People in Need

04/08/2013

14/07/2013

The top Irish psychiatrist Dr. Ivor Browne, former chief psychiatrist of the Irish Eastern Health Board, has started a campaign targetting bankers over the rising number of su***des amongst his patients.

Last year, Ed Honohan, the Master of the High Court (Ireland) stated in no uncertain terms that he had circumstantial evidence that banks were driving people to su***de over debt they simply cannot pay back.

Prof. Browne agrees, but states that
Unless you can make them [the banks] take personal responsibility, it is very difficult to get at them
Prof Browne finds out from his patients who the person putting the often severe pressure on obviously mentally unwell people is, and promptly writes this individual a formal notice, holding that banker or bank employee personally responsible in case his patient ends up committing su***de over the pressure put on them.
I am there to try to help in whatever way I can, and if there is something or someone that is clearly putting unfair pressure on patients, then I think that you have to address that.I think it is making waves in the background.

Prof Browne has called on other health care professionals to join in his action, a move that cold force banks and debt collection agencies to rethink their strategies, for fear of future lawsuits.
If their client is at risk and in great distress, and the clinician or therapist has a fear their patient could take their own life, then banks need to be made fully aware of this and steps need to be taken to ensure the individual is protected.
Given the unwillingness of the political and financial elites of the world to hold those who caused this crisis responsible for both the crisis and the tragic consequences of their often criminal activities, and given the enormous increase in su***des as a direct result of that unwillingness, this action by Prof Browne is timely, and should become the international standard.

11/07/2013

"I am not going to talk about the masses of municipality workers and policemen, civil servants, teachers and school guards who take to the streets every day protesting the upcoming lay-offs in the Greek public sector. I am going to talk about my friend Markos and my friend Giota. Two people in their 40′s.

Markos has a work, a responsible position in a private company. He gets in the hand no more than 900 euro net. But he hasn’t been paid since three months. His bank account is empty. A couple of days ago, he was shocked to discover that he had in his pocket just 29 euro and 65 cents.

“I was shocked!” he says “Not even when I was a student I would run around with just 30 euro in my pocket.”

Markos made this distressing discovery right there in front of a counter of a pharmacy. He needed a very specific medicine that that the Greek National Health Care System (EOPYY) does not prescribe anymore. Cost 34 euro. No generic available.

He left the pharmacy with a big questionmark on his face. “How could this happen?”

End of May, Giota found herself without a job – again. For the third time since the last four years. Her last job with a one-year contract had expired. She is still waiting her last salary: 980 euro. She walks around with a thoughtfully folded 20-euro banknote in her purse. Making a list of her top priorities: buy food for her and the cat, a shampoo, coffee, toilet paper. There is not much she can do with 20 euro. Paying utilities or rent is out of question before the salary arrives. Even borrowing money makes actually not much sense. She will have to pay it back, from what? She cannot apply to the unemployment agency. She has to pay her own medical insurance contributions. From what? From the zero income?

She needs work. Anything. One-time contracts, one-month contracts. Anything. She has sent more than 50 resumes in Greece and abroad. Even before her contract expired. She is willing to go everywhere in the world. So far, she had no concrete answer for a job opportunity. Neither inside nor outside the country.

We sit on bench and gaze at the sea. We sit and talk about the Greek reality: that more and more employees delay to pay their workers. Some on purpose, some because their businesses have just dried out of money.

That more and more sneaky people are wandering around trying to get advantage of your talent, of your needs. That they squeeze you and throw you away like a lemon without juice. That in best case they pay you half, even 1/4 or even 1/5 from the agreed amount.

Hustlers who secure funds through connections and as their golden snap opportunity in times of crisis and money shortage. Game-players who deal other other people’s money. And they want you to do the job for a piece of bread. The Greek “λαμόγια” who came out of the dark holes now that there is no monet for everyone.

We gaze at the sea and talk about how defenseless we feel. We, people with university degrees, foreign languages, modern technology skills and several years of work experience. But we do not know the right people in the right place. Neither are we the cousin of…, the children of…, the newphews and nices of….

We are just lost in our pathetic anonymity in a country where favoritism and nepotism prevail. We also do not trade blow jobs for real jobs. We are just too old for that.

We gaze at the sea and talk about that more and more people isolate themlselves socially. That they don’t have money to dine out, to go out for a coffee or a drink. That some have to turn a euro coin three times before they buy an ice cream for their kid.

We sit and wonder what force pushed us over here, to end up like this.

We talk with words that some times slip and turn into a joke. A good laugh over a screwed life.

We sit, gaze and talk – and deep in our heart, we know that things have better chances that they will soon be worse.

We sit and talk and the real unspoken bitterness, the frustration, the anger… swell from the pores of our words and form misty clouds that raise and spead over the ripples of the blue sea. We send our message bright and wide over the sea…

But we don’t give up hope. We can’t.
* names have been changed."
The above was first published on www.keeptalkinggreece.com on 11/07/2013. Nothing in the text has been altered or corrected.

- See more at: http://www.keeptalkinggreece.com/2013/07/11/greece-is-boiling-with-empty-pockets/ .XM9vEsqz.dpuf

08/07/2013

.... Continued

Vic looked at me and told me he for one had heard more than he could handle for one night. I was quite grateful to him for that. They did have the right to know, and I was the only one who could tell them, but recalling the events in all their unsavoury detail was not my idea of a relaxed evening with friends. I felt sorry for Aoife, and the look of utter shock on her face told me that she was thoroughly upset hearing my family’s story.

“I’m sorry Aoife, I didn’t really want you to hear all this” I said and put my arm around her shoulders.

“No Jean, on the contrary. I told you before, I need to hear all this, and I need to hear it from you. But I also think we’ve all heard enough for one night.” She stood up slowly and asked Veerle if it was ok to make a last cup of coffee for the evening. Both Katrien and Veerle took the hint and all three of them disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Vic, Fons, Eric and me waiting in the living room. After a few moments of awkward silence, Eric suddenly turned around and asked me if would like to go with him on Saturday, because he wanted to show me something he thought I would be interested in.

“I’ll be driving through Hove around lunch time, so I can pick you up and bring you back later if you like.”

I wondered what this was all about, and was just about to agree with him when the women walked back in, with coffee and the biggest fruit cake I had ever seen. Although she was smiling, I could see that Aoife had been crying and felt really bad for ruining her evening like that.

“Jean, Veerle has asked me to go to the city with her on Saturday. She says there are parts of Antwerp I’ll never get to see if Katrien is my only guide, and she promised to fill in the blank spaces.”

“Well” said Eric, “that’s just perfect, thank you dear. I just asked Jean if I could pick him up on Saturday around lunch time and show him the old place. I want to talk to him about it, see if we can possibly work something out together. I think it would be good for all of us. If you and Aoife are going to the city, then I assume you’ll want to take the early morning train? Maybe we should meet a little earlier then Jean, would that be ok?”

Katrien settled it by suggesting both Eric and Veerle come in for an early breakfast, and then we could all go our separate ways from her kitchen table.

A short while later Eric drove us back to Hove. Katrien disappeared into the kitchen to make the night time tea, Vic said he wanted to read a little before retiring for the night, and before I got a chance to speak, Aoife put her finger on my lips, pulled me right close to her and whispered that she would like a change of story.

“You look pretty shaken from telling us about this Jean, and I know I am. So let’s give a break for now, will we? Please?”

We said good night to both Vic and Katrien and retired upstairs with our tea. Aoife cuddled up close to me and while we drank our tea in comfortable silence, the soft, sad sound of Katrien playing the piano slipped in under our bedroom door.
"That is my absolute favourite piece of piano music, you know? I remember Katrien playing it fo me every time things g*t a little too much when I lived here as a child."

"Clair de la Lune it's called. According to Katrien, moonlight can resolve problems for you, if you can fiugre out how to listen to it. And this music was the key to being able to listen to moonlight."
"Music, Jean" she used to say,"is the language of the soul. With the right music, you can solve any problem you might have. Any problem."

Aoife put her cup on the bedside table and made it perfectly clear just how much she cared about us...

Saturday morning, Veerle and Eric arrived, as expected, at seven in the morning and we all sat down for a leisurely breakfast. Veerle and Aoife planned on taking the 8.30 train into the city, and Aoife was, as always, visibly excited about the day ahead of her.

Katrien poured her special morning coffee and passed around the fresh bread she had made earlier.

“Aoife”, said Veerle, “Eric and I had a long discussion about this yesterday. For a while now we have been looking for the right person to work with me in the shop, 3 afternoons a week. Would you be interested?” Aoife nearly dropped her mug of coffee and looked at me with the biggest pair of watery green eyes she could manage to produce.

“Don’t look at me sweetie“; I said smilingly, “she’s asking you, not me.”

This was one of the very few moments in her life that Aoife was speechless. She sat, staring at me, tracing invisible patterns in the air with her hands and furiously chewing the bread she still had in her mouth.

“Take it easy Aoife” Eric said,” you’ve all day to talk this over with Veerle. We just thought it fair that Jean here would be aware of the possibility.”
“And, while we are talking possibilities, it is also only fair that you know that I am going to show Jean a property we own. If you two think it feasible, we would love to have you living in it. Vic tells us that Jean is good with his hands, and the house needs some repairs doing to it. We are mainly looking for somebody we can trust to live in it, somebody who will keep it in good order.”

Veerle saw the look on our faces and quickly reassured Aoife that they didn’t expect a decision from either one of us straight away.

“Don’t worry Aoife, we know you need to make the decision on the house together, Eric just wants to know if Jean thinks he is up to the job before getting your hopes up. Katrien and Vic will tell you, it a magical place, for the right people. Now, shall we go and take over the city while the men do their thing?” They left through the back g*te, with the last minute addition of Vic who wanted to go and find yet another book. Katrien welcomed the peace and quiet, as she needed to prepare for the next concert, and shortly after Eric and I left as well.

“Isn’t this a different road from the one we took on Thursday?”
“Yes, well spotted. We live in Duffel, the property we own is on the other side of Lier, near a place called Nijlen. It’s about half an hour away”

While we drove, Eric told me about the place.

“It is in fact 2 properties turned into one. It is split in two by the river, the Kleine Nete. My father was the local farrier, and owned the land and house on the south side of the river. Veerle’s uncle was the local miller, and he owned the land and the house on the north side of the river. Fons, her dad, was the area doctor. Both Veerle and I are only children, and we inherited the properties. It’s quite an impressive place, very quiet and peaceful, you’ll see.

“So, you and Veerle must have known each other as children?”

Eric laughed out loud. “We sure did, we first met when I was two. Two days old that is! We were born in the same hospital, Veerle is two days younger than me. We did indeed grow up together, we were even childhood sweethearts. And then the war got in the way. Veerle’s uncle and her mum were executed by the withdrawing Germans, and she moved to Antwerp to study music. She ended up living there, playing with the orchestra. That’s where she met Katrien, and they became very good friends.
I went to Leuven to study history, and Veerle and I lost contact. Shortly after the war her auntie died, and we met up again at the funeral. Her uncle had always been very fond of Veerle, she was the child he and his wife couldn’t have, and they left her the land, the house and the watermill.

Between Veerle and me, one thing lead to another, as it does, and we married 3 years later. I had meanwhile secured a job in Mechelen, and we moved to Duffel, which was a location compromise for both of us. So, we have this idyllic property here by the river, but it is not a convenient place to live for us. And we don’t want to sell it, especially not Veerle. Her uncle and mum were shot in the grain store, and she feels she cannot sell, even if she was offered a good price for it.”

Suddenly, Eric slowed down, took a sharp right and said “Look, here it is, on the other side of the canal. This canal is brand new, you know that? This area used to flood regularly. The canal has made a big difference here, and it has brought a lot of industry to the area as well. I’m not too sure if that is a good thing though, it’s all changing very fast.”
..........to be continued

20/06/2013

Giannis has been a cello player for the Greek national orchestra for the past 22 years. Last week, the Prime Minister decided to shut it down. But a massive outcry can stop Samaras from extinguishing Greek culture.

18/06/2013

We lived less than a ten minute walk from the barber shop, and on the way home I found myself deliberately slowing down in order to figure out a way of telling Mum about this without creating a full blown crisis. I eventually reached our home, none the wiser as to how I was going to break this to Mum.
I ran up the stairs, let myself in and walked into the kitchen to find Mum slumped on the table with two empty wine bottles and a half empty cognac bottle next to her. There was no sign of my brother.

“This was the last thing anybody needed” I told Fons and the others.
“I tried to get Mum to move but couldn’t. She had passed out once again, as had been happening a lot lately. Pierre had reached a new low in his selfishness, not only had he left Mum on her own in the kitchen, he was simply not in the flat.”

Once again I found myself having to deal with the whole mess on my own. Mum was hell bend on drinking herself to death and Pierre couldn’t care about anybody but himself, so why would I? Moni was the one who made it impossible for me to leave. I simply could not leave her deal with all of this on her own, she was not strong enough for any of this, and had her own devils to deal with.

I went into Mum’s bedroom, stripped back the bed covers and made sure there was nothing she could hurt herself with within reach. I then went back to the kitchen and lifted her off her chair to carry her to her bedroom. Suddenly life got an awful lot more difficult. As soon as I picked her up I knew she had soiled herself in her drunken stupor. There I was, standing in the kitchen, carrying my unconscious mother, not knowing what to do, when somebody knocked on the front door. I put Mum back on the chair, made sure she couldn’t slip off, and went to see who was calling up. Much to my surprise, it was Yvette’s mother who had decided to come and check on things as Yvette had told her she hadn’t seen Moni for such a long time and was getting worried. She must have seen right through me, for she took one look at me, walked in, closed the door and said:

“You better tell me what’s going on here Jean. You look very, very worried. Shall we go to the kitchen and you can tell me over a cup of coffee maybe?”

Before I could stop her, she opened the kitchen door and saw Mum.

“Oh my God! Jean, what is going on here?”

I told her what the problem was with Mum and why I hadn’t managed to get her to bed to sleep it off and she looked at me in absolute horror.

“I can’t say I blame her” she said, “after all she has been put through. I’ll take care of this Jean, don’t worry. Can you get her to the bathroom?”

Between us, we managed to get Mum cleaned up and in bed. I didn’t want to leave Mum alone, so we sat down in the kitchen and I told her everything. I just couldn’t hold back my tears any longer and cried my heart out while talking to this woman who was really a total stranger to me. In the middle of all this, Pierre came back carrying a bag with more wine.

“Oh,” he said when he saw me and Yvette’s mother in the kitchen, “did she finally pass out then? About time, these will hold for the next time.”

Before I managed to get up Yvette’s mother had jumped up, turned around and slapped him so hard he dropped the bottles. The look of total shock and surprise on his face was wiped off with another slap, and before he knew what was happening he was wrestled on to a chair by the woman. She was white with rage and it was obvious she was finding it very hard to control herself. Pierre got another slap across the head before she sat down again.

She looked at me and said

“Jean, I’ll stay here, sort this idiot out and look after your Mum. You need to go to Moni, she needs you now more than any other time. On your way back, will you just drop in to Yvette and tell her I’m here with your Mum. You can also tell her I’ve changed my mind, she can go off tonight with her friends, but she must be back at midnight the latest.”

I hurried back to Sarah and Isaac, with a little stopover at Yvette’s place. When she saw me she wanted to know all about Moni. I told her I didn’t have the time to tell her the full story now, but we would, as her mother suggested, call around very soon. The bribe of being allowed out that evening didn’t work, and I had no choice but to take Yvette with me back to Moni.

“Oh Jean, you must have heard us!” The gendarme smiled when she saw Yvette walk in with me. “We were just talking about Yvette, and here she is.” Moni fell into Yvette’s open arms and they comforted each other while tears freely rolled down their faces.
Isaac got up and went into the kitchen, followed by the gendarme who beckoned me the follow them.

“Jean, things are obviously not good with Moni. We are going to have to work something out for her before she goes off the rails completely“, said the gendarme. “And call me Natalie, please. I’m here as a friend, not as a gendarme. Don’t ever call me by my name in the station or when I’m in uniform, but any other time it’s Natalie, ok?” I nodded in agreement and proceeded to tell her what was going on at home. She looked at me, put her hand on my shoulder and said, “You’re an exceptional young man Jean. Nobody else your age that I know off would be able to handle this the way you do. Let’s find a way of taking some of this load of your shoulders, ok?”

We went back into the living room, where Moni was telling her story to Yvette.
“Yvette proved to be the rock Moni needed. Without her I doubt it if Moni would have gotten through this hell”.

We decided to go back to our flat and see if we talk this over between all of us, including Mum, Yvette’s mother and Pierre. Back at the flat, Pierre was still sitting in the exact same position he had been when I left. Yvette’s mum introduced herself as Sophie, and told me it was quite ok for me to call her by her name.
“We’re a little too involved with all of this to keep up the Madame Florent bit, aren’t we?”

Natalie told us that she knew there would be no action taken against Moni, her boss had confirmed that after talking to the prosecutor. That was conditional on Moni going on this detox program, which she readily agreed to.
"But she needs more than that, " Natalie said, "Moni needs a lot of help in comming to terms with everything that is happening in her young life. I think she also needs to be taken out of the immediate environment of her family. That is not a reflection on you Jean, far from it. I think that your presence and attitude is what has been preventing her from going off the rails completely. she needs you now, more than ever."

It was agreed that Moni would go and stay with Sophie and Yvette for the time being. Sophie was a widow and had a pension she could live on, so she didn’t have to work and could keep an eye on the girls. Natalie had already organized the detox program for Moni and would sort some backup for Sophie and Yvette in case it was needed.

“She was absolutely fantastic. She had lots of contacts in the social services, and new a good few broadminded people in the university whom she said she could rely on to help. She actually left the gendarmerie about a year ago, and went back to university to study psychology.”

The whole arrangement did of course hinge on Mum’s agreement. Sophie thought it best that Moni went with them straight away, she really didn’t want Moni to see her Mum in the state she was in. Natalie agreed and promised to visit Moni every day to see how she was doing. She kept that promise for the full two years it took Moni to get back on her feet.

Sophie, Yvette and Moni left a few minutes later, and Natalie turned to Pierre. She asked him how Mum managed to get into the state she was in when he was supposed to be looking after her. He flatly told her that all Mum wanted to do was get drunk, and if that kept her off his back then that was fine by him, he wouldn’t stop her.
“So you just sat and watched her drink herself into a stupor? Where was the alcohol hidden? Jean tells me there was none in the house.”

“There wasn’t. I went a got it and gave it to her. It always works. She gets stupid drunk, falls asleep and I can go and do what I have to do. I not her babysitter, her bottle is!”

09/06/2013

...Continued

Moni told us that she was really badly hurt after Mum slapped her and she left, fully intending to kill herself at the same spot Elfje had died. When she arrived there she sat on the bench for a while, and that’s were Yvette’s mother, who was out walking their dog, found her. She convinced Moni to go home with her and talk and think things over there, with them. Moni did, and obviously changed her mind. Two days later Moni told them that she would go home and try and talk with Mum.

Before going home, she went back to the river and sat on the bench she and Yvette had been sitting on when Elfje drowned. While she was sitting there, staring into nothing, a young man, in his mid-twenties, joined her on the bench. He started talking to her and soon put one and one together. Moni said he was so easy to talk to, and before she knew it she was telling him how she just had had enough of it all and wanted to leave. But being only 14, that was not the easiest thing to do, and she had no money either. The young man told Moni he could help her with that, if she wanted to. He explained to her how lucky she was because he was very busy but somebody else who was working for him had dropped out and he had to do that person’s work as well, which is why he had passed by when he did.



“Moni told us he needed somebody to run an errant for him 3 or 4 times a week, and that if she wanted the job she could earn 5 Francs every time, which was a lot of money, especially for a 14 year old. Last time I spoke to Mum she was earning just over 2 Francs an hour!”
The man told her she could start immediately if she wanted to, and Moni didn’t need telling twice.

“He took a small package, about the size of a cigarette pack, from his pocket and gave it to Moni, with precise instructions where and who to deliver it to. Moni was told not to ever ask about the contents, not to give it to anybody else than the person she was told to give it to, and not to talk to anybody about her job.”
He said he would have another package for her in two days, and they arranged to meet somewhere in the first arrondissement so that he could give it to her. She would then also get paid for her previous delivery.

“This went on for a few weeks, and the guy started taking Moni to the house by the cathedral where I had followed her to. She would not always get a package to deliver. Sometimes he would make some mint tea and they would, at first, just sit and talk. She did realize that the tea made her feel a little strange, but it felt nice so she didn’t really mind. He sometimes had a little present for her, and encouraged her to bring a few changes of clothes to the house and leave them there for when she needed them. He would give her hugs and little kisses, and before she knew it she had more or less moved in with him and regularly found herself in his bed. She considered herself to be his girlfriend.”

She said she did it because he was the only one who cared and paid any attention to her. He made her feel wanted. He also gave her what she called “funny cigarettes” which made her feel really nice.

And then, on the day I followed her, things changed drastically. When she went with him to collect the package, he told her that he had found a way for her to make a lot more money than she was making. He told her were to drop the package, and then gave her another address to go to.
“All she had to do was be “nice” to the man at the address, in the same way she was nice to him in bed, and he would pay her another 5 Francs for the service. It would only take about 30 minutes, and then she was to come back to the house. He told her he had more “work” arranged for her that afternoon.”

The gendarmes had heard enough and a few patrols were dispatched to arrest the man. It was only afterwards that we found out that they had been aware of this gang, but couldn’t do anything because they had no proof. The gang consisted of ex-military who had fought against the Neo Destour in Tunisia and felt betrayed by the French government when Tunisia was granted independence. They had a particular dislike for “Le Général” and had plans to build some sort of an army to fight the government restore France’s colonial power. They raised money in a variety of ways, including drugs, prostitution and protection rackets. The packages Moni had been delivering for them contained o***m, a very profitable trade set up with the assistance of like-minded military who had served in French Indochina. Moni's "employer" was one of those.

Katrien, sitting next to Vic, had been sobbing quietly throughout the story, and finally managed to ask the one question none of them dared ask.

“Where is Moni now?”

I told them that the female gendarme had been absolutely fantastic with Moni. She organized medical assistance for my sister, and got her into a detox program officially reserved for military who had returned as addicts from Cambodia, Siam and Vietnam. She effectively took over from Mum, who simply couldn’t handle any of this.

“Did your mother become ill again?”

“I don’t know Fons. She withdrew from life all over again, started drinking heavily and once again lost her job. She just argued with everybody about everything all the time. She also got very aggressive, especially with Moni.
One evening we were in the flat, it was one of the rare days that Mum hadn’t had a drink. She sometimes did this. Somehow, she found the courage to face what she was doing and decided to change her ways. She would invariably lapse within two or three days, but we always lived in hope that this time it would be different.

“I think Moni had been waiting for this moment. For no particular reason, Moni suddenly got up from her chair, walked over to Mum and put her face right close up to Mum’s. That’s when she spoke to Mum for the first time in months.
She hissed “I hate you!” and left the flat. Moni’s body language, the way she spat the three words at Mum made it very clear she meant what she had said.
The expression of complete shock on Mum’s face is something I'll never forget, and I really didn't know whether to stay with Mum and try and help her through the inevitable crisis, or go after Moni. I decided to go after Moni and told my brother not to leave Mum alone, under any circumstances.
“Look after her, she’ll need you!” I said, hoping that somehow he would manage to look up and realize his family was more important than he was.

I caught up with Moni before she could disappear into the maze of little streets around where we lived. We walked silently to the river where she finally gave in to her emotions. She shrieked Elfjes name at the top of her voice, and started sobbing uncontrollably.

I knew I was the only beacon of safety in what Moni increasingly perceived as a hostile, unsafe world and stood motionless, holding her tight, in an effort to give her some of that elusive safety she so craved for.

The soft, gentle touch of a hand on my shoulder startled me and I looked up into the face of a woman who asked us if we would like to come in a sit down in the privacy of her house. She turned out to be the wife of the barber who had witnessed Elfje’s drowning. He had recognized us and had asked his wife to come and help us while he finished with his customer and then closed up for the day. We went through the barbershop into the small living room behind the shop where the woman introduced herself as Sarah and asked us to sit down. She sat next to Moni, took my sister’s hand in hers and just sat with her while Moni cried endless tears.

The barber came in and introduced himself as Isaac. He beckoned me into the kitchen and while making coffee he asked if there was somebody we could get to help Moni.

“Your sister is in a very dark, dangerous place Jean, she needs help. Is there anybody you can think off who can help her? What about her mother, other family, friends?”

I told him I didn’t think Mum would be a good idea because of what had happened earlier, and mentioned the gendarme as Moni’s best chance. She got on with her, and they liked each other.

“Ok Jean, what's that woman's name? I’ll go to the station and find her, you MUST go and at least tell your mother. No matter what happened, she must be told what is happening with her daughter. Sarah will look after your sister, don’t worry. Let’s get moving.”

He took the coffee in to his wife and Moni, and told Sarah that we were going to get help for Moni. I told Moni she was safe and asked her to wait with Sarah, I wouldn’t be long.
..to be continued.