Slave Hunter by Aaron Cohen & Christine Buckley

Author:Aaron Cohen & Christine Buckley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2009-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Here’s how the math worked when I was in Haiti and the Dominican Republic. I’d go into a high-end club where drinks could be anywhere from ten to fifteen dollars each. I’d choose a girl, pay the mamasan $120 for an hour and tip the girl another twenty. I’d do this five or six times a night, ending up spending $500 in a night, or about $3,500–4,000 a trip. Kindhearted donors helped me raise the extra money to cover these research costs.

Unless they understood how I had incorporated Jubilee into my life, it was hard for the average person to comprehend what motivated me. I had no salary or government agency backing to facilitate my work, most of which went unrecognized. But my belief in the divine Jubilee, freeing slaves, and forgiving debts—in finding redemption for us all—is what kept me going.

After a few months of trips and buying Papa’s medications, my savings were exhausted. I started to go into debt just as his condition began to deteriorate even further. He was completely incontinent by this time, and on the nights that Juanita went home to her family I would feed him, comfort him, and change his sheets and diapers. But often he’d wake up during the night, become confused about where he was, and scream for me.

One night he burst into my room while I was sleeping. His arms and hands were smeared with feces from the diaper he was holding, and he had no idea where he was or what he was doing. Horrified, I led Papa to the bathroom so I could wash him off and get him comfortable again. When he was really out of his mind like this, I’d pray out loud in Hebrew, which seemed to comfort him. He had no idea what had happened, and sat slumped in the bathtub with sad and confused eyes. I had never seen him look so small. And I had never felt so old and broken.

After that episode, and a sequence of similar ones, I let myself sink into the depression that had been waiting for me in the shadows all these months. Taking care of Papa was an excellent excuse for not leaving the house at all. I couldn’t see a way out, and if it weren’t for a few close friends, I don’t know that I would have made it.

My family friend Julie Weiss would stop by occasionally to see if we needed anything, and my friend Darrel Adams never gave up on me, either. He’d come over and say, “Man, you’ve gotta come out tonight. My brother’s band is playing; it will be fun. You need to get out.” But from where I was on my downward spiral, just getting dressed was a momentous feat.

“I can’t leave Papa, Darrel,” I’d say. “He’ll wake up and I won’t be here.”

My body had finally allowed itself to revolt against the abuse I’d been heaping on it over a two-year period. I lost my appetite and started to shed a lot of weight.

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