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Strangely, I wasn't frightened. No, in fact I was happy to see her, this was my chance to ask questions, to get to the truth and help her.
"What's your name?"
"Clara."
"Let the chicken go, Clara."
"No. It is innocent, like me."
I noticed that she was holding on to the creature so tightly that it was struggling to live, "Clara, you're hurting it, let it go."
She grasped it into her even tighter, "They wanted to hurt it, to use it for Juju, kill it to banish kindoki from me. I have saved it." She squeezed it ever harder until its head flopped and it rattled out its last breath.
Clara looked down at its lifeless, limp body and gently placed it on the floor, "It is sleeping in peace," she said, stroking it affectionately.
She stood up and her body shook and trembled; her obvious distress compelled me to her and I embraced her in a hug. Her hot tears flowed down my neck, soaking my school shirt. Eventually I prised her from me, "Clara, tell me what's happened to you?"
Her grip on me loosened and she pulled away. She wore inappropriate clothing for the cold weather, jeans and a flimsy, stained white t-shirt, and she wore cheap flip flops on her muddied feet. Slowly she lifted her t-shirt and my jaw dropped, "They burn me."
Her torso was thin, yet her stomach slightly bloated, but I could clearly see that her belly was covered in what looked like viciously raised, scabby cigarette burns. "They try to burn the kindoki from me, and when that does not work, they beat me."
"Who are they, Clara?"
She lowered her head, "My aunties. They sent for me, to come from Nigeria to help them." As she talked, I noticed her begin to calm a little, "Shortly after my arrival, my uncle became sick. He spent many weeks in the hospital before he died. They blamed me. They say I brought the demon with me, inside me, and the demon killed my uncle. That is why they burn and beat me, to make the demon leave me."
"Do you believe you have a demon inside you?" I ask.
She rubbed her stomach, "I feel nothing inside me, only a space, an empty space that wants to be filled with food." Her long finger nails caught several of the raised scabs, tearing them off, causing them to bleed, "When I ask for food, they say 'We will not feed the demon,' and beat me some more."
To my horror, I watched as she raised her blood stained fingers to her mouth and began to lick and lap up her own blood. This girl was so hungry she actually sought nourishment in her own bodily fluid.
While she physically bled, my heart metaphorically bled and I reached my hand out to her, "Clara, don't do that. I will take you with me, to my friends house and we will give you food." Her bloodied hand took mine, "Then we will go to the police and report your aunties for this abuse," I say.
