A RESCUE ATTEMPT, GRASSROOTS STYLE: PART II

Sunday, December 10, 2011

At Soma Cafe, continued...

Most of us had never been in a Nepali dance bar, and didn't even really know what one was. Basically, it is a bar with a stage where girl dancers dance provocatively to loud popular beats and music. Because Nepal is a conservative kind of place, the girls usually aren't so scantily clad; it is still more than enough to distract a man like myself, in all honesty.

The whole production is of course meant to do this. What happens is that in between dances, the girls come out to the bar area and speak with potential customers. It all appears innocent, as per the unprogressive Nepali style. Even the provocative dancing at times seems more hidebound. Everything is very covert. Eventually numbers are exchanged and the customer agrees to meet with the girl at a later time and place, at which point the acts of prostitution occur.

Continued on Sunday, December 11, 2011, at the Delhi Airport, at 7:15 PM

It was a little awkward at first, walking into that dance bar, and seeing a girl dancing on the stage, with two male dancers backing her up. She was the main event, and some people in the crowd were cheering her on. She wore a smile. It looked like she was happy doing what she was doing, and I can see why Nepalis and Westerners alike can be easily deceived into thinking thoughts like, What's the matter? Let her go, she's making money and enjoying herself. I'm not saying that every dance bar girl does not want to be there, I'm merely saying things are not what they seem. It is a lot more complicated than it appears.

So there I was, along with the other abolishionists, throwing out silent prayers onto the situation and asking God to reach out and help these girls. I won't hide the fact that it was quite distracting, being a man and trying to do that. When I wasn't awkwardly looking away (you're expected to watch, of course!), I was trying hard to keep my eyes on her face. I had to appear interested for the operation to work out, but when I actually found myself interested, I would force myself to look away. It's not exactly natural for a man to look away from a beautiful Nepali girl. It's also not “natural” for a beautiful Nepali girl to be forced to dance like this. You can decide which one was more important for this moment. My psyche was in a weird state; it went from being distracted to focused on prayer, and then back again.

The music was entrancing too. The heavy beats made me want to get up and dance, but that's not really the norm at these places – dancing is reserved for the those on stage – so I just sat there and nodded my head to the beat. Rob, one of the other guys with us told me that if they put on Bieber, he was going to have to get up and dance. I couldn't tell if he was serious or not, but later on when Bieber's popular tune came blasting through the speakers, Rob was singing along with a big grin on his face. He must be one of those die-hards.

At some point, the girls in our group started up a conversation with a couple of the girl dancers. This was as planned, because things can quickly deteriorate if one of the guys talks to a girl. She might get the wrong idea, and the whole operation could just implode. The point is to take it one step at a time, to see how much the girl opens up, and to see what her needs are, while keeping the entire moment wrapped in prayer and discernment. Our goal was to get their numbers, so we could meet them somewhere later to offer to help them out of their situation. But we wouldn't be able to help them unless they wanted it.

At first it was awkward, and I didn't think anything would happen. Over the course of the evening however, things really opened up for us, and we ended up talking to at least three or four girls. When I say “we” I mean it was mostly our abolishionist girls doing the talking while Brian and Rahul translated. The guys hung out at a distance, didn't say much, and mostly kept the conversations covered in silent prayer. The group bought the girls drinks (like Coca Cola) and I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly some of them were able to open up. I enjoyed watching everyone interact on this real level with these girls. It was a joy to be a part of it, even if by just silently praying for them as they talked with us.

There was one girl in particular, that I had the opportunity to interact with a bit. I'll call her Shati. Those of us around the table were all talking to her with either Brian or Rahul translating. Shati is 20 years old, and has been working at this dance bar for a year. When her father died and her mother became sick, there was no one to take care of the family. Shati turned to “dancing” here at night while cleaning houses during the day, in order to help pay her family's bills and to put her little brother through school. Out of the three or four girls we had talked to, she was the most outspoken about wanting to get out of dance bar routine. We had tried to convince Shati to call us later at a number Brian had given her, so we could meet up and talk some more. The hope was to be able to get a better assessment on her situation, and then maybe have our girls take her out shopping or something. Eventually, we'd tell her about one of the safe houses Brian has connections with. Shati said that she wanted to call us later on, but that she didn't have a cell phone.

At some point a light bulb went off in my head: I could give her my phone.

I was only going to be around in Nepal a few days more anyway, really there was not much of a need for it. I had been planning to give my phone to Roshan, who is in need of one because his is broken, but it seemed obvious that it was more important Shati had one.

I discussed this prospect with Brian, as the music pounded our ears, and he thought well enough of it to give me the go-ahead. It would have to be discrete though, so the watchful male managers wouldn't catch it, lest they become suspicious and view it as an escape attempt on Shati's part (which, well, I guess it was just that). I copied down numbers from my phone that I thought I'd need at some point, then went into the bathroom and took out the SIM card, looking behind me to make sure one of the guy workers didn't come in and catch me fiddling with a cell phone. I had been using my friend Roshan's SIM card since I first arrived in Nepal, and he would need it back. Shati would be able to find another SIM card elsewhere, at least that's what Brian thought.

I then came back and sat next to one of my fellow abolishionists – a girl from my home state actually – and told her the plan. I slid the phone out of my pocket and put it on the seat, in-between us. We were close enough together that no one could see it. She picked it up, hid it in her pocket, and then motioned for Shati to come with her to the bathroom where Shati was given the phone.

We ended up praying for Shati, right there in the dance bar. As we left the bar later on, I was stoked about how well the night went. The ball was now in Shati's court, because she had a cell phone. She said she would call us the following Saturday. There were also plans made to come back the next day to meet up with another girl who said she'd be outside the bar at a certain time.

I told the team to keep me posted on what happens with these girls in the future, as I won't be there to see it. I'm flying back to the States tomorrow.

A RESCUE ATTEMPT, GRASSROOTS STYLE: PART I

Sunday, December 10, 2011

At Soma Cafe, at 12:15 PM

A couple nights ago, the New Abolishionists and I, along with our leader Brian, went into the highly touristy neighborhood called Thamel to do “outreach” at a dance bar. This outreach is a part of what the New Abolishionists are doing for their mission while here in Nepal. To me, it seemed like a grassroots rescue operation. We weren't just going in there sporadically without preparation, however.

This is an account of what occurred.

We met in the parking lot of a restaurant that is popular with Westerners. Brian Williams, who has been involved in rescue operations like this before, started off the night by giving us a brief training on the neighborhood and what we could expect. Being someone who is constantly in tune with his spiritual side, he told the group he had had a dream the previous night about a Nepali prince from the 17^th century. The prince was seated on his horse, and had huge rice sacks hanging from his saddle. For some reason, in the dream Brian was riding a bus that stopped right where this prince was, and Brian was observing him through one of the bus windows. Brian then saw the prince reach down and grab a young Nepali girl and force her into the one of the rice sacks. The prince then said “There! I have another wife!”

Being disturbed by this, Brian jumped out of the bus and ran over to the prince and began to open up the rice sack to rescue the girl. He saw a policeman nearby watching what was happening, but not doing anything. He also saw other princes with girls trapped in rice sacks, and other rescuers trying to get them out. Some people who were “enemies” then showed up and prevented Brian and the others from rescuing the girls by pulling at them and by putting their hands over the rice bags. The struggle continued until one of the enemies pulled out a knife, at which point Brian awoke from his dream.

After telling us about the dream, Brian talked about a story from the Bible involving Joshua, to whom God had told to go into the land and said that anywhere his feet touched will be given to him, in God's name. Brian then prayed for God's protection and blessing, and told us to go out into the neighborhood to pray and claim the ground for Jesus. I considered this a very charismatic Pentecostal kind of activity, and I confess I was a little skeptical; but by now I was used to these kinds of things so I went along and participated to the best of my ability. We canvassed the dance bar areas with prayer, and contemplated what God was telling us or where he wanted us to go.

After a half hour, we returned to the parking lot and debriefed. One of the guys in the group said he saw a dance bar near a sign that had the word "prince" on it. There was one of the blue military policemen – who are ubiquitous in Kathmandu – nearby too.  Both were references to Brian's dream.

It's not like we were all mystified with amazement and singing Cum By Yah together when we heard this. Brian himself mentioned later that he had been a bit skeptical about the point of the prayer walk. But this is the thing about faith in Nepal. They take it for what it is; they see a connection like this as from God, be it a big or little sign. And actually, at this point it was mostly foreigners in the group, with Brian and Rahul being the only Nepalis, so it took faith and agreement from all of us to decide on the next course of action.

We headed over to the dance bar near the sign on which was printed the word "prince."

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.