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All new recruits were expected take part in several hours of Bible study each day. They read the New Testament and took part in ‘inspiration’ classes, where disciples sang, danced and gave out group hugs. They even had a special term for the hugs – love bombing.
At the weekends they went out with more experienced group members who taught them how to raise funds by selling flyers or begging for donations. They also went on evangelical road trips to different cities to preach the word of God. On these trips they were encouraged to ‘live by faith’, which basically meant not spending any money and attempting to solicit free meals and lodging. More often than not they didn’t have much success and would find themselves huddled up in their thin sleeping bags in freezing basements or car parks. Most thought that this was all incredibly exciting.
Whatever funds they did raise they were expected to bring back to the group. Only a maximum of 10 per cent could be set aside for subsistence. That meant if they raised 100 French francs a day, only 10 francs went towards their food.
Children of God leader David Berg was at this time based in California, but he very quickly became a huge influence on his young followers overseas. They were encouraged to read Berg’s prolific writings, known as Mo letters, and to listen to his tape-recorded sermons. He became a role model, almost like a parent, who gave his disciples guidance and advice about life.
Mostly, Berg’s writings were a treatise on the evils of the ‘system’ world – governments, corporations and people who had jobs. Berg claimed to be a prophet, saying God had personally given him a message, which foretold the end of the world. The End Time Tribulation, as it was known, would be marked by a series of wars and natural disasters. He used the threat of nuclear war and imminent global financial crisis to back this up. To a naïve hippy like Marcel this was all too easy to swallow. Berg promised his followers that when the End Time came they would be God’s Chosen Warriors at the battle of Armageddon. They would fight the Antichrist in the skies and be the saviours of a new, more peaceful world. He backed it up with a series of sci-fi-style posters depicting the fight. Antichrist soldiers in grey uniforms and helmets zapping scantily clad young women into oblivion before they float up to a heavenly paradise, their faces ecstatic with joy.
His young devotees lapped it all up, whipping their tambourines to new heights of frenzy as they hung onto his every word.
Marcel was a fast and enthusiastic learner, carrying out each new task with a joyful smile on his face. His eagerness to please caught the attention of the French leadership, and after a few months he was given the responsibility of leading a small fundraising team. At the end of each month all funds raised within the house were totalled up, less the 10 per cent spent on evangelism costs. Half of what was left was kept back to pay for the house bills – food, heating and clothes. The other 50 per cent was posted to Berg’s headquarters. No one questioned why this was.
New recruits – meaning new mouths to feed – arrived all the time. When supplies fell low followers were simply instructed to pray, and if they went without they were told they hadn’t prayed hard enough.
After a year or so my dad was promoted again, this time to Home Shepherd, meaning he was responsible for ensuring the good behaviour (no alcohol, drugs or sex) of his housemates. He was charming and popular, but he could be stern and command respect when needed, so he excelled in this new role.
He climbed the ladder even higher at the age of 19 by reaching the rank of Regional Shepherd. His role was like that of a roving manager, creating new communes in different towns and leading a musical troupe around the country singing folk songs in restaurants, schools and old people’s homes. He was expected to spread himself across several different communes, often hundreds of kilometres apart. The group didn’t provide vehicles or pay for transport, so he had to hitchhike everywhere. He often arrived at a house after days of travelling and sleeping rough to find himself bedded down in a corridor or on a cold kitchen floor. But he didn’t care because for the first time in his life he had a purpose. The fact that Children of God missionaries were young beautiful people who seemed to love their life and exude a sense of fun and passion meant it wasn’t too hard for them to win over others. Marcel would tell anyone who listened how God and the group had saved him from a life of despair. Every recruit he brought in was seen as a soul saved and another brownie point for him in the eyes of the leadership. His ascent through the ranks seemed assured.
In the early summer of 1976, Marcel was leading a team of four ‘on the road’ disciples. They had hitchhiked across the west coast of France, busking in bars and selling the ‘prophet’s messages’ – pamphlets written by David Berg. By now Berg’s stature had grown, so much so that his followers referred to him as either Moses David, King David or Father David.
One of Marcel’s team members left due to ill health so he requested that the leadership find him a replacement.
Earlier that spring he had gone to a training centre for new recruits in the city of Bordeaux to stock up on boxes of pamphlets. As the troupe performed a few songs a new ‘babe’, 18-year-old Geneviève, danced for them. Marcel found her alluring but, wary of breaking the rules, he held back. Luckily, she was to be his new team member.
The pair soon fell in love.
Chapter 2
God’s Whores (#u7e83eae7-0420-56e3-a892-eb831942ed33)
‘I want to play! Let me. They won’t let me play. Mommy, tell them!’ I stamped my feet in the sand and stuck my bottom lip so far out it could catch flies.
‘Who, ma chérie? What’s the matter?’ smiled my mother absently from where she was sitting on a blanket tending to my baby half-sister, Thérèse. She didn’t look up but continued to blow big fat raspberry kisses on the baby’s face, causing her to gurgle with pleasure. Seeing that added jealousy to my anger.
‘Them,’ I yelled, pointing angrily at my elder brothers who were jumping up and down on a driftwood log, pretending it was a pirate ship. ‘They won’t let me play with them.’
‘So play something else, Natacha,’ she replied without taking her gaze from the baby.
I let out a grunt of rage. Even at the age of three I had a real temper when I didn’t get my way. Leah was sitting next to my mother. She cocked an eyebrow at me and when I glared back at her she burst out laughing indulgently. I ran to her across the sand, throwing myself onto her lap, burying my head into her soft bosom and wrapping my little fingers around her frizzy curls.
Leah was baby Thérèse’s mother and my father’s lover. Thérèse was his child. They lived with us in our new home, a group commune in Phuket, Thailand, that we shared with 20 or so other adults and kids. The whole group was my family but within that I had my dad, my mom, Leah, three big brothers and baby Thérèse. The set-up might have been unusual but to me it was completely normal, with the added bonus that I had two mommies when most little girls only got one.
A couple of years after my parents’ surprise wedding, David Berg had instructed followers to ‘hit the road’ and go find new souls to save.
My parents, who by then had my elder brother Joe, took him at his word. They joined forces with three other young families to travel the country in a convoy of battered caravans. Their mission was to give ‘a final warning to France’ before the Antichrist took control. They were pretty much left to their own devices and had a lot of fun thinking up shock tactics. They saw themselves as evangelical commandos, invading church services and shouting at the stunned congregation that the world was about to end. To survive financially they went back to performing music in bars, with my dad playing the guitar and my mother singing. Mom, who was known as Etoile (French for ‘star’), admits that these weren’t the best conditions to raise a small child in, especially when dragging a tearful baby into a church invasion. Yet this was the life they had willingly chosen, and it was one they enjoyed. They were deliriously happy together.
But both were experimental young people who didn’t hold any truck with conventional ideas about marital fidelity. After one gig they picked up Leah, a pretty young hippy, and took her back to their caravan. Leah never left. There was no risk of censure because the group had recently relaxed the rules on relationships by declaring that consensual threesomes and sexual swinging were allowed. Homosexuality was strictly banned, but in a reflection of his own sexual fantasies leader David Berg said it was OK for women to have sex with other women in threesomes as long as they weren’t lesbians and still preferred men. They had also changed their name from the Children of God to The Family, in part to reflect their new approach to sex and relationships. It goes without saying that for Leah the deal for joining the relationship was joining The Family too.
For two years the three of them travelled round France, enduring cold winters and tough times, but generally loving both life and each other.
My mother gave birth twice more, to Matt in July 1980 and Marc in November ’81. She was just 23 when Marc was born. She had always loved little babies and found each pregnancy thrilling. Her dance training meant she was extremely fit, so she coped easily.
My dad was less sure of how to behave as a parent. Luckily, as he saw it, King David (Berg) gave a lot of advice about parenting and how to raise kids. What pleased my dad was that King David never insisted someone should do what he said, instead he only offered advice through his regular Mo letters. But the letters made it clear that a true believer should indeed naturally want to do as he suggested.
Berg had four children of his own and lived with a harem of lovers, whom he called wives, at his base. His favourite lover was Maria, known to followers as Mama Maria. He claimed to have a series of spirit helpers who possessed his body and handed down God’s prophecies. His most common helper was Abrahim – an ancient gypsy king who demanded wine before making his revelations. In several of the Mo letters of this time Maria is questioning Abrahim as he (really Berg) demands more alcohol. In one dated from 1978, Abrahim the spirit is apparently promising he ‘knows everything’ and will tell ‘everything you want to know’ if only he is allowed one more sip of wine.
Yet for ordinary members drinking was still very much frowned upon.
As the winter of 1981 approached, my parents couldn’t face staying in the caravan any longer. Life had become almost impossible with three adults and the little boys all jostling for space.
King David had decreed that his followers, who now numbered close to 10,000, should move to the ‘fertile lands of the East’. He explained that these countries were less corrupt and it was easier to find souls to save. There was also the added advantage of less intrusive governments allowing large communes to operate unhindered. My mom and dad immediately volunteered to go and were sent to a farmhouse in southern France for special training.
While they were there the dictates around sex and marriage changed again. King David began promoting the ‘Law of Love’ – something mentioned in the Bible to mean that what is done in love is good. Berg’s version was more to do with physical sex, what he called ‘sharing’. He sent out new Mo letters stating it wasn’t fair that single members should feel lonely and unloved. His solution was for married couples to agree to ‘share’ their partners by allowing them to sleep with other cult members of the opposite sex. Women especially were encouraged to willingly submit to sex if it was a way of helping someone.
When my parents first heard the rationale behind it they were surprised but not offended. King David explained that it would promote humility and unselfishness, and give a person a closer connection with God.
Another new idea was ‘flirty fishing’ (or FF’ing), where female followers were told to go to bars and pick men up for sex with the intent of either converting them to the cause or bringing in a financial donation. FF’ers were told they were ‘God’s whores’. Posters with instructions on how to be a ‘good flirty little fishy’ were distributed. One image depicted a naked woman wriggling on a fishing hook with the words Hooker for Jesus. Another depicted a woman sitting at a table with a man she is attempting to fish along with the words, If they fall in love with you first before they find it’s the Lord, it’s just God’s bait to hook them!
The method was so successful that The Family also encouraged women to sign up to escort agencies in order to guarantee fixed payment for sexual services. Some members were worried because they feared the FF’ing might put women at risk of rape or violence. Sharing with men they knew was one thing; picking up strangers alone in a bar was another. King David happily admitted violence might happen but said women should accept it, comparing ‘our gals’ to early Christian martyrs who had been raped by Roman soldiers.
Contraception was strictly banned. At one point Berg sent out a Mo letter advising people to look out for the symptoms of common STDs, like crabs and herpes, because there had been a mass breakout.
But if a few dissented from all this, the majority accepted it without question. Berg’s power base was growing. By now the group had 1,642 communes all across the world. Between them they claimed to distribute a staggering 30 million pages a month of literature produced by the cult.
In early 1982 my parents and Leah were sent to their new mission destination, a commune in the city of Phuket in Thailand. None of them had left France before, so this was an epic adventure.
It was there in September 1983 that I was born, a much-longed-for first daughter. A year later Leah gave birth to Thérèse.
My dad’s Regional Shepherd role had transferred with him to Thailand, and as such he was hardly ever at home. The Family-related business generally kept him in Bangkok. My brothers missed him and cried for him a lot, but Mom told them to be proud, not sad.
I recall little of those very early years except for that one day out on the beach with my mother, brothers and Leah. I think I remember it so clearly because it is the only family day out we ever had.
I don’t know how Mom managed to persuade the house overseer to let us go to the beach – it certainly wasn’t usual. But I do clearly remember the sense of excitement as we helped her to pack water, bread and fruit for our picnic. As we walked down the driveway and out of the gate I remember feeling very special and hoping the other kids were watching me.
As we waited for the bus my pride turned to abject fear. System people were everywhere. They looked normal but I knew they weren’t; they even dressed differently to us. As we boarded the bus the driver smiled at me and I started to howl. I thought he might be the Antichrist, driving us straight into hell, because in my child’s brain anyone who wasn’t part of our group was pretty much the devil.
As the rickety old bus traversed busy traffic lanes with honking horns, motorbikes and rickshaws, I could not have been more terrified. The other passengers were local Thais who found white Europeans a funny novelty. Back then Thailand wasn’t the popular tourist destination it is today. Women kept ruffling our hair and making clucking noises at us in their strange language. I recoiled every time someone touched me. My mom seemed oblivious to the danger we might be in and was smiling at people. At one point she even handed over some Christian leaflets to a young couple sitting near the front. ‘God loves you,’ she told them, bathing them with a beautiful smile. I was so confused. Why did she do that when she knew the system people wanted to hurt us?
The ten-minute journey was unbearable, but when the bus pulled up opposite the beach I gasped with wonder at the sight of the sparkling blue water. I’d never seen the sea before because we never left the compound, except on a few occasions when I was dressed up and paraded before the public as a cute money-making machine for fund-raising.
Joe was first off the bus, hollering, ‘Come on, let’s run.’
The others sprinted off after him. I forgot my fears and chased behind. The hot sand burned the soles of my feet but I loved the grittily soft sensation between my toes.
We had spent a blissful day making sandcastles and eating our sandwiches until my brothers upset me by refusing to let me play pirates with them. As I sat on Leah’s lap, sobbing with fury, she quietly held me until I calmed. She chastised my brothers for being so mean to me, something that made me smile triumphantly.
Joe, already well versed in the assumption that women were second class and subservient to men, shrugged. ‘She’s a girl, so she can’t play a boys’ game.’
Leah and my mother were complete opposites. Even in her missionary uniform of baggy T-shirt, long skirt and no bra, Mom still held herself like the elegant prima ballerina she had almost been. Having kids had barely affected her slender body and she still wore her hair flowing to the waist, the same way she had since her teens. In contrast, Leah was voluptuous, with frizzy hair and piercing turquoise eyes.
Their personalities were just as distinct. My mother was serene to the point of detachment. She had recently been renamed Patience, replacing her earlier given name of Etoile. Patience suited her because she was genuinely submissive and willing to play second fiddle to her husband. That was what she believed Jesus wanted from her.
Leah was more outspoken and a confident, playful joker. She was very affectionate with me and my brothers, forever scooping us up into her arms and smothering our faces with kisses. I was in no doubt that Geneviève/Etoile/Patience was my main mother but I loved Leah just as much.
I felt another pang of jealously as Leah gently lifted me off her lap and picked up Thérèse. ‘Isn’t she the sweetest, prettiest baby in the world?’
‘She certainly is, isn’t she?’ my mother sang back in a silly song voice. ‘Yes she is, she is, she is.’
Both of them cooed over the baby as if she was the most amazing thing they’d ever laid eyes on. It might sound odd that my mom was so rapt by a child her husband had with another woman, but that was not how she saw it. Leah was her best friend and she was closer to Leah than my father was. At times it wasn’t easy but their friendship always won the day and got them through any tough patches.
With the leadership’s consent, many of the overseas communes provided high-class escort services to high-ranking officials, police and businessmen. It didn’t always involve sex; sometimes it was just about accompanying the men to events as arm trophies. After all, the cult included a variety of beautiful women from across the globe. From Europeans to Asians to African-Americans and Latinos – there was something to suit all tastes and fantasies, and for the cult it made perfect business sense. Escorting certainly brought funds in but it also served as a convenient way of ensuring local authorities didn’t ask too many questions about the group’s wider activities. I remember watching as the ladies would get dressed up to go out at night. Normally they looked so plain in their baggy everyday clothes, but as they got ready and put on fancy dresses and make-up they were, in my eyes at least, transformed into magnificent birds of paradise.
I was a very teary child at that time. Going to bed terrified me and I would often scream and cry. It was usually left to Leah or another ‘aunty’ to calm me. We were meant to be one big family so we referred to all other adults as aunties and uncles. Any adult was allowed to discipline any child as they wished – it didn’t matter if they weren’t that child’s actual parents. I made such a racket that people became very impatient with me. If Leah hadn’t been there to protect me I am sure I would have been treated much more harshly.
A part of my dad’s job was to match women – other men’s wives – for sharing. My dad insists most people did it willingly and no one was forced into it if they didn’t want to do it. But in an atmosphere where not going along with things led to accusations of being unspiritual, a doubter or what was called a ‘backslider’, it was very hard to say no. Dad insists he always tried to make people happy with it, aiming to match people he knew liked each other anyway. Only once did a woman refuse to be part of his sharing schedule, and that was because she was five months’ pregnant. Women were supposed to share at up to eight months but this woman didn’t think she should have to.
‘King David’ had also declared that 12 was the age when a child reached adult maturity, essentially setting the framework for young girls to be forced into sex. He wrote about the importance of teenage marriages, saying Jesus had blessed them so they should be encouraged. He had already published a pamphlet called ‘The Little Girl Dream’, which depicted a cartoon likeness of himself and his lover, Maria, in bed with a pre-pubescent girl. Within the cult literature he was normally depicted in animation, with a long beard and wearing robes. On the rare occasions that a real photograph of him was published it always had a cartoon lion’s head drawn over it, completely obscuring his face. We were told this was to help protect him because if the Antichrist knew what he really looked like it would risk his safety. In reality he was cautious because he was fully aware some of his publications could be deemed immoral or illegal by outsiders, whom he referred to as ‘systemites’. Several of his books and Mo letters came with the instruction ‘BAR’, burn after reading.
But, as ever, nothing he wrote was a ‘must-do’, rather a ‘should-do’. As such, my dad says he didn’t match 12-year-olds under his watch and that he doesn’t recall any other local leaders in Thailand doing so either. Different communes around the world had different norms, and thankfully, in Thailand at least, this bit of depravity didn’t seem to be standard practice.
Chapter 3
Fairytales and Thunderbolts (#u7e83eae7-0420-56e3-a892-eb831942ed33)
I was fast asleep when I felt something tickle my face, waking me up. It took me a second to register what was happening as the thing ran right across my cheeks, scratching me with sharp little toes.
I screamed out in terror. ‘Arrrggggh. Moooommmmmmy’.
My yelling woke the others. I shared my bedroom with four other girls under the age of ten. ‘Natacha, be quiet,’ snapped my friend Anna who was sleeping in the bunk above me. She leaned over to chastise me, but as she looked down her eyes fell on what had made me scream. Her mouth opened in horror for a split second before she started yelling too. A brown lizard stared back at us, probably more terrified than we were. It ran for cover under the bunk, making me scream even louder: ‘MOMMY! HELP!’
The door flew open. My brother Matt stood there with an exasperated look on his face. ‘Natacha, what is this racket?’
Great gulping sobs came out as I tried to explain: ‘Lizard … bed … it was … on me … want … my … mommy.’
Matt sighed and shook his head at me with annoyance. ‘Cry baby. Mom is out. It’s only a silly lizard.’
He disappeared for a second and came back with a broom. He poked it under the bed, ordering the lizard to shoo. I watched with relief as it slithered out of the door and down the corridor, no doubt to join the rest of its friends in the attic where they nested.
I was just about to throw my arms around my big brother in thanks when the shape of adult bulk appeared in the doorway. Uncle Ezekiel. He was a heavy-set Australian man and probably the meanest uncle in our house.
‘What in God’s name is going on here? You children could wake the dead. Get back to sleep immediately or you will get a spanking, mark my words.’
‘There was a lizard,’ Matt tried to explain. ‘It scared them. They are only little. We should do something about that nest.’
Ezekiel stared at Matt with a look of disgust.
‘How dare you speak to me, boy. I was not talking to you. Nor did I give you permission to talk to me. Get out!’
He raised his fist in warning. Matt ducked under his arm and ran out.
‘We are sorry, Uncle. We promise it won’t happen again,’ said Sara.
‘It had better not or you will get the swat. Do you understand?’
I pulled my sheet up to my chin and nodded with wide-eyed fear. The swat was a plastic fly-swatter, which was used to discipline us when we were naughty. You got hit on the bare bottom with the handle and it stung like mad.
Uncle closed the door. I could hear Anna and the other kids breathing. I could tell they were still awake but no one dared talk in case Uncle heard us and came back. Our teacher, Aunty Joy, usually slept in the room with us. Her presence always reassured me, but tonight her bed was empty. I wondered if she was upstairs in Ezekiel’s room or if she’d gone flirty fishing with Mommy and the other ladies.
I tried to go back to sleep but it was too stuffy and the polyester sheets itched. I was terrified the lizard would climb inside my mouth or my ears when I was asleep. I was also bursting for a pee but I knew that if anyone heard me I would get the swat for sure. Under the commune rules, children were expected to last a full night without needing the toilet. I tossed and turned half the night, trying desperately to control my bladder and not wet the bed.
The next morning in school I could hardly keep my eyes open. We sat at rows of little wooden chairs and desks. Children of all ages shared the one large classroom, with the little kids at the front and the older kids at the back. A small fan buzzed in the corner but the windows were closed, allowing precious little breeze into the stifling tropical atmosphere. Everyone was quietly reading on their own, with the older kids occasionally pausing to scribble down a note. The quiet, the lack of sleep and the heat made my eyelids heavy. I could feel my chin about to droop down onto my chest when Aunty Joy’s voice startled me: ‘Natacha, wake up please, little lady.’
I sprang to attention, sitting bolt upright on my chair with arms folded tightly across my chest. Aunty Joy pulled up a seat and sat down next to me. Her youthful Thai features erupted into a pretty smile that lit up her face. Joy was my favourite teacher.
‘Natacha, I have something very special for you to read today.’
She handed me a large comic book, wrinkling her nose with excitement. The humidity made its greying pulp pages feel slightly moist to touch. I stared at the cover. It had a picture of a pretty young teenage girl with lustrous long black hair in a braid. Aunty Joy began to sound out the title for me.
‘He … van … s. Can you say that?’ beamed Joy.
‘Hev …’ I stammered, struggling to match the letters she pointed to with the correct sounds.
The next word was easy. I could guess its meaning from the picture.
‘Girl,’ I said triumphantly.
‘Well done, Natacha, you clever girl.’
A thrill ran through me as I looked at the image.
‘Do you want to read it together, Natacha?’ she asked.
I nodded so hard I thought my head might fall off. I rarely got individual adult attention and was determined to milk this for all it was worth. My clammy fingers fumbled with the thin paper as I opened it several pages into the story. A girl dressed in a short white robe was throwing two men backwards as if using magic. Her robe was see-through and her nipples stuck out through her dress. I was a bit fascinated by that because a couple of days earlier a visiting uncle had shown us a poster of another lady with similar sticky-out nipples and told us that nipples were his favourite thing in the world. He had grinned when he told us all little girls would grow up to have sexy nipples like the lady in the picture, too. Anna had whispered to me afterwards that the uncle was naughty to say that to us.
The men in the picture were dressed in helmets and sinister uniforms with armbands marked 666.
‘What’s Heaven’s Girl doing, Aunty Joy?’ I asked, puzzled and happy at the same time.
Joy laughed and pulled me closer to her.
‘She’s using her powers to fight the soldiers of the Antichrist. See, she’s shooting them with lightning. What do you think that word says, Natacha?’
She pointed to the large graphic letters drawn above the image of the dying men. I shrugged.
‘Zap!’ said Joy.
‘Zap!’ I repeated back, feeling very pleased with myself. ‘But Aunty Joy, why is she doing that?’
