The Girl With No Name: The Incredible True Story of a Child Raised by Monkeys

by Marina Chapman

  I waved a hand dismissively. ‘I have a job for you. You want it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I need you to go to a house.’ I told him which street it was. ‘The first one,’ I added, describing it to him as best I could. ‘The other side of the bridge, OK? Ask for Maruja – you got that? Maruja. And whisper this message to her. It’s very important that you whisper. Tell her Rosalba is waiting for her. Then bring her back here, to me.’

  The boy pulled a face. ‘And you expect me to do this for free?’ He was obviously a true Colombian-raised child.

  ‘I have many sweets in my pocket,’ I said. ‘And you can have them all as soon as you bring the lady to me.’ I was lying, of course, but this would be a valuable lesson for the boy. Never trust a Colombian.

  ‘So show me the sweets,’ he said. He was learning pretty fast.

  ‘I said only when you return with her. Didn’t you hear me the last time? Tell her Rosalba is waiting. Go on. Hurry! Hurry, or I’ll be gone before you’re back. And then you’ll get nothing. OK?’

  I watched the boy run away and could feel my heart pounding. Would she be there? Would she come? Was she even still alive? I tried not to think what I’d do if the boy didn’t return.

  I was just beginning to think he had run away, sweets or no sweets, when Maruja appeared from around the corner. I felt joy and relief swell inside me as she approached, but she seemed markedly anxious about seeing me. She was dressed smartly, I noticed, and carrying a purse. I felt panic rise in me. Was she already planning to get a taxi and take me back?

  ‘Rosalba!’ she said, taking me by the shoulders and shaking me. ‘What are you doing here? Why did you come? It’s too dangerous for you here!’

  I started to answer, but she was too cross to listen and carried on, ‘Why did you run away? You were safe there! Oh, no …’ She began looking around frantically in all directions. ‘Rosalba, you have to understand, they are looking for you. They have their gang working to search for you and kill you. Don’t you realise?’

  I shook my head miserably. I hated that she was shouting at me. ‘I came to find you,’ I whimpered. ‘I came to find you.’

  Maruja’s expression softened. ‘Oh, Rosalba …’ she said.

  ‘I came to find you because you didn’t come. You said you’d come every Saturday. But you didn’t. I was so worried …’

  ‘Oh, Rosalba,’ she said again. ‘Rosalba, I couldn’t. It was too dangerous for me to go to you. They were after you. They were seriously out to find you and kill you. You have no idea how scared I was that they would. And I felt sure they had an idea that I was in some way connected, Rosalba. They were watching me too – that’s why I couldn’t come to you. I didn’t dare to. They could have followed me. They probably would have followed me. And I would have led them straight to you. And they would have found a way …’

  She fell silent, glancing up and down the street again. I saw that the little boy was lingering a few yards away, but apart from that the street was empty. For now, at least.

  ‘Come on,’ said Maruja, having obviously decided on a course of action. ‘Come on, come with me. We have to take you straight back there.’

  ‘But I don’t want to go back! I want to stay with you!’

  ‘Rosalba, you can’t. You know that.’

  ‘But I can’t go back there! I won’t! They beat me, Maruja! They beat all the orphans!’ I yanked at the collar of my dress so she could glimpse my ‘bruises’.

  She gasped. ‘They beat you?’

  I nodded miserably.

  ‘Oh, but that’s terrible. I had no idea!’

  I started to cry now, not because I was quite the actress I wished to be but because it mattered so much that Maruja didn’t leave me. And she wasn’t immune to my tears. She hugged me. ‘Then you can’t go back,’ she said. ‘How could I possibly send you back there? Oh, you poor child …’

  ‘So can I stay with you now? Please?’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t let you. It’s too dangerous – for both of us. For my family as well. And, Rosalba, my son Guillermo is going out with Consuela now. So they would find out so easily. I can’t let you stay.’

  I clutched at her dress, having nothing else left to hold on to. ‘But where will I go?’ I begged. ‘What can I do? Please don’t leave me.’

  ‘Rosalba, you have to …’ She seemed unable to speak now. Was she crying too? ‘Rosalba …’ She looked up at the sky, as if for answers. ‘How can I do this?’ she said to it. ‘How can I?’

  I held my breath. I realised how much she was risking to even be seen with me. And as I held it, she came to a decision. She looked at me again. ‘Today,’ she said, ‘you can stay for today. I will contact my daughter Maria in Bogotá and see if perhaps she could take you in. Till then you must hide, though, and you must not leave the house. Not once. Not even to go into the garden. And you must be silent, as quiet as you can possibly be. Or they will hear you. I know they will hear you. And if anyone comes, you must hide in the pantry. That’s the only way. Do you think you can do that?’

  I nodded frantically. ‘Yes, I can. Oh, Maruja, thank you, thank you.’

  ‘So, come on. We need to get you indoors and out of sight. Round the back. That’s what we’ll do. That way, no one will see you.’

  Seeing us moving, the little boy, who I had completely forgotten about, now followed, delivering a sharp kick to my shin.

  ‘Oi,’ he said. ‘Sweets!’ He thrust a hand out. ‘Where are my sweets, garrapata?’

  Garrapata was Spanish for a blood-sucking tick. A true Colombian boy if ever I saw one. I pulled a fierce face. ‘Run away!’ I said. ‘Or I’ll chase you and cut your tongue off!’

  Maruja yanked on my arm. ‘Rosalba!’ she snapped. ‘Behave!’ She then gave the boy a few coins. ‘Say nothing about this to anyone,’ she commanded. ‘Ayeee,’ she muttered to me as he ran off. ‘Oh, Rosalba. What am I doing?’

  And Maruja hadn’t yet done with me. Once I was safely inside her house, which was the closest place to heaven I had ever seen in my life, she rounded on me. ‘If you steal anything – anything – from me or my children, I won’t send you to my daughter, you hear?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I will throw you out. And then you’ll be all on your own again, you hear me?’

  Again I nodded, and I promised, trying hard to convince her. But why wouldn’t she distrust me? I’d been a street kid for a long time – hardly better than an animal. I’d worked for the Santos family – all of them, except the girls, hardened cheats and crooks and killers. Why would she trust me to understand the difference between good and bad? I know if I’d been her I probably wouldn’t have.

  Yet she took me in and fed me, and I did my very best to be the person I knew lived inside me. A good person and most of all a grateful one. And I also learned a little more about Maruja and her family that day. She had been widowed young and was raising nine children single-handedly. Her husband had killed himself at the age of sixty-three after finding out he had Parkinson’s disease.

  ‘Which is why I cannot keep you here,’ she explained. ‘I have got to think about the children – think about my safety, for their sakes. But I am sure that Maria will take you in, if you can prove you’re trustworthy’

  ‘I can,’ I promised. ‘I can do it, I know I can.’

  ‘And I believe you,’ Maruja said. ‘But that’s not enough. I have to see it for myself, so I have had an idea. I’m going to take you to my good friend in San Luis. I trust her judgement, and I know she could use some help around the house at the moment – not to mention money – so I’m sure she’ll agree to take you in for two weeks.’ Maruja smiled. ‘And that way everyone will be happy. You will be out of the way of the Santoses, my friend will get some much-needed help, and Maria will have a chance to see the proof of what I’ve told her. If my friend reports back favourably about you, then we will make arrangements to get you to Bogotá.’

  *

  San Luis
is a tiny village hidden in the valley between two mountains, and at that time many poor people lived there. There was little prosperity or education, and little in the way of luxuries; teenage pregnancy and homelessness were both rife. Maruja’s friend, who I think was called Isabel, lived there with her husband and three young children.

  After an hour in a taxi, we eventually arrived. By now I was feeling nervous about meeting Isabel and her family. I felt sure I could do as I was told and behave well, but once again I was to be left on the doorstep of strangers and would have to adapt to a new set of rules.

  Maruja, too, seemed nervous as we climbed out of the taxi, checking I looked presentable, even if it was in my tatty convent dress, and wiping imaginary marks from my cheeks. I let her. This was perhaps my last hope to make a better life. If I failed this test, I knew I would be back on the streets.

  Once the door was opened, I could see that they were close. Isabel’s face broke into a wide smile of greeting, which only faded when she noticed how tense her friend was.

  ‘Maruja,’ she said, ‘this is such a wonderful surprise. But why are you here? And why do you look so worried?’

  She glanced at me now, as Maruja explained why we’d come. ‘This is Rosalba,’ she said. ‘And she is in trouble with the Santoses.’

  Isabel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, to be in trouble with that family. Oh, dear. Oh, yes, I understand. But what can I do?’

  ‘I need to get her away from Cúcuta,’ Maruja told her. ‘And I was wondering if she could stay here with you for a couple of weeks. I’d pay you, of course,’ she quickly added. ‘And also cover all her living costs as well.’

  Isabel nodded. ‘Well, I could certainly do with the money,’ she admitted, smiling at me. ‘But what will you do with her after that?’

  Maruja explained her plan to send me to stay with Maria. ‘But only on condition that you are satisfied she can behave herself. A sort of trial. Would you consider that?’

  It seemed she would. I had crossed another threshold.

  *

  It wasn’t the easiest two weeks. Isabel’s family, like most of their neighbours, were extremely poor. Their house was falling apart and had no proper roof. It was single storey again – because of the ever-present risk of earthquakes – with a soil floor and a hole in the garden for a toilet. Inside it were just two rooms and a small kitchen, with a one-ring kerosene cooker. There was no running water, so Isabel’s husband would have to fetch some from the nearby river, and little food. The family lived mostly on oats. Meat was sparse here, so what little I did see in that fortnight was in the form of bones with a few scraps of meat attached to them, normally sitting in bowls of thin soup.

  But they were inventive. Sometimes the oats took the form of porridge, other times they were used in a casserole, mixed with coriander leaves. There was also cabbage from the garden, and other green plants, and though the portions were meagre I couldn’t have been happier. It was tasty and mealtimes were sociable, for this was a family – the first family I’d ever felt part of since I’d left my monkey troop in the jungle.

  I didn’t steal. The family had very few possessions anyway, but while the street kid was still in me, any possession was valuable, so that wasn’t why I resisted. It was Maruja’s voice, which I heard constantly in my mind, reminding me how I must be grateful for this opportunity that would decide my whole future.

  I worked hard as well – something I was now good at and used to. I would cook the porridge, make the beds, clean the house and do the washing, and as the days passed I could tell that Isabel was pleased with me, which only served to encourage me more. At one point I was so grateful I even entertained the idea of getting them some meat. To steal some food for them would have been the easiest thing in the world for a teenage ragamuffin street kid like me. But it was my gratitude that stopped me from doing it. It would help them but at the same time harm some other poor person. This was the difference, I knew, between being good and being bad. And I desperately, desperately wanted to be good. So good that no one would look at me again and think I was just a bad kid from the gutter.

  I had obviously not spoken to Maruja during my stay, but she was constantly on my mind, because she’d made it clear that my fate would be decided when she came to get me. Depending on what Isabel told her when she came back, she would either accompany me in a taxi to the airport, to board a plane to Bogotá, or – if the report was in any way negative – just give me some spare change to take back to the streets.

  I found out later that she would never have done that, but I’m glad she lied, as it truly focused my mind. On the day she was due to return, I was so excited to see her that when she walked in I hugged her so hard that I nearly knocked her down. She didn’t speak either. Instead, once I let go of her, she produced a ticket. A ticket to fly in a plane that would take me to Bogotá.

  Still, today, I am awed by her generosity and kindness. She wasn’t a wealthy woman, far from it. She struggled financially and yet she did this thing for me. I will never be able to express quite how much that means to me.

  But Maruja didn’t have just a ticket for me that day. ‘You have passed the test, Rosalba,’ she told me. ‘I’m so proud of you. And, to celebrate, I’ve bought you a present. Something special. Here,’ she said, passing me a slim cardboard box.

  I couldn’t speak for a moment, I was so overwhelmed. I had achieved something for the first time in my life. I had actually achieved something good. So good that Maruja was proud enough of me to bring me a gift. Something I had earned. Something I hadn’t stolen. I couldn’t begin to explain how much those words alone meant to me – just hearing them was the best present ever – but she’d also brought a box, which was tied with a yellow ribbon. An actual present. The first I could remember receiving in my life. It was such a wonderful feeling that I wanted to savour it – having a treasure that I didn’t have to steal from anywhere else. No guilt. Just given to me for free.

  Isabel laughed. ‘Go on, then,’ she coaxed. ‘Don’t you want to open it?’

  I nodded and put the box down. I did.

  And if I’d been excited at being given a present of any kind, there were simply no words to describe my amazement at the beautiful thing I now saw before me. It was a dress made of pale-blue satin, with a big yellow bow at the front made from the same ribbon as had tied the box, and it felt like the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I’d seen pretty dresses, of course. Consuela and Estella had had several. But to see a dress of such beauty and know it was mine was a feeling I’ll never forget.

  ‘Come on, then,’ urged Maruja. ‘Let’s see you wearing it. There’s a clip for your hair, too, and some special white socks. Come on, I’ll help you. I do hope it fits.’

  And of course it did. It fitted perfectly, because Maruja had made it especially for me. She brushed out my hair and placed the clip – a little white bow – in my fringe. She had also bought a pair of white shiny shoes – my first ever – but only once I was dressed did she declare herself happy. ‘You look beautiful, Rosalba,’ she said.

  And I did. I couldn’t believe it. I had never felt so beautiful. I couldn’t stop looking in the mirror, unable to quite believe the dainty, feminine girl I saw in front of me was actually me. But it wasn’t just the dress that overwhelmed me; it was the love that had been stitched into it. The feeling that I was part of a family. I loved Maruja, I decided, more than I loved myself.

  ‘Come on,’ she chuckled, waving the plane ticket at me. ‘Time to drag yourself away from that mirror, Rosalba. We’re in a hurry. You have somewhere to be.’

  30

  ‘So now,’ Maruja said, as we sped along in the taxi, ‘we must be serious, Rosalba. You are still in great danger from the Santos mafia. You are still on their list. Do not look at anyone. Keep your eyes down. Don’t be distracted by what’s around you. They could have people at the airport. We don’t know. So you must be on your guard at all times.’

  I was trying hard to concentrate, but i
t was difficult. Everything seemed too unreal. Maruja had tried to explain what it would be like to travel on an aeroplane – ‘not like a bus, or like a taxi, because it flies up in the air, like a bird does’ – and it was hard to think of anything else. I couldn’t stop trying to imagine it. About how it would feel to be so high up in the sky. Up with the birds, soaring through the air. I kept thinking back to my days in the jungle, when I would sit up in the canopy with the ground so far below. But on an aeroplane there would be nothing below me. It was scary and exciting all at once.

  ‘Rosalba!’ Maruja said, slightly more sharply. ‘You are a witness. That’s what you need to remember. You know things about the family …’

  ‘But I don’t know. Not really. I only know …’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. All that matters is what they think. And what they think is that you ran away knowing lots of their secrets. So they can’t take the risk of letting you live. They never will. If they get the chance …’ Maruja mimed a hand crossing her throat. ‘Rosalba, I need to know you understand, because I won’t be there to help you.’

  ‘I understand,’ I tried to reassure her. ‘I understand.’

  It was only when we’d actually arrived at the airport that I realised just how frightened Maruja really was. It would be years before I had any real sense of how readily the Santos family might have had me killed – just in case – but Maruja’s fear now became infectious, transmitting itself to me through her trembling fingers as she straightened my hair clip and smoothed down my curls.

  Camilo Daza Airport, looking back, was probably very small then, but to me, that day, it looked enormous. Everything seemed so big – the ranks of chairs, the swinging doors, the giant desks and counters. I felt dwarfed by it and also intimidated. It seemed so new and so grand, and so unlike anywhere I’d ever been.

  ‘Now, here is a photograph,’ Maruja told me, as we made our way to the sign that said ‘Salidas’. ‘This is Maria. She’ll be waiting. She knows when to expect you and will be looking out for you. But this is so you can recognise her and don’t end up going with the wrong person.’