Wednesday, June 22, 2011

And I know that there are angels all around...

     She is a tiny little thing with dark brown skin, big brown-almost black- eyes, and a smile that lights up her entire face. Five years old, and one of the cutest little girls I have ever seen.

     We caught up with her and her older brothers as we were leaving the Evening Care Center and walking to get a taxi. She held my hand.So small... she doesn't even come up to my waist yet. We walked through the mass of men, vendors, smokers, and women headed home... or atleast, I think they were headed home. I tried to lead her as best as I could, wanting to shield her from everything... from hands that may reach out and grab her. From the dog bigger than she is. From the open flames of street food.

     She waved goodbye,  and grabbed the hands of her older brothers. She blew us a kiss, and with a smile, turned down the dark alley towards home.

      I pray harder.

     I have seen those alleyways.

     It feels almost surreal, as if you are walking through a portal into another universe, where suddenly, these women are standing in doorways, some in miniskirts, some in saris, some with lots of makeup, some with little. Some smile, some stare, some just look away. The brothels are separated by language groups... Bengalis over here, Telagus there, Nepali just in front of you, etc.

     I followed an Indian woman into her home, up the stairs into the darkest hallway I have ever seen. Steep staircases. She unlocks the door to her room. We remove our shoes. This is home... one bed that feels more like a cloth covered bench, cobwebs on the wall, clothes folded on shelves, dead garland underneath her picture of Cali. Smaller than my bathroom at home. She talks, we listen, we pray... my feet are bare... standing on holy ground.

     We walk more, and I can feel their stares. The men, look me over, and despite the fact that I am in complete Indian garb, they still notice me. Ugh. It's at these moments when I envy Muslim women. I want a burqa.

     We follow another woman into her home... her room is on the roof. Steep brick steps shrowded in darkness. I am surprised no one has broken their necks on these things. The middle is worn from years of walking up and down. Smaller than the last room... just enough for a bed. This is where she lives, she cooks, she does business with customers, she sleeps.

     I learn that children sleep underneath the bed. While the mothers work, they are often chained to the beds and drugged so they will sleep.
    
     Two more women come, one is an alcoholic. Their eyes are dead. We pray with them. Shoes once again removed. Holy ground...

     I will forever associate tobacco with the men buying and selling women on the streets. It is spit everywhere, with that ridiculous hacking sound. Disgusting. Some of it is red, and you think someone has a bloddy mouth, but really it's just tobacco. Could you imagine having to service a customer with that crap dripping down his chin? There are no words...

      We walk through a narrow alleyway, only able to walk single file. I catch glimpses of women in the dark shadows and corners of their rooms, waiting to be looked over and chosen. There are women standing outside, but many more waiting in doors. It's a buffet for the sexual appetite. Take your pick and feast.

     We make our way back to the ECC, the edge of the district, shoes once again removed before we enter the room.

     I have been given a group of about twelve 9 and 10 year olds, and I adore them. We are creating stories... writing thoughts and feelings, using imaginations, and learning English in the process. I want them to find their voices.

     It is chaotic... so many people in one small room. Yelling for markers to color our pictures. Trying to translate from Bengali to English and back to Bengali. Singing loudly at the top of our lungs. Cookies flying. It is chaos. Sweat on my forehead. Bare feet. Holy ground.

     There is a small group of boys I just love. Nine and 10 years old. Sweetest hearts, and biggest smiles. I watch them protect their younger siblings. I watch them pray and sing. Too cool for hugs, not too cool for secret handshakes. I just love them.

     And I am afraid... because I watched the men around them. I know of brothers who have sold their sisters. Men who were once sweet boys that become pimps, buyers, and abusers. I know the men they have as role models and examples. Good God. I could be a better example of manhood than these clowns gambling and stumbling on the side of the road.

     My heart hurts, breaking for my boys. My heart that is growing attached and will soon be ripped away. Oh God please... raise them to be a new generation of men. Men who follow you no matter the cost. Men who stand for purity and justice. Men who protect their mothers and sisters, who love their wives and children. Men who will not stand for laziness or take the easy way out.

     Jesus. Jeshu. Yeshua. Yahwah.

     He walks here. In the red light district, among the garbage and waste, the idols and the sex. He knows the corners of every brothel room. He created the men and women here... formed them, fashioned them, designed them and knows them by name. This is his home... the places he chooses.

     I am beginning to realize that maybe God isn't very impressed with our clean walls and pristine sanctuaries. He rarely visited the temples. Instead, he walked among the people. He touched their sores. He called them from their sin to a better life. He got dirty, bloody, disgusting for the sake of his people. He demands we do the same.

     I can't help but think that this is where he dwells. He is here, when all hope seems lost. He is working, bringing light to the darkness. I want to be here, where he is. Do you? Are you willing to be dirty and uncomfortable, just so you could catch a glimpse of his face? Or are you content to live life safe inside the padded pew, and wait until heaven to see him. Yes, heaven will be amazing. But why wait when you could have the unspeakable joy of seeing him now? Touching him now? Walking with him now?

     Oh dear friends, I have seen glimpses, and it is beautiful... glimpses in the midst of hell.

     So I take off my shoes... because it is holy ground.

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