AN AMERICAN STORY ABOUT HUMAN TRAFFICKING

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

At Higher Grounds Cafe, at 2:41 PM

Yesterday, a volunteer service team from America spent their first full day in Nepal. They are a group of twenty-somethings and they are staying at Brian's Balku House (the Prayer House). They call themselves “The New Abolishionists.” Their “mission” is to rid the world of modern slavery in all its forms, and they are spending the next month and a half working with Brian and other organizations in Nepal to be a small part of doing just that. I had the pleasure of meeting them all yesterday. I was surprised to see so many Americans, and I am always happy when I run into fellow Americans. I think there were actually more Americans in the house than Nepalis at one point, and that was definitely a first. I talked to them a little, asking them questions about the work they are doing. It became clear that they had been well trained and educated on the human trafficking matter. I told them to count me in their ranks.

They are a unique bunch of world citizens. As I talked with them, one guy stood out for some reason. I could tell that he probably had had a rough go of it in his life. “I'd like to sit down sometime and hear about some of your life, I am sure you have some interesting stories to tell,” I told him. I was surprised when right then and there, just after I'd met him, he started to talk about his life.

Tom has an incredibly tragic story to tell, about how he himself was trafficked after losing his house during Katrina, and how later on he was used and abused in prostitution as a teenager. He worked by day at a gas station, and by night he was forced into prostitution. He had been raped. This happened right there, in America, hidden away in a small town. There are people in powerful and respected positions who were his perpetrators. He told me his family would believe what they say over what Tom would say, even if he did go public with his story. It nearly brought me to tears, but we actually didn't have a lot of time to talk because we were about to go to an anti-trafficking training; and there were other people around (it wasn't really a private conversation). I was shocked at how matter-of-factly he spoke about these things to a stranger he had just met.

The astonishing news is that Tom has found a much better life. He was able to run away to another state in America and build a life of his own. At one point, after he had escaped and was suffering with depression from all of his dark past experiences, he cried out to God. “God, if you're real then why haven't you taken care of me!”

To his amazement, that very day he found some people who allowed him to live with them. They were Christians, and some of them were part of the broader organization that Tom is now involved in. Clearly this event has had a huge effect on his life. Here he was, telling me how he has come to Christ, changed his life around, and has grace even for his perpetrator. Here he was, full circle, working as a part of the new abolishionist movement, wanting to help others who might be trapped in similar situations as he had experienced. Clearly there is a lot of pain in Tom's story, and his healing isn't complete. He doesn't have it all figured out, but there was something about him that struck me besides his story. His face was radiant. He was passionate about God, and about the just cause he is working towards. The fact that he could freely share his story with a stranger is proof that he has an inner strength that some only dream about. Tom has something bigger than himself invested in the story he is choosing to live.

I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed.  -Psalm 34:4-5

GOD LOVES ALL HIS CREATURES

Tuesday, December 6^th, 2011

In my room at about 8:36 PM

This past week we had a problem with a mother cat sneaking into our house and building a home for three of her little ones. They would cry at night, and the mother would bring in rodents and birds (sometimes still living) for the her and her kittens to eat. After a few days their abode was stinking up the house. As no one has the time to care for the cats, and there aren't any animal humane societies nearby, the we had to think of a way to get rid of them.

What ended up happening was while the mother cat was out hunting one night, the others were able to catch the kittens. Then they traveled about a mile away to a park and let them go. Later that night I heard the mother cat crying. It's a sad story for sure, and the whole time it was unfolding I was reluctant to help and was trying to think of what else we could do. I felt awful about being a part of this trafficking of poor kittens, but of course I get more riled up when humans are trafficked. At least cats are programmed to live in the “wild.” They weren't newborns either, so I hope they do okay. When humans traffic other humans they take away a part of their own humanity in the process.

Still, when it comes to the “trafficked” cats, I am a little upset. It doesn't seem right taking a little one away from its parent, even for the sake of a better smelling house or a better night's sleep, I don't know. Before I left this morning, I listened as the community sang worship songs and Nepali Christmas songs. In between the singing I heard the mother cat crying. It was a rather heart wrenching moment, hearing people who had recently split up another creature's family, now praising God with all their hearts, while the mother cat cried for her kittens. Of course they had their reasons, and much worse things happens in the developing world all the time, but it just didn't seem right.

I also took the time to realize that none of us is right before God, that we have all done wrong, even if we have the best of intentions. I believe God knows this, and he loves us anyway. His love is strong enough to break through in moments like this, and reach us, even in our weak and sinful states. He longs to hear broken people like you and me praying to him, and giving him praise. He longs to see us seeking after him.

FINISHING UP

Monday, December 5^th, 2011

In my room at about 5:45PM

As I type this blog, my computer is losing power, and I cannot recharge it because the electricity has been out for hours. A jewelry store owner was robbed and killed in my neighborhood yesterday and a large portion of the city is holding a bandha, or strike, until the authorities go after the murderers. It's how “justice” gets moving and accomplished around here. Everyone strikes; sometimes even after the smallest incident. I was somewhat surprised that the public transportation was still going this morning, but as far as electricity goes, we have a problem. I don't know how much longer it will last.

I wonder what would happen if this system of striking were put into effect in my hometown of Reading, Pennsylvania. With all the violence there, at times it seems like there's a murder a day. I don't think it would work with that culture back home. It would probably make things worse, actually; it would lead to rioting and looting in the streets, and probably more murders. People seem to be more self-controlled here, but it's just a different culture and stage of “development” for each. Actually, in many ways one could say that Reading is currently in such a bad place economically and socially, that it is in a phase of decay, of undevelopment, or of dedevelopment, if I may even use the terms. Right before I left to come here to help in the development issues of Nepal, Reading was labeled the poorest city in America, taking into account the numbers of unemployed and numbers of students who have dropped out of high school. I am not trying to paint a bad picture of my hometown, it's really just the truth. Maybe I can be a part of the movement to help “redevelop” Reading when I return from Nepal. We will see.

You haven't heard from me the last several days because I have been finishing up all my school work. I finally finished my last paper the other day. I am so relieved. I'll be getting my degree in less than a month, finally, after over two years of hard work.

I have also been traveling a bit. I went to the Nuwocot District, just north of the Kathmandu Valley. In the more remote parts of this area girls between the ages of 12 and 16 get trafficked. It is the hotspot for traffickers. In fact, in some villages, there are men who complain that there aren't any more young women left to marry. They have all been trafficked – to Afghanistan, to India, to China, hell, some may end up in America for all I know. It's a sick world when parents willingly give up their young daughters, some of them actually knowing that they are headed for sex slavery. They give them up because of the money they immediately receive; they give them up also for the money they know will be wired to them down the road. All of the world's greatest evils seem to come back to money.

Glenda – the lady I traveled with to Nuwocot – is starting up an NGO called Abundant Life Generation. This organization will be going into the villages in Nuwocot and doing some community development, along with educational initiatives. She is hoping to train some of these at-risk women in some income generating work, like fabrics, while educating the girls and the rest of the villagers on the dangers of giving away the villages' daughters to those scheming and deceitful bags of scum called human traffickers. These men (and often times women) promise better lives for the girls only to keep them caged in slavery, sometimes literally. Glenda is hoping this work will empower these girls, and help to paint newer, brighter colors into Nuwocot's dark and tragic picture.

I went there with Glenda, Mary and Eli. Mary is an American woman who has spent most of her adult life in Nepal, but has recently split her time between Colorado Springs and Kathmandu. She knows the culture in and out, and she is really the first Westerner I have seen who knows the language so well. Eli is a young American who basically travels around the world on his own, and who has become Glenda's helper. He looks like some kind of radical with his big beard, but he is one of the friendliest guys I've met.

It was fascinating to watch Glenda's NGO being created before our very eyes. It seems like a complicated and painstakingly slow process. One of the things I have learned here is how to be the organizer, as I am the one from the West who can barely breathe without some kind of understandable order (those of you who know me might be surprised at this!). On the other hand, in order to get anything accomplished, there needs to be a great deal of flexibility.

On top of the school work and the traveling, I have been working to finish up the documents for Brian. I have them finished, but he might want some revisions, we'll see. It feels wonderful to be finishing up my work here. I can spend these last days just soaking in the culture, and making connections with the various organizations.

UPDATE: Later on that evening, after eating dinner and having my computer nearly break down on me, the electricity finally came back on. We will see how long it lasts.

FOOD

Monday, November 28^th, 2011

In my room, at 7:21 PM

The other day, as I left the house in the morning, I glanced down at the “pet” chicken I had seen clucking around outside the house for the past two months. She was looking for food on the ground, and I felt kinda sad for the lonesome hen. At least she was able to walk around, and not stuck in some pen. Last night we had chicken soup, and the hen wasn't around anymore. The pregnant woman in our community (who is due in one month) had a check-up and the doctor said she should be eating more foods that provide energy. I think she needed to be eating more food in general; daal bhat can only go so far (at least in my opinion!). So her husband made chicken soup to support his wife and unborn child.

When I get antsy for some comfort food – aka “junk food” – I go to the nearest corner store and buy what is called Kurkure Masala Munch. Basically it's Cheetos with masala flavor instead of cheese flavor. Very tasty. And the best part is they're healthy for you! As I was inhaling my bag of Kurkure, I looked down and noticed that the bag said “Share Pack,” as it was one of those extra large smaller bags. I thought it a rather interesting marketing ploy. In America, it probably would have said something to the effect of “EXTRA BIG BAG MEANS MORE FOR YOU!” I like the Share Packs for more reasons than that they fit my big fat American appetite. I think the Share Packs are fitting for the culture here.

I pass a fruit stand almost every day as I walk through town, and as I walk by, the smell of the fresh fruit harvest cuts through all the pollution and sewage/trash odors, and floods my nose with good things. Many a time I have walked all the way past the stand, then like one of those old Warner Bros. cartoons, the scent practically turns me around and floats me pleasantly back to the stand with my eyes wide and my mouth watering. The man who has this spot is pretty damn lucky. He's probably been able to capture a lot of customers like me, who are just innocently strolling by.

I bought some fresh strawberries from him yesterday at “Nepali price.” (Along with some apples, and oranges, etc). When I was back at the house popping the strawberries into my mouth at the speed of light, the though occurred to me that maybe I could share some of my “share pack” of strawberries with the little children who live in the house. I gave one to Unika, Jema, and Nancy. A half hour later, I was surprised to see little Nancy, who is only 6, still nursing that one little strawberry I gave her. People in the so-called “developing world” really know how to make something good last.

ROSHAN

Sunday, November 27^th, 2011

In my room, at 8:45 PM

Do you remember Roshan? The 16 year old I went to Everest with? (I want to call him a kid, but I can't really do that, he's too smart and grown up; but I can't exactly call him an adult either). I had seen him earlier in the day and he seemed depressed about something. He had told me he'd talk to me about it later. Well, I just got done talking with him.

He saw his mother today...the first time he had seen her in 15 years. He was 1 ½ years old when he saw her last; when she walked out on the family. Apparently now she has become a Christian. Maybe she is wanting to try to make things right. Roshan – who wants to be called “David” now that he's recently been baptized – went to his pastor's house this morning. His pastor's wife is the sister of Roshan's mother. His mother was there. He said it was very strange to see this woman there, who kind of looked like him. Then he asked his pastor who she was and his pastor told him. She wanted to give him a hug, but of course Roshan was surprised and upset and angry at the whole scene. He had recoiled a bit, then traveled home after 10 minutes or so of being with his mother for the first time in a decade and a half. That is why he was down when I had seen him earlier.

I am shocked that all this is happening so quickly to him...with his Dad kicking him out of the house a year ago because of his Christian faith, and now his mom coming back in his life after he's practically grown up. Roshan had told me before that he's never known the love of a mother. He told me again tonight. He told me some of the thoughts running through his head.

“Why? You didn't give me love or protection when I needed it most. I was just a baby on the floor, and I needed love. Why do you want to come see me now – now that I'm grown up? No!”

Hearing his story breaks my heart. I tried to help him out a bit. I told him how none of this was his fault, and that he shouldn't feel obligated to know what to do next. I told him to take time to pray about it. I told him that God, in a way, was both his Father and his Mother, that He has allowed this to happen, and that He somehow has a plan. I saw his face look down and the cell phone he was holding slip out of his hand, and then he said in his thick accent, “I don't know.” “I feel really down.”

I prayed for him out loud. Then I shared with him a verse that has meant a lot to me recently. Psalm 34:1 – 7, especially verses 4 and 5. His face seemed to brighten just a bit, until he was able to radiate a smile, that smile I have come to know and love so well. I hugged him, and then I came up here to go to write this. I'm gonna miss this guy, my younger brother, when I leave.

ODDS AND ENDS

Friday, November 25^th, 2011

At Higher Grounds Cafe in Jawalakhel section of Kathmandu, at 2:05PM

As my time here slowly begins to wind down (I have well under a month), I am trying to do as much as I can for the organization, tour a bit, and make connections with other organizations, even while finishing up all my classwork.

Brian wants me to write out case studies of some of the slum children I interviewed the other day. I also still have to finish the documents for the clients of Agape, the at-risk women and children.

I have been to Everest and Pokhara, and hopefully, in a week or so, I will get to travel all the way to the Tibet border to visit some Christian ministers that Brian knows. Yesterday I got to see Bhaktapur, a historic palace town just outside of Kathmandu, with a friend of a friend – an American – on Thanksgiving. She works in the field of international development. And so, when I wasn't hammering our tour guide with questions about Nepal's history, I was questioning her, about her work.

Just the other day I visited the offices of Next Generation Nepal, an organization that works to reunite trafficked children with their families. There is a book out now about how this organization was started and I am currently reading it. It was interesting to be reading about a character in the book one day, and then the next actually getting to meet him. The woman from the organization who I talked with is currently working there for almost a year. She was very friendly and we had a lot to discuss. I offered to help them with some of the crucial paperwork necessary for raising funds. We'll see what opens up.

Something fascinating and disturbing had happened earlier that day, at the restaurant where Rahul and I were eating breakfast. Rahul went outside and to the back to find a bathroom, but before he found the bathroom, a man came up from behind him and asked him if he wanted a girl. Rahul said no (correct answer!), but the man told him to come back on Saturday if he changed his mind. So, on the way to a meeting to discuss human trafficking, we were solicited to participate in the prostitution of girls who had most likely been trafficked themselves.

Before I leave Nepal, Brian wants me and several others to go to a “dance bar” to participate in outreach to women at risk who had been trafficked. I am not sure what this will look like, if I will have to play it undercover or what. Brian says that this kind of outreach actually works better when foreigners help because the owners think the foreigners have money (Well I know that's not the case for me, anyway, but I will try to help out to the best of my abilities!). I will remain in prayer about this.

RIDING A REFLECTION

Thursday, November 24^th, 2011

In my room, at 9:40 PM

Imagine yourself at a rock concert. You are in towards the front of the crowd, surrounded on all sides, and lost in “the pit.” You are so close together that you can smell the breath from the guy next to you and the hand of the pretty girl on the other side of you brushes yours inadvertantly...

The loud music comes on and startles you, and you bring your head up. It hits something hard above you and you realize then that it is past dusk, and you are in Nepal, and your head just hit the roof of a bus. You are standing there with everyone else, swaying to and fro to the song of the moving vehicle...

As the bus boy climbs out and calls out the destination points, some polluted air blows in from the door, and you actually welcome it because it provides some cool relief from everyone's warm breath suspended inside the bus. You look down to see more people getting on board. This can't be, you think to yourself; we're way past capacity. Everyone gets more smushed. You reach up for a bar to hold onto, and in the process you almost take out a kid standing in front of you. There's no place to put your hand so you awkwardly grab the bar right near the kid's hand at the last second before the bus brakes again and the mass lurches forward. He then kindly takes his hand off and presses it against the roof for leverage, so you can have a good grasp on the bar. You feel like you are in a strange yoga position, using muscles that you didn't know existed just to make sure you don't plow into the persons on any side of you. Apparently Nepali people like to play Twister when they ride the bus...

Some people finally get off and you collapse into a seat. You look out the window and notice that the power has gone out in this part of the city. You squint to make sure you can see where you are. The music blaring on the bus radio is a traditional Nepali love song. A man and a woman take turns singing their parts and there is a steady beat and a memorable melody playing over and over again. When you finally wake up from the trance the music has put you in, you realize you missed your stop, you are already 15 minutes out of the way. You get off the bus, cross the street and get on another bus to head back toward your abode.