This blog was tough for me to post. It’s been sitting on my laptop since the 27th (the day after it happened). When God puts it on my heart to intercede for someone, it’s a painful but beautiful feeling. I feel my heart breaking, and then I feel the Father’s heart break within me for the specific person. I never feel more heartache and love for someone than when I intercede for them. That being said, I felt it important to share this story. I wanted to give the woman in this story a platform for her voice to be heard when she has no way to speak for herself.
My team and I, plus a squad leader, headed out to journey around the town. We were warned about Banyuwangi before we arrived. In Yogyakarta, we had crossed paths with some people from a Christian organization, Chi Alpha, who are based in Indonesia. They told us that where we were heading was very dark, and to be covered in prayer.
There are several Hindu temples, and mosques that surround our hostel. There are statues of snakes, and monkey gods in the streets. Every morning at 4:00am, I wake to chanting and prayers from the mosques (they have it on a speaker which blasts through the streets so everyone hears). There are many “massage parlors” where we have been warned by locals that it’s where people are trafficked, and you can see mattresses on the floors inside. Trash is littered in the streets, and the women are regarded as property.
We were checking out all the street shops and the unique snacks they sell. We were on a quest for fruit so we made our way to the nearby train station, and that’s when we saw a dirt path which led out of town.
A lone woman stood there.
It was hard to tell how old she was, but I’m guessing she was roughly around our own ages. She asked if we could give her money. My teammate, Kayce, offered her food. The woman spoke little English, but she pointed to a sign of a restaurant and said, “crunchy potatoes”.
As she led us down the dirt path away from the station, I remember feeling myself grow more and more uneasy. It was a familiar feeling I was experiencing; it was the Holy Spirit warning me to be on guard.
An outdoor restaurant sat in a clearing to our left. From the sound of the Pitbull music, and the fact that white people were sitting there, I knew it was a tourist attraction. The darkness put me on edge. It didn’t feel right at all.
The woman told us to sit and when we asked her to join us she hesitated. I patted the empty seat next to me and she finally gave in. We ordered coffee, and crunchy potatoes (French fries). She told us that her uncle owned this restaurant and that she knew it well. She looked uncomfortable, and I began to feel sick to my stomach as the staff made several glances at our table. I noticed that there were no female workers.
They brought out our coffee and they set the French fries down at the middle of the table.
“Those are for her,” Kayce said as she moved the French fries toward the woman.
A little while later one of the servers moved it away from her, and Kayce moved it back. This happened a total of three times before the server came and spoke to the woman in Indonesian (I assumed it was something along the lines of “don’t eat this”). After pushing the plate of French fries towards her one more time, she relented and began nibbling them.
We tried speaking to her, and we were able to communicate a few things with her, but she mostly just sat beside me listening to our team speak. Our conversation consisted of how much we’ve grown to love and respect each woman on our team, looking back on it now I’m curious as to how much she understood.
I could feel her eyes searching each of us at the table, and I could sense her yearning to lock eyes with each of us. I felt her staring at me, begging me to look. So, I did.
I won’t forget those eyes that stared back into mine with more intensity than my human understanding knew what to do with. Those beautiful brown eyes looked dead, and desperate for life. There was a helpless longing inside of her for the light that Jesus Christ which emitted through each of us at the table.
“You’re very pretty,” she said to me suddenly.
I looked at her a little caught off guard, but she continued to gaze at me, unwilling to tear herself away. She had that look people get when they seem like they want to say more, but for whatever reason choose not to.
“You are too,” I told her.
“No. Never.” Her face hardened and she looked sad. I felt it best not to push it, as she buried her face into her hijab and shook her head.
Kayce and I began using our phones to correspond messages back and forth with each other, confirming that we were both feeling the same thing. After talking as a team, we realize now that several of us were on the same page. We felt the darkness in this place, and one word kept consistently being brought to mind: trafficking.
After sitting with us for two hours, the woman broke down and began crying as she confirmed to us what we’d been discerning in our spirits.
“These men beat me,” she said her face crumbled and her lip trembled as she tried holding in her sobs.
“They beat me because they think I’m strong. These men have sex with me.”
What she said next still tears at my heart when I think of it. She looked at me with those eyes and said, “I am very glad to have met all of you.”
And I knew she meant it.
She muttered a quick apology before running away with tears streaming down her face.
One of the servers came over, bowing and apologizing to us. “She’s family. She’s crazy.” He said bowing again and again.
That night we worshipped at our hostel and interceded for her, her family, and the men who participate in trafficking. I felt sick at the thought of what she would endure after we left because of what happened. I felt the injustice, and I felt the heartache deep in the Father for the sin of this world. I begged God to hear from us and touch the woman and all the men who had hurt her. I will continue to intercede for them and for her. Even now, as I’m finishing this blog and about to post it, I can feel the pain in my heart for her. I will not forget her story, and I will never stop sharing it. God bless you, sweet girl.
