takas...

Takas... a Filipino word which means fugitive in English.

If you are running away from someone, then you would appreciate how difficult life is being a fugitive. But I guess, you are not, otherwise you wouldn't be reading my blog, right? You should be running... nyehehehe...

Kidding aside, I want to talk about a Filipina takas whom I met few days ago. Let's call her Marina. I know that it's now her real name but never mind, that's what she wants me to call her. She's young, just turned 24 years old few weeks ago, relatively sexy though not pretty or beautiful, and she's damn smart and cunning! I could easily detect that she knows how to sweet talk with anyone and she knows how to win anyone's trust to her advantage. Why I know these? Because... that's my style.

Let me continue. I saw Marina at Riyadh International School while covering an event for the school. I was shooting for the activities and the participants, when I accidentally bump onto her. Of course, I said sorry which she responded with a smile. I returned a smile, then continue shooting.

Later that day, I saw Marina at the canteen looking for a seat in the fully loaded tables. And trying to be a gentleman, I offered my seat, which she refused at first, but accepted because my seat mates insisted. Then they all roared teasing me. Marina once again flashed her full smile and said thank you.

I didn't loose a seat, actually. We shared the bench (she was slender) and while eating, we exchange few pleasantries. She gave me her name and asked who I am and I what I am doing here in Riyadh. Mindful of the people around, I kept my info confidential. I don't want these tsismosas (rumor mongers) around us to start making gossips about me or anybody. I just said that I am new here, and I work with the government. After several minutes, I went ahead of the group. But before I left, I gave her my number - because she asked for it.

That was Friday!

* * * * * * * * *

This afternoon, Marina surprised me with a call on my mobile phone. We had a talk and not just a simple talk but a very long and heartfelt conversation. I guess, I spent over an hour just talking to her (good thing I was not busy in the office). She confided to me that she is a fugitive. She left her employer three months ago because according to her, the male employer was attempting to sexually molest her.

These actions started just one month after her arrival here in Riyadh. She initially ignore the advances and try to fend off if the advances becomes physical. She was successful, she said, but after a year of servitude in the household, the master became more aggressive. There are times that the master would intentionally bring the wife for shopping together with kids but leave her in the house. And only after few minutes, she would be surprised because the master has return to the house without the family. The master would call her to the master's bedroom and request for a massage, but knowing she would be raped, she never complied to the command.

Twice, the master has attempted this to no success. But last August, the master made another attempt that - she said - almost succeeded. That time, the family had several visitors and she was asked to prepare food, serve, and perform all the household chores. She worked for straight 28 hours, before the madam finally allow her to rest in her quarters. Little did she knows that the master really planned to rape her. The master send the wife and the kids to the parents and then return to the house alone.

She was sleeping dead tired in her room, when the master opened the door (she said the master might have stolen her keys and duplicate it without her knowledge). She didn't notice him coming over to her bed, and it was already late when she realized that the master was naked on top of her. When the master realized that she was already awake, he ripped of her shirt (she was wearing bra) and tried to pull down her jeans.

Presence of mind, she said, was the crucial factor why she was able to escape. She kick him in the balls, pushed him, and run towards the kitchen. She immediately pulls a knife and went out of the house and knocks on the driver's quarters. Realizing nobody was there to help, she went out to the road and hail a passing taxi cab.

The Pakistani driver, who saw her with a knife, almost didn't let her in. But after seeing her half naked (only wearing a bed sheet to cover her upper body) and was running, he eventually took her away.

* * * *

She hangs up the phone without finishing the story, but she promised to call me tomorrow to continue.

Abangan.