cabin
[kab-in]
noun
a small wooden hut or cottage, often in a remote or wooded place.
Cabin restaurants. That’s where we were told we were going for the day. My mind wandered to a log cabin, situated snuggly in the mountains or lakefront with a boat and pier. Wool socks, a fireplace, fluffy blankets, hot chocolate, and s’mores.
I knew it was a lie, but it somehow eased the discomfort as our bus pulled up to the red light district.
We walked in, and the atmosphere immediately shifted. It was dark, with only a light bulb or two. Plywood cubicles divided the space. Booths, they’re called. Four of us filed in.
It was dirty, but food isn’t actually served here.
We were greeted with a cheerful smile. She was no older than 16. We ordered sodas.
There was a brief discussion between the owner and our host.
‘You don’t want to be here.’‘My friends are thirsty and tired. They just want a drink.’
‘It’s expensive.’
‘That’s okay. They are just thirsty and need to rest.’
‘You know what we do here.’
Somehow, we were allowed to stayed. Only we weren’t paying for drinks. We were paying for the girl.
Her name is Serjanna. Her father recently died. She was forced into the unthinkable. She spends her days being bought for her body. I tried not to let my mind wander.
It was hot, hard to breathe. My heart wanted to shatter into a million little pieces.
She showed us pictures of her family and took about a million of us.
She wanted to know why we were there. We wanted her to know her value as a daughter of the King. We learned that she wanted to be a beautician. She didn’t like this job.
Society tells her she’ll never be anything more. She has no education, no skill.
But we know better.
Another girl, in a hello kitty shirt and yellow jacket, joined us in the booth. She was stunning. At 23, her husband is paralyzed and her baby has a spinal injury. She works her days away and at night, entertains her husband’s friends.
She says she knows Jesus.
It turns out everyone in the cabin does.
But they don’t. In Nepal, it is easier for these people to hide behind Christianity than to participate in works-based religions that require devotion, festivals, and temples.
But Jesus knows them. He sees them. He DIED for them. He wants their hearts as much as ours. He loves them as much as he loves me and you.
In the booth over, a child slapped his mom as she took something from him. I wondered who he learned that from.
Outside, a bench was filled with men, not-so-patiently waiting for us to leave so they could instead fill the wooden seats we were in.
My heart finally shattered. I held back tears.
A soft voice whispered, ‘They are my children. I love them, too. As much as the cabin girls. As much as the men who employee them. As much as I love you.’
Nepal is currently home to one of the highest rates of sex trafficking in the world. Men go bankrupt in these cabin restaurants. Women accidentally marry into prostitution. Girls get tricked into taking ‘waitress’ jobs, and can’t get out. They are degraded and abused. Many struggle with substance abuse. Police, military, and politicians are highly-valued customers and often the greatest source of abuse. It’s a dark, vicious cycle that needs to be brought to light.
