Chapter 9: Internet and the first settlers from the mountain village

Monday 08.04.2019

For the week that had just started, I had a lot planned. I was still not feeling well, somehow I had a small relapse, but I had to try to at least get the most missing things like toilet paper, work pants, glucose, lighters, and batteries. Maybe I could get some missing spare parts, especially for our laundry machine and the broken Corolla, also some light bulbs and the most necessary clothes and shoes. Our doctor had given me a long list of urgently needed medicines.

It was clear to me that all this could not be done in one day, especially since the round trip took at least four hours each. So there was a maximum of three hours left to do everything if we wanted to be back before dark.

My main objective was to unload the containers at the port of Ashmanton. If that could be done, our paper problems would be solved for the time being. I was not quite sure how the goods would be transported to us, but the Peruvians had always proved to be a resourceful people. I was sure they would find a solution quickly. I also wanted to try to get entry stamps for our foreign teenagers and girls at the immigration office in the port of Trujillo, so that they would not continue to stay in the country illegally.

Olivia agreed to accompany me as an interpreter. Alejandra took care of our newborn son. In the end, Nicolas was already two months old and developing wonderfully, and Olivia had pumped out some milk. If we were to return too late, Ramona wanted to help with breast milk.

Very early in the morning, it was still pitch dark, the ride started. Our temporary road, which had not yet been completely cleared, rumbled a little under the wheels, but the four-wheel drive made it passable.

By sunrise we were almost at the mountain village. Our surroundings were at their best. It was fantastic to see the mountain peaks changing colour as the sun raised. Olivia spoke magic words about the impressive nature. She took my right hand off the steering wheel and played with my fingers with her lips. She was so lovely.

We stopped only briefly in the village. Olivia placed four baskets of vegetables and Coca leaves on the table just behind the driveway, where the villagers often gathered on the benches. As the first villagers approached, we were already honking our horns. There was no time to lose.

At the petrol station I filled up the car, bought us some snacks and chocolate bars, and we set off for Ashmanton. Fortunately, the Navy showed us a shorter route than via Trujillo. This time the harbour master was more friendly, letting me into his much too large office. Olivia asked if it was forbidden to give him a pot of Coca leaves. As we do not sell it, there would be nothing in it. He sniffed the pot and his friendliness increased.

I paid the agreed amount for the three containers. It was hard to see how the two thousand dollars in cash had disappeared into the desk. He instructed Raul, a worker I already knew, to get in touch. He contacted a shipping company where we could store the containers temporarily. The shipping company was to deliver part of the cargo to us by van, day by day, until everything was with us.

Raul took me to a shipping manager who was going to collect our goods from the port and deliver them to us. However, once again I had completely miscalculated. We would have to pay a huge amount in customs and import duties, totalling almost $60,000. I had not taken this into account. I had thought that the import would be done with the agreed amounts, but these were just the storage fees for the excessive storage in the port. Unfortunately, it showed me how little I knew about the rules and regulations of international freight transport in this respect.

I will not go into detail about how we got the containers out of the port so as not to offend anyone. Anyway, we only paid about an eighth of the official fees, in cash of course, and without a receipt. I told the forwarding company where to deliver and that they could only access us in the valley between 11am and 2pm, as there was no alternative point on the narrow road. I intended to pay the driver five hundred Soles in cash for the journey when the goods were delivered. I gave him the empty containers as a gift and 4,000 SOL for his work. I also agreed with him to deliver eight pallets of toilet paper, nappies, tissues, kitchen rolls, and the like to us in the valley today. Olivia told the driver that it would only be possible to return when we arrived. I gave him a hundred Sols for the job, which was obviously a lot of tips, but for this amount many Peruvians were happy to carry out my wishes and orders.

With that important question settled, we drove to Salaverry, the big port near Trujillo. We found the immigration office relatively quickly. Since cruise ships often dock in Salaverry, I simply claimed that I had found several girls on my property who had been smuggled in through that port. That was not right at all for the two responsible persons. Something like that would never have happened in your port. They wanted to remedy the situation immediately and had no objection to a small payment. So I got an entry stamp in each of my young women’s thirteen passports with the date 1 August 2016, the other eleven passports were stamped with entry 15 July 2017. These were details of where cruise ships had docked in Salaverry. Of course, it was pointed out to me that all of them were in the country illegally. Of course, I was assured that I would find a solution with the Trujillo municipality and possibly pay a fine for being in the country illegally. In any case, I finally had the legal basis to apply for permanent residency.

Olivia and I drove to a market on the outskirts of Trujillo around 11am. The small town of Mersto, with perhaps three or four thousand inhabitants, was an important marketplace for the mountain people at the foot of the steeply rising mountains, had a well-equipped pharmacy, a large market for textiles and household items, as well as food and fruit. It was amazing how quickly we filled our car. Unfortunately, there was a shortage of warm clothes, sturdy shoes from size 40 and baby shoes, but we got everything else on my shopping list. We later discovered that most of the jeans and T-shirts we had purchased were too small for our young women.

Only in the pharmacy there were problems. The pharmacist refused to sell me some things because I did not have a doctor’s prescription, but Olivia explained that our doctor had written and signed the list and showed him photos of our many residents and young children. The pharmacist smiled approvingly and had all the available medicines packed.

I had used up all my Peruvian cash. I changed a thousand dollars in a bank and got another 3,000 SOL from an ATM. Now we pushed two bushes of golden yellow, large bananas into the car. They were of a completely different quality to the puny bananas in our valley. On the front seat we piled up baked goods, especially rolls and bread, up to the ceiling of my car.

Back in the valley, Ramona made fun of us because we had thought of everything except toilet paper. She would have been particularly pleased. We apologised with mocking gestures and looks. Half an hour later there were a honking on the approach road. Our first delivery, consisting almost entirely of paper and cleaning products, was taken to the Palazzo. Now we all got a kiss from our dear doctor. Two more vans of goods followed. Apparently 500 Sol was a good wage, so the drivers spent the next few days taking orders and delivering.

The trip was worth it for all of us. Happy girls surrounded us. Almost everyone had a golden banana in one hand and a roll in the other. In the evening we made a feast with games around the toilet paper, which we used generously. We promised ourselves that we would never be short of it again.

The next day I transferred the last 50 Russian emails to my tablet. After breakfast I asked Lenya if she was strong enough to help me. She looked at me questioningly. I gave her my tablet. She should be careful not to read any more messages about tortured children or anything like that. She should just keep scrolling, but if she could translate the headlines into English, that would help us.

“Do you have internet now?” she asked in amazement.

“Yes, my new contract has been working since the night before last.”

She hesitated. “What is it?” She also wanted to use the Internet to search for her mother.

I promised her one hour a day from the next day. But then I had an idea. “Who were your parents’ best friends in Odessa? On the Internet you will only find old information about your mother. She, like you, is considered missing, that is, untraceable”.

“Katya and Oleg.” She struggled to remember their full names. Finally she remembered that Oleg Karelin had fled to Russia with his wife. She thought his middle name was Sergeyevich.

But you couldn’t do much with that in huge Russia. There were hundreds of men with that name combination. By chance, using a Russian search engine, Lenya found an Oleg Sergeyevich Karelin in the phone book of Tula, Katya’s hometown. I called the number straight away. Luckily they were only eleven hours ahead of us, but it was already 9pm in this Russian town. A grumpy voice answered. He spoke very little English. Lenya took over, called her name and asked if he was the uncle Oleg from Odessa. “Minutku!”

Without another word, he hung up. We looked at each other in surprise. Lenya explained, ‘minutku’ meant to wait a few minutes. She was sure it was her parents’ buddy.

Half an hour later I got a call from an unknown number in Russia. It was the man again. He had obviously changed location. I shouted at Lenya and said in bad French that I would call him back immediately. Two minutes later, there were a lot of tears. It was Uncle Oleg from Odessa. He was now in a phone box so he could call anonymously. No one must know about Lenya, no matter where she is. The Russian secret service would have too many ears, Lenya told me later.

Lenya tearfully asked about her mother. Oleg had no news, but was sure, she had left Odessa alive. He wanted to find out if she was in Moscow. We should call again in two days, here in the phone box, at exactly 9 pm. I left a note for Lenya, telling her not to say anything about her child, just that she was somewhere in South America. She nodded and asked and asked and asked, until I interrupted the call because our ten minutes on the phone were almost up.

Lenya was crying in my arms. “Everything will be all right,” I whispered to her.

Luisa was coughing at the door. She wanted to join me. Lenya kissed me on the cheek and left the office. When Luisa found out that we had called a friend of Lenya’s mother, she was also very happy. It was the first kiss after my illness from one of my many ‘wifegirlfriends’. Surprisingly, Luisa was not at all interested in the possibility of phone calls.

She cunningly asked me if I wanted to sleep with my two sons tonight. “Not today, but tomorrow or the day after. I’m not quite well yet”. So, she was also longing for love and togetherness, which was a good feeling for me.

The next day, just before lunch, Lenya came back to my office. She had made a list of the subject lines of the 50 emails. She had translated three of them because they concerned us. One was about the property here. It was assured that the tax would be paid regularly every six months from an account belonging to the ‘Free Ukraine’ organisation, as long as Rus paid his donations to the bank in Minsk, i.e. Belarus, regularly. The letter was signed by Alexander Sergeyevich. We found his surname Akhmetov in the organisation Комітет за вільну Україн – ‘KFBU’ on the Internet. This must be the boss of Kuklina, with whom we had spoken on the phone from the helicopter.

They were based in Minsk. For me that meant they were not welcome in Ukraine, perhaps even banned. In the evening I found out that both Akhmetov and Kuklina were wanted in Ukraine for multiple murders, attempted murders and preparing a violent coup.

Another message concerned the other group of girls. In May 2017, Rus was informed that the eleven girls would arrive in Ashmanton in ten days’ time. Another message was about Lenya. It was explained that she had been personally added to the first group to be given to Rus.

“Does this mean that he wanted to torture me?” asked the almost adult Russian woman. I had to be honest.

“That could be what it means, Lenya, but you see, we were lucky.” Her eyes fluttered as she looked at me.

’I hope her nerves don’t fail again,’ I could only think. I completely understood why she was standing next to herself again. We had talked about it two years ago, made similar assumptions, but such information is not really useful for a teenager. I was so sorry to have caused her so much pain again. I asked Ramona to let Esther look after her friend. I felt like crying too. When Ramona found out what malicious messages Lenya had learned, the doctor shouted at me that I was crazy to give her such messages to translate without checking them.

When I left the room, Ramona was still screaming. The few children in the house were horrified. Luisa and Cara came running out of the kitchen, not understanding the commotion. Priya told me that Esther and Lenya had gone to the pool. I literally ran after them. They both turned around when they heard Ramona’s screams. I took Lenya in my arms and begged her to forgive me. Esther didn’t know what it was about yet, but she seemed to be gripped by our embrace alone.

Lenya cried uncontrollably. I couldn’t hold back my tears either. Then she pulled herself away from me. “You don’t have to apologise. You saved all our lives. And we must read all the messages. The fight is not over.”

We were in each other’s arms again. Ramona, who had heard Lenya’s words, came to us. Finally, all four of us were crying in each other’s arms.

Then I gave Ramona the opportunity to work on my PC, to look at her accounts and emails. I just asked her not to give any information about our whereabouts. “Please just write: ‘Some place in South America’, nothing more.”

Ramona doubted that our arch-enemy would know where we were. I just told her, “You don’t know the press. If they even got a whiff of us, the helicopters would be buzzing over our heads, we’d be the number one sensation for a day or two”.

Ramona looked at me thoughtfully. “Where did you learn to be so cautious?”

“Only here, since I took responsibility for so many children’s souls.”

Then Ramona kissed me and pressed herself against me.

Shortly afterwards, my dear doctor called me back into the office. An email notification was popped up. My sister Sarah had replied. Extract from the email: “I’m glad you’re well. I hope you are earning enough. Our mother is ill and needs a lot of care. Her money is not enough. She gets far too little welfare. It would be nice if you could give her something every month. I can’t earn more than 200 euros ... Mum says you have a child. We are very interested. Please send us a photo of you, your wife, and your child ... When are you coming home? We would like to meet your family...” She sent me her new mobile phone number. It was just before midday here, so it was about six o’clock in the evening in Belgium. I quickly dialled the number.

My sister was happy to receive my call. I explained that I only had about four minutes of talk time on the satellite phone tonight. I was happy to agree to transfer five hundred euros a month by standing order, and I could send more if necessary. She wanted to email me her bank details.

When asked about my child, I had to laugh inside, but I wanted to be careful. “Sarah, there are children. Tomorrow I’ll send you some photos, but don’t be surprised, I live here with several women, so I have several children, but these are not the last. Our doctor is sitting next to me. With her I have a Bruno and for the last four weeks our darling Martin. That’s why I can’t leave, but you’re welcome to come and see us.”

There was a beep. “Sixty seconds to go, Sarah. Say hello to our mum and tell her about my son Bruno. I must explain everything else to you in peace.” The sound of my kiss was the last thing to go through the ether.

Gradually the emotional strain of the day became too much for me. I had a beer and a whisky on the terrace before lunch, which was quite unusual. This was followed by my first cigarette of the stressful day. My thoughts flashed through my mind like lightning. I trembled with fear as I imagined how the sadist Rus, or perhaps his outlaws, would have lustfully abused Lenya, humiliating and abusing her over and over again. She would only have committed suicide if she had been given the chance. How bad can people be in this world? I decided to do everything I could to use the assets of this inhuman to make the world a better place. In any case, it must not fall into Alexander’s hands.

When lunchtime came, I had no appetite. I sought refuge with my dear Olivia, with whom I had not spoken for two days. I hadn’t held our son Nicolas in my arms because of my illness, and I didn’t want to today. We sat down at a distance on the terrace of the Casa. Her son Michael could hardly stand it and wanted to come to me. He always called me Dad, even though I was not his biological father. But to Olivia I was his real father, because I would have saved her and her son. He was now almost two years old and babbled a lot of words, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in Quechua, and sometimes in English. At some point his great-grandmother Alejandra had to stop burdening him with Quechua, the language of the Incas. At least that was my opinion.

After wiping the bag with a damp cloth, I tossed Olivia a pack of Haribo. Olivia was visibly better this time than after the first birth. But even then her body was more that of a child than a woman. I waved to Nicolas, but he was already searching for his mother’s breast and making smacking noises. It was wonderful for me to see the little one drink when Olivia gave in to his urging. What could be more beautiful in the world than a mother with her baby at her breast?

Suddenly, someone wanted to put something in my mouth. Little Michael, Olivia had named him after me, wanted to feed me with a gummy car. Of course, he could not understand that he was not allowed to touch me these days. Ramona had told me that this strange disease could only be transmitted through contaminated hands or clothes and anything that was excreted. I hoped she was right. Nevertheless, I quickly went to wash my hands again. Then the little one sat on my lap, happy to have reached his destination. He kept feeding me the sweet gummy figures. He had trouble eating them himself and spat them out. I took the package away from him and let my namesake bounce on my lap. When Nicolas’ saving regurgitation came, Olivia put the two boys to bed. They both fell asleep quickly.

Olivia pressed herself against me, even though we had planned to wait a few days. She was so happy for us and our baby. She kept telling me how much she loved me. I caressed her with one hand and held her body close to me.

Alejandra came out of the basement from the laundry. Then Priya, who always helped with the laundry, appeared. She wanted to leave us alone, but I called her over and stroked her curvaceous body. It would be another eight weeks then she would give birth to her next child. She gave Olivia and me a kiss and helped Alejandra with the food. I gladly accepted the invitation and ate some of the Quinoa, the millet porridge with egg and some chicken.

Alejandra went back to her work while the three of us sat in the sun, which was starting to warm up a little. Winter was near, but there had not yet been a post-frost. After the warm and humid summer and the sunny autumn, the valley was as green as we had never experienced before.

Nowhere in the area around us, or even on the coast, was the vegetation as lush as here in the valley. Still, I was amazed at what the mountain farmers were able to harvest at an altitude of over 3,000 metres. Over hundreds of years, they had created terraces and fields everywhere, which had to be reinforced and improved again and again. In our valley, the only artificial terraces were behind the village, so that the vines always had plenty of sun and water. Otherwise there was no need for terraced fields.

Soon Priya and Olivia were active again. They were happy that I had fallen asleep in their presence; they told me later, as Olivia served me a cup of Peruvian coffee. I informed the young ladies that we now had Internet and that one day they would be able to call their parents. Priya had no interest in contacting her parents in Vietnam. They were just waiting for the money to arrive for their planned modelling work. Olivia had no contact details for her mother. As far as she knew, she worked in Lima, but Alejandra did not even know her address or telephone number.

I played with Michael again and then went back to the main house with Priya. Priya has been waddling like a pregnant woman for the last month. The first time she had twins. They were taken care of in our kindergarten.

“Tomorrow is Yin and Yang’s first birthday,” Priya told me. I had forgotten to look at my well-organised calendar. Although I had first birthday presents for all the children in my cupboard, it was important that I did not miss the day; after all I was the father of almost all the children.

The once regular cultural programmes on Saturdays had diminished greatly due to the extensive childcare. The dear mothers were more concerned with their children than with their own enjoyment. Nevertheless, I decided to organise nice evenings again more often. Joie de vivre was such an important part of a fulfilled life.

Speaking of joy in life, Fahsai had had an urgent need to father her second child for weeks. Our doctor advised her not to father a child while breastfeeding. Breastfeeding mothers release the hormone oxytocin, which affects the uterus, sometimes leading to miscarriages.

Our young Yemeni woman had been breastfeeding her Yusuf for more than seven months and was a devoted mother. Her breast milk was still flowing sufficiently, even though she was already feeding her son light solid foods. At lunchtime he usually had vegetable puree, usually boiled carrots with mashed potatoes. Fahsai was in a conflict of emotions. She was so proud that she was able to breastfeed her child the longest out of all the teenagers. At the same time, she didn’t want to lag behind the others and wanted a second child. At some point her second wish became stronger.

One morning she came to me and explained in detail how she had started weaning. Her body would now be ready for pregnancy. Her big, deep brown eyes looked at me questioningly. My hands rested on her bony shoulders. Despite her motherhood, she did not yet have the soft curves of a woman. When I used to judge young women with friends, teenagers like her were labelled ‘still too thin for love’. But I haven’t had that opinion for a long time. The teenagers in our valley had developed psychologically into complete women, had made it their life’s mission to bear at least two children and raise them to be great human beings. I was so proud of our teens. The teenies had become good-hearted mothers in the last two years.

Of course, this also had some very attractive side effects for me. My love life was extraordinary. How I enjoyed the feelings of teenagers during sex, experiencing the unique pleasure they gave me after a necessary period of getting used to it. Who is lucky enough to be able to introduce so many young people to the joys of physical love?

Naturally, I was delighted to receive this request from the fun-loving and very clever Yemeni woman. I briefly kissed her forehead. “Fahsai, I’m ready. Thank you for your question.”

A small kiss of love followed. The young Yemeni cuddled up to me, let me feel her youthful breasts, rubbed against me and soon sat on my lap without our lips parting. She played with me, teasing me briefly with the tip of her tongue, then pulling it back, hoping for my visit to her sweet mouth.