Our short walk takes us past three large malls, plastered with advertisements for the latest cars, clothes and cell phones. The consumerism in this part of town isn’t that different from what we see in America. It’s quite a contrast from the half-naked children who roam the streets.
We take the train down two stops and cross the road. From there we follow the all-too-familiar path to the Manna House, a path that leads us by countless women standing on the street corner, waiting for their next customer. Their faces are covered with a thick layer of makeup that does nothing to hide their sadness. As we walk by, our waves, smiles and hugs bring a rare joy to their faces.
When we arrive at Manna House, we are welcomed by a woman we call Deedee, which is Hindi for sister. She is a former CSW (commercial sex worker) who has lived at Manna House for the last nine months, cooking meals for the children. Deedee greets us with chai, a morning treat I have come to love. Deedee speaks no English, but we manage to communication by thumbs up and facial expressions.
Kids begin to flock to the Manna House, smiles plastered to their faces as they run into our arms. We’ve only been here for a few days, but the children quickly became comfortable with us. It didn’t take long for us to fall in love with each of them. We spend the morning playing with puzzles, drawing pictures, and of course playing tickle monster. Much of our day is filled wit the sound of high-pitched giggles reverberating through the small room.
Manna House is one room in the middle of the Red Light District. It used to be a brothel, and is still owned by a pimp. Pastor Abhey, who founded Manna House, pays rent to the pimp. We were told the room used to contain eight beds, separated by curtains, for CSWs to do their work. It’s hard to believe so many beds could fit in such a small space.
As the morning goes on, two of the older kids come to me to get math problems. I started teaching some of them basic math, like addition and subtraction, when I discovered they didn’t go to school. Public primary school is free to attend, but many kids in the Red Light Disrict don’t go simply because they don’t have to. I have discovered that the kids here are all very smart and actually love learning. One boy who is about eight has learned how to do long addition without counting on his fingers. He gets so excited whenever he gets a problem right.
We usually do a Bible story in the mornings, but today we have a special treat coming in the afternoon. We do sing the songs we taught them, Pharoah Pharoah and Our God Is So Big. The kids love singing!
Lunchtime quickly approaches. The kids all wash their hands while Deedee fixes the plates. Lunch consists of rice and curry. One of the older kids passes out plates, starting with us and then serving the youngest kids. It warms my heart to see the older kids helping the younger ones eat.
After lunch is cleaned up, we lay out mats for naptime. It surprised me at first how many of the older kids stuck around for this part of the day, but I quickly discovered that they needed sleep just as much as the young ones. It takes a while to calm the kids down, but eventually the room is quiet, a dozen kids fast asleep. I use this time to relax and read for two hours, while some of my team mates take naps themselves.
Around four o’clock, the kids begin to wake up. Generally, this would mean more playtime, but today it means movie time. As the others set up a laptop and start the movie, I make popcorn on the stove. The previous day, we had taught the kids about Moses and Pharoah, so we decided to show them The Prince of Egypt. The kids love the popcorn and movie, and we decide to make this a weekly tradition.
The oldest boy continues sleeping through the whole movie, and I wonder how much sleep he actually gets every night. He finally wakes up when the credits roll, as Deedee is preparing our dinner. While she cooks, the kids begin playing again, many of them taking turns doing our hair. They love to brush our hair and braid it. The risk of lice is in the back of my mind, but I see how much the kids love to do our hair and let them continue anyway.
Dinner proceeds similarly to lunch, with the older kids helping the younger. For many of them, this is their second meal of the day at Manna House. I wonder if they would have anywhere else to go for those meals.
Throughout dinner, CSWs come in to get prayer. The prayer requests they present break my heart. Many are riddled with major health problems including HIV and tuberculosis. They also desperately want to create a better life, but they lack the resources, and they can’t find better jobs. Manna House is in the process of teaching women how to make jewelry and purses to sell to provide them extra finances. It’s encouraging to know the women will soon be getting some sort of supplemental income.
After dinner, we pray and say goodbye to the kids. As we walk outside, we are again surrounded by CSWs lining the streets. Many are women who have come to us for prayer. The atmosphere outside is a lot more intimidating in the darkness. The enemy has such a strong hold on this place. As we say goodbye to the women, as we hug them, I also try to invite God’s presence in. Darkness is the absence of light, so it cannot exist when light is present. I hope to leave behind God’s light.
We take the train back home and walk to the mall to pick up bottled water. We again are surrounded by at least ten kids, begging for food and money. Hundreds of people walk by to spend frivolous money at the mall, ignoring the needs around them.
It strikes me that I am included in that group.
We were told by our contact not to give things to the beggars. He had specific reasoning for it, and we have honored that request. But in the process, I have begun to see the beggar children as a nuisance.
The reality is, the only difference between them and the kids at Manna House is their location. They deserve love just as much, and their needs are nearly identical.
On the World Race, I expected to see poverty in Africa, and I did. But nothing could prepare me for the poverty and brokenness I have witnessed in Mumbai. I am surrounded by it morning to evening, seven days a week. It is breaking me.
One of my friends back home heard that I was working in the Red Light District this month. She sent me a voice message and encouraged me to be weak this month, to let God be my strength.
So far in the Race, I have done all I could to be strong for myself. But eight months into this thing, I can no longer do that. If there was ever a month I needed a reminder to be weak, this is it.
The people here don’t need my love. Nothing I can humanly offer them is good enough. It won’t fulfill them. It won’t give them hope.
But God can give them all they need. He creates them, and He knows their pain. He has heard their cries, and held every tear. And for reasons I will never understand, He chose me.
He chose me to be a basin full of His love, to pour it out day after day. He chose me to bring His light into one of the darkest places on earth. I am humbled and honored.
In hindsight, I see He’s been preparing me for it for years. As a child, my family participated in a ministry that raised money for girls at risk of being trafficked. I remember saving all my pocket change to put in a small milk carton. I didn’t fully understand what it was for at the time, but my parents told me it helped little girls around the world and I jumped on board. Now, years later, I am seeing the other side. The statistics I’ve heard have names and faces eternally branded into my mind.
I will not walk away from this place the same. I can’t.
