“I have been a prostitute for 27 years,” said
Esperanza.
{27 years}
“I want to someday help people with sickness,” she replied
to me asking what she always wanted to be.
“I need food. My kids
need food,” said Katia. “I dream of
studying criminology. One day.”
{One day, maybe one day}
“I have no money to fly home to Brazil to see my
children. I work seven days a week,”
said Katia. “I would rather do anything
else than this.
So there they were under that graffiti concrete bridge. Just a few short miles from the Malaga
Airport (Spain). Esperanza, a Spanish transvestite, and Katia,
a Brazil mother of two, stand everyday waiting. Waiting for someone, anyone. They
give sex; the men give a “donation”, hardly. They both leave eternally unsatisfied and left waiting and searching
once more.
I had the chance to hand them a journal the G42 interns have
been preparing (inspired by my friend Steph Fisk). Inside each journal was a note to each of the
women in Spanish and English. We told them we care and who they are despite what they see. We told them to write their story, a way to express themselves and to know that someone looks at
them differently. With eyes of hope.
{Eyes of hope}
Esperanza and Katia looked at me differently. It took them a minute to understand but
realized we were for real. As I watched
them look at their notes (in the journals), Esperanza wrote on one of the pages “We care for you
too!”. She meant that.
I left with tight hugs and felt the joy from Esperanza and
Katia. Something had changed. It really doesn’t take much to begin to see
light come. If we are light, then all we
need to do is go where it is dark. Simple.
I am reminded of a song we sang in a church this
morning.
“Greater things are yet to come, Greater things are still to
be done in Espana!”
