Reaching Rahab (2)
We head back to Clara’s room. The door is now ajar and we knock. Her beautiful face peeps round the door. We are recognized and hugged and welcomed. Clara casts a glance over our shoulders as she ushers us in, checking she is not missing out on any possible trade. Last time we sat with her on this pristine clean floor she sobbed like a small child as she told me her mother, back in Bangladesh, had died. Clara so longed to go home. She had not seen her mother since she was trafficked here at the age of about 17 and now, because of what she does, is no longer welcome in her community. Clara has no place of belonging, but this room is her pride and joy. She is one of the most beautiful girls which means she gets the most customers, which means she can make her room pretty. Net curtains blow in the breeze, the walls are painted pink, and a rich patchwork quilt covers the bed. A television perches proudly on a shelf high up and all is kept neat and tidy. We talk to Clara about the chance of a different life. I ask her if she has ever seen a butterfly. With drawing and translation, I try and explain how a caterpillar lives
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