Chapter 2

Three months earlier, Kevin and Denise had finished their second year of college, and had completed the formal requirements to receive masters’ degrees in educational program development. Since they hadn’t completed their bachelors’ work, getting their master’s required a number of special waivers—but it was done. The pair enrolled in a six-week summer session and each added nine credit-hours toward their academic progress, which would allow them to take graduate courses in London. For the balance of the summer, they planned to visit Jakarta and Kevin’s honorary “family” there, the Coris Foundation staff, especially his “Aunt” Janet Davis, its executive director, who knew him from his birth and whom Kevin had regarded as his second mother.

Summer session ended and the two left for Indonesia after arranging for Denise’s mother to ship some of their household and winter clothing items to London so they’d have them available after they arrived and had gotten settled.

Arriving at Soekarno-Hatta International Airport, the two were amazed at the greeting they received, since virtually all of the long-time staff of the Foundation came out to meet them and brought them to a country club for a welcome-home party. The last time Kevin had been in Jakarta had been four years earlier; that was when his parents had been killed in the terrorist bombing, and just two weeks later, he had left for the U.S. to attend high school. He had last seen Aunt Janet in Seoul three years ago when she visited him during his South Korean high-school scholar-exchange program.

Janet spent much of the first two days bringing Kevin up to date on the Foundation’s projects and he got to meet many of the newer field workers. It became apparent that the work of the Foundation was flourishing under Janet’s management; she had secured a number of grants to support their humanitarian work and was able to fund operations using the yields of the investments which the Foundation held. Their activities had grown so substantially that Janet needed to bring a financial specialist into her management group and had recruited an expert from London, someone who actually happened to have Indonesian roots too.

This was Elliott Hadad; he had been the controller for an NGO based in London that supported humanitarian projects in Africa. He was British by nationality but he had grown up in Indonesia; his parents had been British international aid workers when they were younger, working in Southeast Asia. They were still working in international aid and were currently employed by the African Union and were based in England. Janet had recruited Hadad as the Coris Foundation’s CFO and he had moved back to Jakarta about two years earlier.

Three days after Kevin and Denise had arrived in Jakarta, Janet told them that she had invited Hadad and his daughter to dinner that evening.

“I told you that when Elliott returns from his trip, I’d invite him for dinner—well, he’s back a day early, so they’ll be here at 5:30; I know he really wants to meet you,” she told them. “The Hadads have an interesting but sad story that I know you’ll want to hear.”

Early that evening, Elliott Hadad arrived with his daughter Amelia, a very pretty 16-year-old; Elliott looked quite Western despite his name. Amelia’s features had a hint of her Indonesian heritage. Hadad was very astute and immediately detected Denise’s appraising look. He grinned at her and then took one of her hands in his, shaking Kevin’s with his other hand.

“I’m really very pleased to finally get to meet you, Kevin, and you, Denise; Janet’s always talking about you. And yes, Denise, I get that look a lot. People think I’m Arabic, or Indonesian, or whatever, from my name—and my accent too—but I’m mostly a Brit, actually. So don’t be embarrassed at my catching your stare. The disconnect between my name and Western appearance just means that I’ve got a complex history; lots of us who work in foreign charities have histories similar to mine. And this charming person here”—he drew his daughter in front of him as she was shyly standing behind him— “is my wonderful daughter, Amelia. Amelia, meet Denise and Kevin. Janet is Kevin’s honorary aunt,” he grinned.

“Pleased,” she nodded her head as she touched her hand to Kevin’s and Denise’s, then dropped her eyes.

Denise and Kevin glanced at each other and the nonverbal message passed between them: “This is a troubled girl in pain... ”

Kevin glanced at Amelia and again felt a surge of compassion for her as he tried to conceal his concerned expression from the others.

“Say, folks,” Janet broke in. “Let’s go sit and chat; dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

They walked out into a screened and covered courtyard filled with tropical plants and flowers.

“Oh my,” Denise breathed. “so pretty.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Janet replied. “It’s my hobby and very relaxing. And the plants don’t talk back but they do appreciate the attention.”

The others chuckled.

“So Denise, Kevin, tell us about your planned London venture,” Janet began. “You’ve done a great job in keeping us up on your antics for the past year; thank heavens for videochat—but that time difference between us is the pits. Anyway, you didn’t tell us much about your school plans—why go to London now?”

The two explained their academic plans and how the classes in London would fit in.

“So Elliott,” Denise said after she had been thoroughly questioned, “you mentioned that you had a complex history; is it something you can share?”

“Oh, yes. Well, part of it depends on Amelia and it’s terribly personal; if she’s comfortable with her part, since it involves both of us.”

Amelia looked at her father with a sad expression. “Oh, it’s okay, Papa, I don’t want to always keep hiding. That’s why I like to do my acting classes and the plays, you know. So go ahead.”

Denise sensed the emotions which underlaid Amelia’s response and her heart melted. She moved over to Amelia and took her hand.

“Amelia ... my, that’s such a pretty name...” Then she leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I can see you’re tense and troubled. It shows in your face and how you hold your body. Later we’ll talk privately if you want but I want you to know that I’ll try to help you, okay? I had bad things happen to me and learned from them and I want to help others. Can we talk later?”

Denise looked up at the others. “Sorry, I just wanted to mention something privately. Anyway, Amelia, you have a very pretty name.”

Amelia gripped her hand firmly but giggled. “Thank you, but that’s funny. Actually Amelia means ‘beautiful’ in Arabic...”

“Oh my, that is funny,” Denise interjected.

“Yes, in Indonesia we take names from Arabic, Sanscrit, Javanese, and some other native languages as well,” Janet added.

Amelia leaned over to Denise and whispered, “Thank you, that was amazing, how you know how I feel, and yes, let’s talk later.”

Hadad cleared his throat. “Well, I guess it’s my turn then. So my folks are Brits, as I said, and I was born right here in Jakarta. I went to school here and also in England for a few years; my parents have a little home near Birmingham, but I graduated secondary school here and then went to university in Kuala Lampur where I studied finance. That’s where I met Kalila, Amelia’s mum, she was Indonesian and was reading nursing; we met in her second year there. Kalila’s father had died when she was a teen and she had to fight for getting her uni education against her conservative mother—that whole side of her family is very, ahh ... traditional. She had been able to get a scholarship because nurses are always needed.

“After we completed our courses, I went to England for advanced schooling and got my doctorate and that’s where Amelia was born, in London, actually. Kalila took a position with a hospital in London and that’s how things remained until a few years ago when the story changed. Kalila’s hospital had arranged a medical mission to Freetown, Sierra Leone; that was five years ago, and you remember about the Ebola outbreak then? Kalila became infected and they couldn’t save her.”

“Oh my god,” Denise and Kevin sighed. “So sorry...” “That’s terrible...”

“Thanks,” he went on. “Then Janet recruited me—maybe a year or so later—and I moved Amelia here the following year; she was living with my folks back in England. I should have left her there with them...” he choked.

“Oh, Papa...” Amelia whispered. “Not your fault...”

“But I so missed her,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I put her in the AIS Indonesia School here; it’s a good school. She was 13, almost 14. Okay if I continue your story, darling?” he asked Amelia.

She nodded, her eyes shiny with her own unshed tears.

“I was stupid and not really aware of how pigheaded Kalila’s family was. Her father was enlightened, but not her mother or the rest of them. One day, one of Amelia’s aunts—that is, Kalila’s brother’s wife—forged my name to a note to pull Amelia out of school for a quote-religious celebration-unquote. The school office clerk let her go but when the headmaster’s secretary heard, she got suspicious, checked the note, and called me to verify it. While they were trying to reach me, the school did some checking and found out that the only religious ceremony going on then was a mass ceremony to perform sunat perempuan. That’s Indonesian—sunat means ‘to circumcise’ and the whole term refers to ‘female circumcision,’ which, as you might know, is a euphemism for female genital mutilation. Or FGM. Campaigns in the human rights field are trying to eradicate that awful practice.”

Kevin and Denise were listening with their attention riveted on Hadad. Denise shuddered and glanced at Amelia whose hands were clasped in her lap and she was looking down. Then she looked up as her father stopped speaking to dab at his eyes.

“Let me tell the next, Papa,” she said quietly.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I need to be able to talk about it.”

“If you’re sure...”

“Yes. Auntie took me to—it was an old school building; she said it was a coming-of-age ceremony that everyone does. But when I got into this room, there were kids, little girls of all ages, some crying and holding themselves in pain, some lying on the classroom desks with their privates all exposed and women holding them down, and there was crying and screams all around. I tried to run out but they caught me and held me struggling there for maybe an hour, I think. I kept looking at that clock on the wall. Auntie said we had to wait our turn and I was trying to get away but the woman holding me was too strong; I kept trying to kick her so they used a towel to tie my legs.

“Then they came for me and dragged me to a desk and stretched me out on it—it was a hard desk! Wooden with sharp edges! And they pulled up my school skirt and my undies down. I was yelling and kicking and trying to pull free but then two women held my legs apart so I couldn’t move. Then I felt a sharp stab into my private parts and maybe that gave me more energy ‘cuz I jerked real hard and pulled loose before this woman, she was holding a pair of little scissors, could jab me again. I kicked at her, hit her wrist, and she backed away; the two women were trying to push me down again—and that’s when I was grabbed by Papa! And two policemen grabbed the women who were trying to hold me,” she gasped, her tears flowing now.

Denise wrapped her in a hug.

“Yes, I wasn’t quite in time,” Hadad picked up the story. “I had learned where she was taken and got the police to go with me by claiming a kidnapping, which it really was, and I did rescue her, but she had apparently struggled fearsomely and that delayed their taking her to do the mutilation straightaway when she arrived because they thought her screams would so panic the other children who were much younger; that would give them a bigger problem with the rest of them. She was very much the oldest girl there. So they waited to take her until most of the others were done. Anyway, her genital area had been partially cut into when she wrested herself free; that woman wasn’t able to do more than make one sloppy incision, a stab with a scissors, and the wound was bleeding profusely. That’s when I pulled her off that bloody—and I mean bloody in both senses of the term—desk.”

Kevin shook his head in shock. “I thought that stuff only happened in Africa...”

“Oh, no,” Janet said. “It’s awful that it’s such a widespread custom. Yes, Africa is one major region where this barbaric practice takes place, but it’s common here too—you know that Indonesia is the most populous Islamic country in the world, right? Well, FGM is a misguided cultural practice which many Muslims perform despite its denouncement by progressive Muslim clerics. Despite that, many leading traditional Muslim clerics are becoming ever more insistent that it’s a sacred duty, no matter that the Qur’an doesn’t mention the practice and it’s actually outlawed by the governments in most Islamic countries. Not in Indonesia, however.”

“So it’s that big of a problem here?” Denise asked, dismayed.

“Quite,” Janet confirmed. “A major one. Our foundation, you know, works to provide medical and legal aid to our needy populations in Southeast Asia. So I’m very familiar with the FGM problem here. Listen: In the last health survey we did, our researchers found that between 85 to 100 percent of the households in Indonesia subjected their daughters to genital cutting but this was usually performed before the age of five, but ages up to teens are done too, like what happened to Amelia. And the practice has a high acceptance too; more than 90 percent of adults support continuing the practice.

“Our survey asked clerics why they support doing this and a common answer is that it’s necessary to control women’s sexual urges and that women must be chaste to preserve their beauty.”

Denise stared at her with an incredulous expression. “No!”

“You’re not convinced?” Janet said. “Then try responding coherently to this reason, mentioned by a woman who performs the mutilations. She said something to the effect that the cutting was helpful to girls’ health because it balances their emotions so they don’t get sexually over-stimulated.”

Denise and Kevin were listening, shaking their heads in disbelief.

“It gets worse—the reasons given by some other women were just as bad. One woman claimed that it helps girls to urinate more easily and reduces the bad smell,” Janet said with a disgusted gesture. “But the take-home message that we try to pound into people is that female genital mutilation is absolutely not part of Muslim law.”

“That’s so true,” Hadad continued. “And Kalila escaped being mutilated as a youngster because her father was progressive and forbade it. I never would have brought Amelia back here if I realized...”

“Papa, it’s okay, not your fault,” Amelia said insistently.

“Well, we’re at the point where medicine has the ability to do microsurgery now,” Hadad went on. “So my folks were in touch with doctors in the hospital in Birmingham where they live...”

“Yeah, that’s where that Malala girl from Pakistan who was shot in the head was treated!” Amelia interjected.

“ ... but they don’t do neurological microsurgery there, instead they recommended a hospital in London where a procedure using computer-assisted robotic microscopes was developed. I can get Amelia in easily because she’s a Brit citizen and I’ll be paying privately. Only now we need to wait a year to do it,” Hadad concluded.

“Why’s that?” Denise asked.

“My parents were going to see to her care during the treatments, which would take place over six months. But they’ve just been assigned to a humanitarian project in Accra in Ghana for a year. I can’t go to London for that long now, either. Janet says I should go, but we’ve got this critical grant coming up that’s hugely important for the Foundation’s future. Amelia says she’s okay with waiting but I know her condition is painful. She’s had some treatments to try to help her pain but the docs here say that the cutting damaged an important nerve.”

Kevin came over to Denise, leaned over, and whispered in her ear; she nodded and he stood up.

“Listen: I have a proposal for you and want you to take it seriously and not assume that it’s a courteous offer I’m just making to be polite. Denise and I want to be Amelia’s guardians while we’re in London so she can get her treatments...”

Both Hadad and Janet began to object to Kevin’s proposal.

“ ... no, no, please wait; let me go on.” Kevin held up his hand. “I’ve done this guardian thing before, actually. Denise’s mom appointed me as Denise’s legal guardian when she got her new job and had to move hundreds of miles away. I mean this seriously. My parents thought I was sufficiently mature to emancipate me when I was only 16—at Amelia’s age, actually. And I was 17 when I was Denise’s guardian. I can do this and I want to do this. Okay, let’s hear your thoughts. Aunt Janet, why did you begin to protest?”

“Well, Kevin, I’m not questioning your maturity or commitment. But you have your own life plus a demanding academic program this year,” she pointed out.

“Good points; I won’t debate them because it would appear that I’m downplaying their importance. And those are definitely significant considerations. But that’s what life is like, isn’t it, after all? It’s meeting one’s responsibilities. I’m used to taking on responsibility. I think I have the need to be challenged with significant responsibilities. It actually makes me work harder when I’ve committed to a major obligation. Besides, being the guardian for a high-school girl would be great practice for when I have kids of my own, don’t you think?”

The group all laughed, the tension being broken somewhat.

“Elliott, what’s keeping you from agreeing?” Kevin went on.

Hadad looked at Janet. “I see what you meant about Kevin. I don’t think I could come up with a cogent argument to deny him anything!”

Denise giggled. “Yep. He absolutely has that effect on people. And I agree; Kevin and I need to do this. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Young man, I don’t know what to say ... Why would you do this ... this incredible mercy ... for someone you’ve only known for such a short time?”

“Elliott, you know that we all need to do this. Amelia needs it and so do you. Both Denise and I can feel Amelia’s pain; we felt it as soon as we saw her. She’s masking it well, but she’s suffering and you are too. I know you’re a good person, because Aunt Janet would never have given you this job otherwise. I want to do this for you both because you both need the help and, as Denise said, it’s the right thing to do.”