1. MELANIE’S STORY
1999 Entered the first Refuge with my two children. I had natural way of connecting with the women
and children in there and took it upon myself to organise programmes to promote a life away from
violence, involving willing participants (after dinner when the workers had gone home). The group grew
at a rapid rate and soon enough I had 100% participation, which extended to lunch times based on
demand. At that point I had no experience, just excellent people skills and a heart the size of an Ox;
however staff were impressed and recommended I pursue studies in Children and Community Services
after the refuge (which I did later on in life). The refuge welfare worker was the only person who did not
support my efforts, as she felt I was stepping on her toes but the way I saw it is that she wasn’t taking
action to promote a positive residential experience, which is part of the reason women were returning
to their abusive partners – they simply did not like the refuge. To strike a compromise, I agreed to offer
my programme to residents after hours only.
Then one day a new resident entered. Her name was Melanie and she was unfortunately a severe case,
no one knew how to deal with her except for my case worker, who was also hers due to short staff. The
residents upon Melanie’s admission into the refuge were asked to vote for her stay, due to the severity
of her situation; all who refused her (in fear) except for me. I put my hand up tall and fought
passionately for her stay, in fact I insisted. My case worker asked me to take into consideration whether
I can handle her problems undergoing counselling for Domestic Violence myself and again I insisted she
stay under humanitarian rights if nothing else.
All the residents turned sour, as no one wanted her to stay and to transfer her, case workers needed
100% of votes, so I was sure not to give mine. The residents immediately withdrew from my
programmes and held their children back from attending, despite the children protesting loudly. Soon
enough the refuge welfare worker found her long awaited opportunity to accuse me of causing discord,
as the children were throwing tantrums for not being allowed to attend my programme under the
instruction of their mothers since Melanie’s entry; but the case workers weren’t stupid and knew exactly
what the problem was and it wasn’t anything I was doing. The residents were reacting in fear and to be
honest, they were entitled to their concerns to some degree.
In a nutshell, Melanie’s story broke my heart. When she entered the refuge, she was only 17 and quite
isolated. Here is a girl who’s mother died at two or three and her father was a drug dealer involved in
gang related crime. When Melanie was only 10 (and yes I am shedding a little tear at this computer
having to remember her story – it’s very sad...) her father sold her to a pimp in Melbourne, who
happened to be Maltese, to clear a drug debt he could not pay. Since the tender age of ten, this poor
soul has been tied down like an animal on a daily basis and force-fed drugs until she became addicted in
order for compliance to take effect. Then she was forced into prostitution from then on, men having sex
with her by numbers to make money for her Maltese Pimp who was too clever for the honest cops and
slipped through the system because of the dishonest ones; there were rumours that he knew police in
high places who failed to charge him accepting blood money made on Melanie’s back (and she wasn’t
the only one, he had other victims (and I am using the word victim, because they are children who had
no say in it)).

2. At the age of only 12, she became dependant on her pimp, was addicted to Heroin and God knows what
else, living a life according to dictations handed down by the devil himself – we couldn’t work out how
on earth this girl slipped through the system, I mean she never went to school and no one knew about
her; it assumed that his contacts with corrupt police officers in high places made a difference.
At 17 she was ganged raped against her will, her pimp tied her legs and arms and further covered her
mouth with gaffa tape forcing men to have their way at a price, one after the other and it went on all
day without access to food, clothing and water, that was her turning point!
She waited for her pimp to untie her, bruised and injured and then tried to escape, screaming as loud as
possible in an apartment block she’s was held in for many years where no one even knew she exsisted.
He grabbed her as she reached for the exit door and stabbed her with a large knife in the vagina – the
door opened and she ran bleeding like a hunted animal. Residents called the police immediately after
hearing her screams and that’s how she came to the refuge infected with Hepatitis B – everywhere else
was full and this fucking monster of a man was looking for her like crazy to finish the job. In fact, it was
my case worker, Nesli (a Turkish lady who was married to a Maltese) who initially gave her entry against
protocol. So you could imagine the fear this caused the residents, in particular living with a lady infected
with an STI and addicted to a substance we did not understand.
Melanie was excluded from the belonging by all the other residents who also refused her
communication, socially isolating her like she didn’t exist but I took her side regardless, as I could not
stand to watch such inhumane acts of cruelty;;; this girl has been through enough and I understood her
pain to some degree but not her suffering, thank God. I took her under my wing and put my level of
suffering on the back shelf, as it was nowhere near as bad as hers, including her as a family member. The
other residents were trying to scare me by warning me that my children will catch her diseases if I keep
hanging around her;;; I used to tell them that germs go where they want to go and they favour people
like them, as it is God who choose our punishment. I drew up a programme specifically for her, which
involved exercise, good nutrition and daily meditation and allowed her to freely play with my children
and we had some fun playing kiddie games that she never even heard of, like ring a ring a rosy for
instance... it was very sad to watch and at times I had to remove myself from the scene to stop myself
from crying in front of her, as pity was not what she needed. I realized that she needed to be a child
again and included child’s play into our morning routine and my kids loved her – she was surprisingly
very good with them. The only difficulty I experienced is that she was on the Methadone Programme to
clean her up and having no experience with drug use what so ever, I really didn’t know how to deal with
it; I certainly was not qualified to deal with her addiction by way of experience nor education. My case
worker was not the only one who was pleased with how much progress Melanie was making in such a
short amount of time.
Melanie broke my heart one day when she said, she wishes God appointed me to be her mother in
this life and she further added that my children are the luckiest in the world. She was becoming
dependant on me and you can’t blame her, because for the first time in her life, she found a mother.
The welfare worker started raising concerns to upper management, claiming that it’s unhealthy for
Melanie to become dependent on me and they soon transferred her but waited till I was out all day

3. with my children, as they knew I would put up a fight – I loved her like my own daughter. I returned to
the refuge to find her gone. I was furious with that damn bitch – the welfare worker – and punched the
wall outside hard and broke my knuckle, (blood going everywhere) after hearing about her transfer; the
scar remains on my left hand, middle knuckle.
After being transferred, Melanie was once again not coping and escaped; she returned to the only life
she knew and her pimp killed her.
Sorry Melanie!
...to violence against women Malta, Let’s Say NO MORE!
This story will form part of my proposal to our PM Mr Joseph Muscat, as so to demonstrate my level of
experience working with women and children of domestic violence and be detailed in my book.