Chapter 11: Weekend with Omari and his friends

Sylvia spent her Friday immersed in her yoga practice, trying to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos that had overtaken her life. Afterward, she cleaned up and began preparing for her Monday teaching duties, forcing herself to focus on anything but the memories of the past three days. She tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on what life was like just four days earlier—before the abuse, before the assaults. Back then, her biggest concern had been the frustration of being left behind by her organization, feeling abandoned but still hopeful about her future.

She wished she could start over, go back to those simpler days when she was still intact, untouched by the horrors she had recently endured. But if she could turn back time, she wouldn’t just rewind to four days ago—she would go all the way back to Australia, to the moment when she first considered applying for the humanitarian aid job. If only she had known, she might have refused the assignment, especially when they told her she had to spend a year on Aprico Island before being eligible for her dream post in Spain.

As she meticulously organized her teaching materials, Sylvia couldn’t help but wonder what her life would have been like if she had made different choices. The desire to escape the present and return to a time when she felt safe, and hopeful, was almost overwhelming. But no matter how much she wished for it, she knew there was no turning back.

Sylvia’s naivety and optimism were two of her most defining qualities. Even during her senior year of high school, when she was gang-raped, she and her parents chose not to file a lawsuit. Her parents had always taught her that revenge was wrong, that forgiveness and kindness were the answers to cruelty. They believed that if someone was mean to you, you should respond with even more kindness. In their view, persistent kindness would eventually cause the other person to change their ways. This upbringing, combined with Sylvia’s naturally submissive nature, created a dangerous combination.

Throughout her life and even now, Sylvia remained deeply optimistic person. Each morning, she woke up with the belief that things would somehow improve, that today will be better than yesterday. It was as if she carried an angelic hopefulness, a belief that she could bring light to any darkness. Her friends often joked that she must have been an angel sent from the sky, with her unwavering faith in the goodness of people.

As she went through her yoga routine, she tried to cling to that optimism. But the events of the past few days had shaken her to her core. She wished desperately that she could turn back time, that she could avoid the decisions that had led her to this point. Still, she couldn’t escape the sense that somehow, things would get better. She had to believe it, because without that belief, she didn’t know how she would continue.

This unwavering hope was both her greatest strength and her greatest vulnerability. It will keep her going through the darkest times, but it will also make her unable to escape those who sought to exploit her kindness and submissiveness. As she prepared for Monday’s teaching duties, she tried to hold onto that hope, to believe that better days were ahead, even as the shadows of her recent past loomed large in her mind.

After staying in her cabin all day Friday and enjoying a wonderful night’s sleep in her pajamas, Sylvia woke up on Saturday feeling surprisingly refreshed. The horrors of the past few days felt a little more distant as she sat on her bed, nibbling on a banana for breakfast. The morning light filtered through the cabin’s small windows, casting a gentle glow over the room, and for the first time in days, she felt a sense of peace.

But as she sat there, her thoughts inevitably returned to Abuba. She knew she needed him—his presence had been a strange comfort, a lifeline amidst the chaos. But the things they had done the night before, though they hadn’t included sexual intercourse, weighed heavily on her. To Abuba, perhaps, it was just care, perhaps even affection, but to her, it had felt deeply perverted. The shame gnawed at her, not just because of what had happened, but because she had willingly complied with everything he asked. There had been no force, no threats—just his requests and her compliance. And that, more than anything, disturbed her.

Now, after a full day of rest and a long, good night’s sleep, she could see things more clearly. Alone in the cabin, with the prospect of a peaceful weekend ahead, she knew that what had happened had to stop. She couldn’t continue down this path, no matter how much she needed Abuba’s friendship. But the thought of rejecting him, of potentially losing the only person who had been kind to her, filled her with anxiety. How could she do it in a way that wouldn’t upset him or make him turn his back on her? She didn’t have the answer yet, but she knew one thing for sure: she couldn’t let last night’s events repeat themselves. It had to stop, for her own sanity and self-respect.

Then, she heard the door creak open. Sylvia’s heart skipped a beat, the peace she had just started to feel vanishing in an instant. She remembered that her landlord had never installed a lock on the door. When Sylvia had asked about it, the landlord had explained that the cabin was in a lock-restricted zone, a rule meant to foster a sense of community trust. Naively, Sylvia had believed her, accepting the explanation without question.

The real reason was likely an ill-conceived sense of ownership on the landlord’s part—she simply didn’t want her tenant locking the door. The landlord had assured her that this part of town, filled mostly with families, young and old, was very safe and that there was nothing to worry about. That part was true. She left door unlocked, but there never has been a theft, and she felt perfectly safe. But now, in the stillness of the morning, with the door swinging open without warning, Sylvia felt a deep unease creeping in.

When Sylvia turned her head and saw who had entered, her heart dropped to the floor. Standing in the doorway were Omari and one of his friends, their expressions cold and predatory. Omari’s voice cut through the silence as he declared, “Ah, Auntie Snow, doan ya’ll remember now? You got’s a playdate with me an’ all us folks for de whole weekend, ya hear? An’ dis weekend, your wet pussy is all mine, honey snowball!” Sylvia’s stomach churned with fear. Memories of what they had done to her when she rejected this boy’s request for playdate last time-flashed through her mind—he punched her, the other friend kicked her, and when she fell to the ground, he and his friends, five boys, tied her up in the public marketplace, and did terrible things to her while bystanders, her neighbors, watched. The thought of what they might do to her in the privacy of her cabin terrified her.

Desperately, she tried to find a way to refuse them, summoning what little courage she had left. Her voice trembled as she stammered,” P ... please ... you really hurt me the other day ... that wasn’t right.”

But Omari ignored her pleas. His face remained indifferent as he reminded her of the so-called promise she had made to them. “Ah, Auntie o! You talk say you go give us two weekend days for we stop playdate early for Thursday,” he said, his tone flat and unforgiving. Sylvia’s heart raced. She remembered it then, that she had agreed to the terms that. At that time, she just wanted their humiliating torment to end. She was terrified that these two boys would attack her again, but summoned all of her strength and said, “P-p-please, Omari, w-w-we w-will h-have a p-playdate, b-b-but l-l-later, p-please.?”

Luckily, Omari didn’t resort to immediate violence. Without his gang of friends to back him up, his threats took on a different, more insidious edge. “Yo’ got a choize, Auntie!,” he continued, his eyes narrowing. “Yo, be dey for our playdate as ya promisify, or come out as one promise-breaker, oh. And let me put ya straight, peeps from Aprico Island, we no dey carry disrespect well. We don’t play with those who dey break promises.”

That phrase sent shivers down her spine. It was the same warning Matumbo had given her before their terrible assault. Sylvia felt the cold grip of fear tighten around her heart as Omari leaned in closer, his voice a low, menacing whisper. “Ah gon’ bring mah cuzzen, ya know, da big muscular fella. You done seen ‘im? He is massive. And he is one tough cookie, meanest soul you ever lay eyes on. Well Auntie Snow, we gon’ start from dere. And trus’ me, it’s gon’ get a whole lot worser, a whole lot more painful, for da entire weekend.”

Sylvia’s breath caught in her throat. She knew then that she had no choice. The thought of enduring another brutal attack, especially in the confines of her own cabin, was unbearable. Omari’s words echoed in her mind, and the realization that she was trapped—cornered with no way out—settled heavily on her. Reluctantly, with a sinking heart, she understood that she had to comply. The alternative was simply too horrifying to contemplate.

Sylvia took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. “Okay,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “ B-b-but this t-t-time, b-b-be n-n-nice, o-o-okay? W-w-we p-p-play n-n-nice g-g-games o-o-only, o-o-okay?”

Omari’s lips curled into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “ Yeah, Auntie-o!,” he replied smoothly,” Ah, if ya promise ta do just as I be sayin’. I’s da game leader, so ya mus’ do as I be tellin’ ya, ya dig?”

Sylvia nodded, forcing a small smile. “ Y-y-yes,” she agreed, clinging to the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, they would treat her differently this time. Perhaps they had been so cruel before because she had tried to refuse them, or because of the public punishment she had endured at the mock trial. She thought that seeing her as a “sex criminal” had made them more aggressive, but now that they were being nicer, she dared to hope that things might be different.

Omari’s tone was calmer, almost kind, and Sylvia grasped at that small change as a lifeline. Maybe they were going to be gentle this time, to play the way men should with women—with care and respect. Her heart clung to that hope, fragile as it was. But deep down, a part of her knew that it was just wishful thinking.

But Sylvia’s fragile hope was shattered by Omari’s next words. “ Aunty, please do remove those pyjamas. You be looking like a complete hoe in dem tings. They so thin, we can see right through ‘em! You thinkin’ we gonna fall for dis kinda trickery? We too young for all dis shit, and you? You be way too mature for our taste, aye!”

Sylvia’s face flushed crimson with embarrassment. The pajamas she wore—a pair of leggings and a top made from thin spandex material—were chosen for comfort, perfect for the warm summer night, not meant to be erotic in any way. But she realized too late that they did reveal more of her body than she had intended. The thought of Omari seeing her this way, judging her, made her feel exposed and ashamed.

She hesitated, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself in a protective gesture. But Omari’s voice turned colder as he reminded her of the threat he had made earlier. “Remember my cousin,” he warned, his tone leaving no room for defiance. “Auntie, you don’t want him involved, do you? Now, off with them.”

Sylvia’s heart sank. She had no choice. Slowly, reluctantly, she peeled off her pajama top, then her leggings, feeling the cool air on her bare skin. Her body trembled as she stood there, vulnerable, her arms crossing over her chest and crotch in a desperate attempt to shield her nakedness in front of these two boys.

But Omari’s gaze was unrelenting, his eyes drinking in the sight of her with a mix of triumph and cruelty. Sylvia’s blush deepened, her humiliation complete as she stood before him, exposed and powerless, the last remnants of her hope crumbling into dust.

As Sylvia stood there, trembling with a mix of fear and shame, Omari’s friend, even shorter than Omari, approached her with a large pair of clothing scissors. Without a word, he began cutting through her pajama leggings with swift, precise movements. The sound of the fabric being sliced sent a chill down her spine.

For a brief moment, Sylvia’s mind grasped onto the hope that maybe he was doing this because Omari didn’t like the pajamas, that perhaps they would give her something more modest to wear. Her thoughts were interrupted when the friend handed her the cut-up leggings and said,” Put dis on first, Auntie, ‘m I go work on your top now.”

Sylvia hesitated but quickly obeyed, desperate for any semblance of clothing. She pulled the fabric up her legs, feeling a small surge of relief at the thought of covering herself. But as she tugged the leggings up past her thighs, the awful truth hit her—he had cut out the entire area above her thighs, leaving only a small strip of cloth connecting the legs.

No matter how she adjusted the leggings, her body remained exposed. Her hairy vulva and large buttocks were left entirely bare, the thin fabric doing nothing to conceal her. The realization was like a punch to the gut. She had been tricked, humiliated once again.

Her voice shook with desperation as she protested,” N-n-no, p-p-please ... th-th-this isn’t r-r-right...” But Omari silenced her with a cold stare, his voice low and threatening as he reminded her,” Rememba meh cuzzn. Juss stay quiets and obeys, Auntie, den we play all nice and happy, ya heard?”

Sylvia’s heart pounded with dread. The mention of Omari’s cousin, combined with the icy menace in his tone, left her with no room to argue. She had no choice but to comply, her spirit further crushed by the degrading situation. She stood there, half-dressed in the mutilated legging, her body exposed in the most humiliating way, knowing that whatever came next was entirely out of her control.

The boy handed Sylvia the torn top, and her heart pounded as she took it from him. Desperation clawed at her as she pulled the top over her head, praying that it would offer at least some coverage. She had watched in apprehension as the boy cut the fabric, hoping that he had cut it just low enough to cover her nipples, though she feared the top might not fully conceal her under side of her large breasts, which would be embarrasing enough.

As she adjusted the top, her worst fears were confirmed. The cut was far too high—at least an inch above her nipples. The fabric clung to her skin, exposing the almost entirety of her large breasts. Her areolas and nipples were completely visible, below cut off edges of the top.

Sylvia’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her chest, her hands desperately trying to cover her exposed nipples and her other hand moved to cover her exposed crotch, fingers trembling with both fear and humiliation. The scant coverage provided by the top did little to shield her from view, amplifying her sense of degradation and helplessness.

Standing there with her body so blatantly exposed, Sylvia felt a profound sense of shame and vulnerability. The thin, torn fabric mocked her attempts at modesty, leaving her feeling utterly dehumanized and powerless in the face of the men’s cruel intentions.

To Sylvia’s horror, Omari announced that they were going out for shopping. Her heart sank at the thought of having to venture outside in her humiliating state. “ I-I-I ca-ca-can’t go o-o-out like th-th-this.,” she protested weakly, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and embarrassment.

Omari’s response was cold and unyielding. “ Den me cuzzn gon’ show up, an’ we gon’ play right chyea first, ya feel me? Af’dat, he gon’ drag ya out fo’ shopping, ‘imself, no lie, like fo’ real,” he threatened with a menacing tone.

Sylvia’s stomach churned with dread. The prospect of Omari’s cousin arriving and the threat of being dragged outside made her comply. She quietly followed two boys as they walked out of her cabin, her body tense with anxiety.

Omari, however, was insistent. “ Ah, don’t ya hide yo’self, Auntie!” he commanded sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “ Now, be easy now. Keep dem hands right by your side, ya hear? I don’t want nobody thinkin’ I’m makin’ you do somethin’ you ain’t into, ya know? I’s a good boy, a real good boy. I wouldn’t never do no such t’ing!” His words dripped with hypocrisy.

Sylvia’s face flushed with deep humiliation as she reluctantly lowered her arms, exposing her vulnerable body. Every movement felt like an additional layer of shame as she fought to control her trembling hands and her desperate urge to cover herself. The thin top barely provided any cover, and her large breasts, with their exposed nipples and areolas, were on full display. Her hairy crotch, exposed from the ragged leggings, felt painfully cold and bare.

As she followed Omari, the shame of being paraded around in such a state was overwhelming. Her heart pounded with every step, each one a reminder of her helplessness and the degrading situation she found herself in. Despite her internal struggle, she was forced to comply, her dignity stripped away as she walked out of her cabin with her head lowered, as if hiding her face shielded her identity. That would be hard Sylvia being the only white woman, still remained in the entire Aprico Island.

Outside, a heavyset woman was waiting with a taxi that Omari had hired. Her eyes widened when she saw Sylvia in her humiliating state. “Wetin dey happen now o?” she exclaimed. Omari quickly explained,” Ah told ya ah had a playdate. She be mah playdate. Ah done paid all of ma weekly allowance already, so can ya just take us there for the drive?”

The woman frowned, noting that driving a white person was now illegal after the Anti-Foreigner Decree. She demanded extra money for the risk. Omari and his friend rummaged through their pockets and managed to find a bit more cash, which they handed over. The woman took it with a begrudging nod.

“Ah, sista!,” she said to Sylvia with a sneer, “Ya should be feelin’ major shy, sellin’ ya body to dese young bwais. Dey should be lef’ alone, keepin’ pure. Well, at least where ya headin’, ya gon’ blend in like ya always belonged da...”

Sylvia blushed deeply, her mind racing to understand the woman’s cryptic comment about where they were going.

In the cramped, aging Toyota sedan, Sylvia found herself wedged between Omari and Mosi in the back seat. The car smelled of old leather and engine oil, the interior worn and faded from years of use. Sylvia, seated in the middle, felt the two boys’ proximity acutely, their bodies pressing against her in the confined space.

As they settled into their seats, Omari’s friend turned to Sylvia with a friendly smile. “ Hey, by the way, my name be Mosi. Pleasure to meet ya, Auntie Snow. “ he said, his tone casual but with an edge that made Sylvia’s skin crawl.

Sylvia remained silent, her face a mask of embarrassment and fear. Omari, sitting on her left, prodded her gently but firmly. “ Ey, Auntie, no be disrespectful now, yeah? Give Mosi one good hello, will ya?”

Her cheeks burning with shame, Sylvia managed to mumble,” It’s, it’s n-n-nice to m-m-meet you.,” her voice barely audible. The words felt like a mockery of her situation as she sat almost naked, the thin remnants of her clothing doing little to cover her exposed body. She could feel the heat from Mosi’s body on her right, too close for comfort.

Mosi chuckled, his eyes glinting with a cruel amusement. “ Ah missed connectin’ wid ya the udda day,” he said, leaning slightly toward her. “Dem boys, Omari and his homies, dey chat about ya all da time. Yesterday, oh boy, all dey do was laugh and tawk ‘bout ya! Auntie do dis, Auntie do dat, Auntie fuck da dog, Auntie squirt all ova da place, Auntie shit herself! Dey jest couldn’t get enough, man, dey chatted non-stop!.”