Born into the Children of God: My life in a religious sex cult and my struggle for survival on the outside

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 (#u3f33ed4b-0d35-5308-9a3f-be6501f14d7d)

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.