Her body shook with fear; not only of her upcoming mutilation, she knew most women in Somalia and other places in Africa had this done routinely, as a...coming of age ritual, but of what it meant. She would not leave this place alive. Her last gleam of hope would be gone. All the slave girls, in the compound, lived in the hope, not of being freed, that just did not happen, but of being sold to some other, perhaps less cruel, less sadistic master; anyone, they believed, would be better than. “Absolutely!” He said enthusiastically. “You’d be surprised how wonderful a picture of a good set of feet would do to someone.” He hesitated. “I mean, your feet would make a really nice picture.” He really started to turn red and I gazed my own feet. I noticed the ankle bracelets and green polish and put them together and pointed them outward toward him. “Sure, go ahead,” I said with a slight chuckle and returned to reading my book. I glanced up several minutes later and saw him clicking away,. More

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