupha more than helping as they finished preparing breakfast. “Happy birthday to you, my child! A package arrived for you this morning.”
Boupha nodded her head toward a brown box perched on the countertop.
“He remembered!” Veata squealed.
Munny laughed. “Of course he remembered. He may be a grumpy old man, but he will never forget your birthday—never. You’re like a grandchild to him. He loves you too much to forget.”
“Speaking of child,” Chemsi said, pausing her cooking to hold her swollen belly. “This daughter of yours seems to be practicing bokatar in there.”
Munny beamed with pride. “Good job, Princess,” he whispered, rubbing Chemsi’s tummy. “Just don’t hurt Mommy, okay.”
Veata smiled at the two and grabbed the box off the counter. She was surprised by how light it felt, especially for such a big box. Bringing it to a table in the dining hall, she opened the package, only to find a single envelope nestled in the midst of a foot deep of packing paper.
Curious, she carefully peeled open the sealed envelope. Inside was a long letter addressed to her.
My Dear Veata,
It has been too long since I last visited. Boupha tells me you are doing well with your studies and desire to go to school to be a counselor. I know you will be great at it. You’re wise beyond your years and have been blessed with many great gifts.
She also tells me what a beautiful young woman you’ve become and that the boys are beginning to notice. Just let those boys know that your giant doesn’t approve of them noticing too much.
Not that it matters. Munny tells me you’re his star pupil in Bokatar lessons. According to him, you can take pretty good care of yourself.
Their news and your emails bring me so much joy. Thanks to you, I’m a better man and a better father. My oldest daughter Lilia just had her third child. That’s my sixth grandbaby, not including you. You make seven and you’re just as dear to me, Veata.
You’re probably wondering why there are no gifts in this package. I know we often write each other emails, but I wanted to send you something special this year for your sixteenth birthday.
So instead of treats and other gifts, I decided to write you a story. This story is yours to keep, or yours to share. Personally, I hope you share it with the other children. Maybe that’s just my ego as a writer. But I leave it to you.
When I first met Boupha, I asked her why she called the place the Mongoose House. It seemed such an odd name to me at the time. But she simply told me “it is because they can be a loving creature, yet fierce in the eye of danger.”
This thought stuck with me and ever since I’ve had a short story brewing in my head. Finally, with your birthday approaching, I decided to write it as a gift—The Tale of the Mongoose.
Once upon a time, venomous cobras roamed an abundant land and terrorized the mice in their domain. New mice would come from miles around seeking food and water in the luscious landscape, only to be trapped by the cunning serpents.
One day, a baby mouse found herself in this predicament by no fault of her own. She’d been born at sea, stowed with her parents in a cage and cared for by a man with large spectacles and bushy blond eyebrows.
After weeks at sea, a fierce storm arose. It whipped the sea into such a fury that mountainous waves crashed over the ship, seeming to swallow it whole.
As the ship listed to right, about to topple over, the man opened their cage to set them free, giving them a chance to survive. The large ship creaked and moaned as the icy salt water ripped it apart and pulled it down into the great fathoms below. In the chaos, the baby mouse was separated from her parents and cast afloat on a splintered piece of wood.
She survived the wicked storm. She survived hunger and thirst. She survived seven hot days and long nights alone on the ocean. Then a miracle occurred. In the distance, a piece of land came into view. The little mouse knew she must reach the land to survive. Dipping her little feet into the water, she kicked and kicked for hours.
Just as her legs felt as if they could kick no longer and the sun began to set, the tide pulled in her piece of wood. It carried the little mouse on gentle waves until she landed softly on a sandy white beach.
The next day, a kind mouse family discovered her on the beach and took her in to raise as their own. The little mouse loved her new family, but it did not take long for her to discover the terrors of the cobras.
She watched in horror as many of her friends and siblings were taunted, trapped, and devoured by the serpents. As time went on, the little mouse grew larger and stronger than all of the other mice. The chief cobra took notice of her growth, greedily eyeing her plump figure.
“She will make a fine meal,” the chief told the other cobras. “Tomorrow, let’s play with her in the jungle and then let us feast.”
When the little mouse left the safety of home to search for food, the snakes made their move. They slithered in a wide arc, flanking her from the back and sides. Before she realized what was happening, they surrounded her in a small clearing and backed against the trunk of a large tree.
“Hello, Mousey. Where are you off to in such a hurry?” the chief cobra hissed.
Trembling against the tree, the mouse fought to stand up tall and face her hunters. “I’m...I’m only gathering food for my family.”
The serpent laughed and hissed. “What a coincidence. I was coming to gather your family for my food.”
The chief was too hungry to play with his dinner any longer. His oval shaped hood spread out behind his head and he revealed a terrible set of long, sharp, venomous fangs.
In the blink of an eye, the serpent lunged at the mouse. But just as its fangs were about to find their mark, something triggered deep inside the mouse and she instinctively dodged the attack.
The serpent screamed in frustration, lashing out with another attack. But the mouse knew what to do. It easily avoided strike after strike from the cobra. It dodged left, right, and jumped in the air.
Each time the cobra missed, the mouse found herself less and less afraid of the beast. Instead of trembling in fear, her muscles tightened in anticipation. Her senses were razor sharp and she knew it was time to attack.
With reflexes quick as lightning, the mouse jumped on the back of the cobra. It dug its teeth in the widespread hood of the chief. Too stunned to retreat, the snake shook its head in an attempt to free himself from the mouse.
But his attempts were in vain. The mouse raked her claws into his hood and held
fast as she bit and tore into the snake’s head and neck.
The other cobras looked on with horror and began to slither away in fear. As life ebbed from the bloodied snake, the chief cobra realized too late that this was no mouse. This was a long lost enemy—one that had disappeared from their lands long ago. This was a mongoose.
I hope you enjoyed the story, Veata. You are like this Mongoose, more powerful and strong than you know. You’re full of so much love and loyalty, yet there's a fierceness inside of you that I know will keep you safe and allow you to protect others.
And now for your final birthday gift. I have one more surprise that I’ve been keeping a secret for months—a special song, just for you.
Veata looked up from the letter, confused. “What does he mean, a song?”
But just as she spoke, a familiar baritone voice filled the air.
Oh, I had such a pretty dream, mama.
Such pleasant and beautiful things
Of a dear little nest, in the meadows of rest
Where the birdie her lullaby sings.
Of a dear little nest, in the meadows of rest
Where the birdie her lullaby sings.
Veata turned to find her giant standing in the doorway, a huge grin on his face.
“Come here little one, and give your grandfather giant a hug.”
Without any hesitation, Veata rushed into James’ open arms and held him tight. Together they wept as their colors blossomed into a cascade of brilliant light.
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AUTHOR NOTE
On February 11, 2010, my wife came across the website www.Love146.org, a non-profit fighting against human trafficking. I started digging through their website for more information and I came across a video titled, "Imagine." This video didn't just grab me—it shook me. This was my call to action and I knew I had to join the cause for freedom.
You can watch the video here, https://vimeo.com/7473554, but be prepared. This video was the basis for Veata’s story.
Watching the video was one of those turning points in my life. I had two little girls at the time (I have five children now), and this video kept me up through the night. I thought of my own children and thought about what I would do to save them from such an awful fate. I imagined the millions of other children suffering as child slaves around the world and it broke my heart. I remember thinking, If only I could free these kids and adopt them as my own. Give them the protection and the love that all children deserve.
I had to do something and I decided to get involved. First, I studied. I checked out every book I could find at the library about modern slavery, (aka human trafficking). I read online, visited organization websites, and I started communicating with a handful of people who worked at different NGO’s (Non-Governmental Organizations) such as Love146, Free The Slaves, Not For Sale, and the International Justice Mission. My eyes were opened to the various forms of slavery around the world—sex slavery, child soldiers, rug looms, brick kilns, rubber plantations, cocoa farms, domestic servitude, bonded labor, fishing boats, copper mines, gold mines, diamond mines, and the list goes on.
Next, I started a blog on the subject and built a social media following to help spread awareness and to help gather petition signatures aimed at changing laws in the U.S.A. and abroad. Many of these laws called for stricter punishments against traffickers, and to provide mental and physical aid to trafficking survivors. I volunteered at local events and helped raise a fair amount of money for NGO’s. As a blogger, I was even invited to interview trafficking survivors at the Freedom Awards in Los Angeles. I also interviewed celebrities on the red carpet for the awards show, which was way out of my wheelhouse as I was placed next to a dozen other professional news and TV organizations on the red carpet. I had absolutely no clue what I was doing, but I jumped in there and faked it the best I could as I used my phone for a recording device.
Still, I wanted to do more. Most of the books I had read on the subject were heartbreaking and left with me in such a depressed state that I almost wanted to ignore the problem and move on with life...almost. Instead, I decided to try my hand at writing a fictional story about a child trafficking victim. I wanted to get the basic information across about the situations these children face, but make the story palpable with a positive ending of hope.
This turned into the first novel I ever wrote, a book titled Abolere (later called Blackstone). I learned so much as I wrote this story. For starters, I learned that I loved writing. It was addictive, inspiring, and I found a new passion I didn’t know existed within myself. Secondly, I learned quite a bit about story structure, world building, character development, etc…
But the Abolore and Blackstone stories quickly went off the rails, turning into a mix of the TV show Psych, with some Ironman, and a hint of MacGyver. If you think that sounds awesome, parts of it really were. But this strange mashup was out of control and I knew it wasn’t a publishable story. I chalked the experience up to great practice, and tucked the trunk novel away where it would never be seen again.
But boy was I bitten by the writing bug. Story ideas seemed to pop into my head every day. I started keeping a list of book ideas on an excel spreadsheet (something I still do) and I went to work turning these ideas into the written word. After a few more years and four published books, Veata and James’ story kept calling back to me. I was in the beginnings of the third book in the I Am Sleepless series, but I couldn’t shake Veata and James. In February of 2017, I finally decided to pause my work on the I Am Sleepless series and dive back into what is now known as 30 Red Dresses.
I hacked the original story to pieces, cutting it down to the barebones. Then came a complete remodel of the plot and characters. One of the bigger twists I added was Veata’s “gift of colors.” I wanted a way to show how children can sense the emotions of those around them, yet still be overly trusting and innocent.
In my own mind, I often associate emotions with specific colors. I do the same with musical notes and songs. Maybe it’s my inclination toward fantasy and science fiction, but when the idea for Veata’s colors came out on the page, I ran with it. But I didn’t want to turn this story into a full-blown fantasy with a magic system and powers (though I’ll admit, I had some ideas in that direction). I really wanted to keep it grounded in the real world. I worried about adding this twist with the colors, but as I looked at it in revisions, it just felt right to keep it. I feel it adds to the story instead of taking away from it.
One other major change was the length of the story. I opted to make it a shorter novella instead of a full-length novel. I wanted the story to hit hard and quick, but not linger too long on the painful situations of the characters. This was part of my goal to write a hard-hitting story that shared truths about human trafficking, but was palpable and left the reader with hope.
Some have asked if the Mongoose House is a real place in Cambodia. To my knowledge there is not a Mongoose House in Cambodia that shelters human trafficking survivors. But the idea for the place is based off real safe houses run by the Somaly Mam foundation and others by the Love146 non-profit. Both of these organizations were major inspirations for this story.
Boupha Mam is very much based off the real-life Somaly Mam. I’ve added a link to her organization and her book, The Road of Lost Innocence, at the end of this author note. Her story is a powerful one.
My long-term goal is to write one novella each year that tackles a different aspect of modern slavery. I’m calling this the Freedom Series. Some characters will overlap in this ongoing series, but for the most part each story will be a stand-alone novella.
When discussing human trafficking with others, some of the questions I
’m often asked are, “What can I do? Is there really anything I can do that will make a difference?”
The answer is a resounding, “Yes!” You can help, and every effort makes a difference. To be clear, I’m not an expert and I don’t work full-time in this worthy cause. In fact, I’ve had TV stations, newspaper reporters, and magazines ask me for interviews since they believed I was an “expert” about human trafficking. Every time I get these requests, I graciously tell them, “No, thank you,” and direct them to the real experts working for the anti-trafficking NGO’s.
I may not be an expert, but I try to do my own small part and I invite you to do the same. If you’re wondering where to start, here is my shortlist of ways you can help.
1. Choose an NGO (non-profit) to support with monetary donations, volunteer hours, and be sure to share their posts on social media. Here are some of the NGO’s I recommend.
o The International Justice Mission - www.ijm.org
o Love146 - www.love146.org
o Free the Slaves - www.freetheslaves.net
o Not For Sale - www.notforsalecampaign.org
o Somaly Mam Foundation - www.somaly.org
o Operation Underground Railroad - www.ourrescue.org
2. Study. Below is a suggested reading list to help you get informed.
o Ending Slavery, by Kevin Bales
o The Road of Lost Innocence, by Somaly Mam
o Not For Sale, by David Batstone
o The Slave Next Door: Human Trafficking and Slavery in America, by Kevin Bales
3. Sign petitions on Change.org in their Human Trafficking section. There are a mix of petitions to government and business leaders that aim to change laws and business policies dealing with aspects of human trafficking. www.change.org/topics/humantrafficking#today
