Walking into the red light district of Chiang Mai, my mom and I walk nervously past bar after bar after bar, trying to shut down the excuses and lies running through our heads. Other World Racers and their parents sit in various bars on the strip, laughing and talking and generally being good at socializing, something I don’t think I’ll be good at (there’s one excuse, one lie). “Mom, you’ve got the Holy Spirit too!” I exclaim in frustration, as she tries to let me lead again. There’s another excuse, another lie: many of the parents think their Racers aren’t afraid at all and that we’re experts at ministry now. I think we’ve just gotten better at hiding our nerves and uncertainty.
Eventually, my mom points out a bar to go in. As we approach the entrance, we bow our heads and put our hands together. We carefully pronounce “sawatdee ka,” one of two phrases in Thai we learned earlier that day. We are cheerfully and enthusiastically welcomed, “sawatdee ka,” “hello,” and smiles all around. Among the excitement and nerves of going into our first bar for ministry, I find myself sitting at a table across from my mom ordering an iced tea. My iced tea arrives in almost no time, and before I know it, my mom and I have new friends sitting next to both of us.
I put what I hope is a pleasant, friendly smile on my face (I never really know what is happening to my facial features). “Hi! My name is Allison. What’s your name?”
“I’m Tani*.” She puts her hand over her heart and ducks her head in introduction. I repeat it back to her to make sure I’m pronouncing her name correctly, and she spells it for me, her finger tracing the English letters in the air, “T-A-N-I.”
In the blur of nerves, nighttime, and excitement, what I failed to notice was that the people who greeted us on the sidewalk were not traditional “bar girls” as we initially thought they were, but ladyboys**. We make small talk over our drinks; chatting is easier than I thought it would be. After Tani and I talked a bit about where we’re from and how many siblings we have, she changes the topic back to where I’m from.
I’ve heard this just about every month on the Race, and I try really hard to not let it bother me. “Really? You’re from the United States? You’re not from China? But you look Chinese! Ni hao!” But now that Tani and I have talked a bit and are starting to form a friendship, I feel more comfortable explaining to her that my dad was born in Taiwan and my mom’s side of the family is from, yes, China, but I was born and raised in the States. Tani looks me in the eyes and tells me about how Chinese men will come through from time to time, saying without using the direct words that they come in and pay for sex. She then tells me about how she sees Chinese girls walking in the middle of the street at night. She doesn’t think they’re very smart because they almost get hit by tuk-tuks and motos, so she tries to get them to walk on the sidewalk.
What breaks my heart is what she does next. “They hear my voice and — because I’m a ladyboy — ” She mimes the look of surprise, of disdain. She acts out the giggling and the whispering and the wide eyes, and the distance these girls put between themselves and Tani. Tani and her coworkers sit on tall stools in front of the bar on the sidewalk, so these girls don’t even get out of the street; they’d rather be in the way of a vehicle than get any closer to the ladyboys. She seems so surprised that I’m sitting there with her; she tells me that no other Chinese girl has ever come into the bar, and it goes without saying that none of them have stayed long enough to even make small talk.
I’m simultaneously ashamed and proud of my Chinese heritage. I’m so embarrassed and discouraged that Tina has seen enough Chinese girls act this way that she associates a whole group of people with muttered judgment, but I’m excited and thankful that as a Chinese and Taiwanese girl myself, I was able to befriend Tani and start to break perceptions and labels.
A lot of times, ministry can seem pointless. What can we possibly do as little World Racers, here in Chiang Mai for a month, playing Jenga and Connect Four in the bars? How can a conversation really make a difference? But what if, as Pi Emmi says, we’re really all parts of the jigsaw puzzle God is putting together? Maybe He is orchestrating a symphony of hope and life. Maybe our little conversations do restore a little bit of worth and humanity to the people we come into contact with. Maybe God placed me in that bar for such a time as this to give Tani a little bit of hope that she’s worth more: more than a price she negotiates with customers, more than a glance filled with disdain and a smattering of giggles, more than an object to be used and forgotten. She’s worth more than the labels, the stereotypes, the objectification. She’s worth more: she is an aunt, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a human hated by many but loved so much by a God above that He would send His only Son to die so she could truly live.
*name changed
**Here in Thailand, ladyboys are not as stigmatized as transgender men often are in the rest of the world. The use of the term “ladyboy” is also different from the use of the term “transgender” in a Western context, but I’m not well informed about it.
