There is a prayer house there that provides safety for the kids and women if they want it.
At the house we told bible stories, played games. They always sing and pray before they serve lunch. One person prays and they all repeat the prayer.
The women that cooks is a lady that had been working in the district until she was thrown out because she got aids. She can't hear well. She is quiet but has a lovely smile that she shares with us on occasions.
Nap time is always after lunch. Some kids leave, some sleep, some play quietly. One day a girl sat in my lap as I read her bible story's for 45 minutes. She didn't have a clue what I was saying. She didn't leave because she felt safe and secure.
You forget where you are at when you are in the house. But there is no way you forget as you are going and leaving.
Women line the streets waiting for customers. You see the brothels and the men going in and out of them. You see the women have gone numb. You see men gawking at the women.
We get looks from everyone there as we come and go. Judgments. But as soon as we start prayer walks that leaves. When you talk to them in their language, they open up. They laugh as we mispronounce words but you can see joy in their faces because they realize that you care enough to try.
We've been asked back to prostitutes houses and pimps houses… Women pimps. We go. We listen. We give words. We pray. They give tea.
It is always 'same same but different.'
