I’ll never forget the night that I went to a strip club with my dad. I would not have imagined that I’d ever set foot in a bar or befriend a girl trapped in prostitution, but that night, I did both. And my life is forever changed because of it.
We passed beneath the sign labeled “Walking Street” and entered another world. Lights gleamed from a million directions, illuminating the figures on the congested road. Buildings crowded either side, some of them four or more stories high. Boys walked around selling packs of cigarettes, ladyboys strutted in stilettos, and girls called at us from the sidelines, beckoning us to enter their bars. Music oozed from every building.
“Do you want to go into one to see what it is like?” Mae, our Filipino guide, asked. The four of us faced each other: KC (a girl on my squad), her mom (Pam), my dad, and me. “Sure,” someone said, and one by one we entered the club.
Lights dazzled.
Music blared.
Smoke invaded our lungs.
Girls danced onstage while a shadowy audience sat below, entranced.
We stood in shock for a few seconds, reality splintering in the clouded air. Even though we had known what to expect, nothing could have prepared us for the darkness that hung in the atmosphere or the hopelessness that screamed beneath the upbeat music. Mae looked at us kindly. “Ready?” she yelled over the roar, and we filed out silently.
Stunned, we gathered in a small group as we tried to get it together. “It’s real,” Pam finally breathed.
We decided to keep moving for a while. Door girls called out as we continued on. Tiny, blank-faced Filipino women passed by, hand in hand with caucasian men who were over fifty years old. “Hi, ma’am! Hi, sir!” chorused groups of girls in the streets.
I could still feel the darkness, heavier than the night around us, but I did not feel crushed. God had chosen to let His light be seen through us, and it was incredible. Dark eyes locked onto our group. I made an effort to meet every look with a smile. “Walk in confidence,” my Savior told me, so I did.
KC slowed as we neared one of the bars. “I feel like we’re supposed to go into this one,” she said. I agreed. And so we entered Club Asia for the first time.
It was a smaller bar with a stage that featured poles. Booths lined the walls. Stools surrounded the stage, providing front-row seats. We walked right up to the stage and sat directly beneath the girls who were on display, wearing next to nothing. “Do not be ashamed,” God said, so I searched every face. My stomach twisted as I saw girls laughing and dancing, pretending to have fun but obviously not really wanting to be there. They were a blur of movement as my eyes darted from one to the next, until I saw a girl standing below the stage and to the back, tear stains on her cheeks. “That one,” my Savior said emphatically. “Okay,” I thought, trying to devise a strategy in order to get to her, but then she disappeared behind a curtain.
I ordered pineapple juice and waited, unsure of what to do. Mae explained that we were supposed to pick a girl and ask the waitress to get her to come down by referring to the girl’s bar ID, which was clipped to her bikini bottom. In this bar, the girls’ IDs were numbers, not names. KC and her mom got the waitress to call down a girl for them, but I was still deciding whether I should talk to someone else or if I should wait for the girl to show up.
It was only a minute before she appeared in the back. She was pushed to the front by some of the other girls, who started pointing and yelling, “Cherry girl! She’s a cherry girl! A virgin.” The girl looked upset for a split second, but then she masked her emotions with a smile. I pointed her out to the waitress, who got her to come down.
My dad asked if he could order her a drink. She ordered pineapple juice. I asked her for her name.
“Rosalyn.”
It was one of the names that God had given us during worship that night. I explained that we were missionaries from Wipe Every Tear. “Have you heard of it?” I asked. She shook her head. “We’re here to get girls out of bars,” I said. Instantly, her expression changed. She looked hopeful for the first time as I explained about the free housing, food, and education that Wipe Every Tear offers. I told her that, if she wanted to see if it was real, she could meet us at Hotel America on Friday at 9am and we would show her one of the safehouses. Afterwards, we would give her money to get back to work, but she could stay if she liked.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely.
I began to ask her about herself. She, like me, is 20 years old. Her family lives in a faraway province. She has six siblings, all of whom are younger. She started working at this bar recently because she wanted to support her family and afford to go to college. What she really wants, she said, is to be an elementary school teacher because she loves children.
Mae came over for a little while and spoke with her in Tagalog. Soon after, we left to see other bars.
…
The next night, we determined to visit all of the bars that we had gone to the first night, just as Coach had advised. We worked our way up to Club Asia, as it was near the end of the strip. Finally, we entered the bar.
She was there again, dancing near the back. She looked surprised, relieved, and happy all at once. This time, we sat in a curved booth that was connected to the stage. I motioned her over and she came gladly.
We both ordered pineapple juice again. We had to yell over the American pop that blasted from the speakers.
“Do they only play American music?” I asked.
“Usually,” she said.
“Do you like it?”
“Not really,” she admitted sheepishly.
I laughed. This kind of music wasn’t my favorite, either, I said. “Do they ever play songs in Tagalog?”
“Sometimes, but only if someone requests it,” she said. Only customers could request music.
“What’s your favorite song?”
She named off some song name in Tagalog. I got her to repeat the name several times until I could sort of almost pronounce it. “I’m going to request it,” I said. Her face lit up. “You don’t have to do that!” she exclaimed, but I told her that I wanted to.
I was directed to a sound booth in the back. I repeated the name of the song. “In Tagalog?” the DJ asked, surprised. I nodded.
We waited a couple of minutes for the pop song to end, and then Rosalyn’s song began to play. The atmosphere of the bar changed in a matter of seconds. It was a love song, I was later informed, and it sounded like an 80’s ballad. “This is my favorite song!” some of the bar girls called from across the building. They were on their dinner break, but they stopped what they were doing and surrounded our booth, swaying, giggling, and singing at the top of their lungs. One of the waitresses even joined in. The girls who were on the stage stopped dancing and just stared. Rosalyn, Mae, and one of Rosalyn’s friends who was with us sang along, big grins on their faces. The older men who were watching the girls looked completely confused. I was glad that they got to see those girls like that: carefree, with none of the pretenses that they were usually forced to maintain.
“Thank you,” Rosalyn said, eyes shining.
But the song came to a close, and the upbeat music began again. The girls onstage snapped out of their daze and began to dance. There remained around us, however, a small crowd of girls who were no longer interested in eating. “Dance with us!” they insisted.
“I can’t dance!” I told Rosalyn. “Me, neither,” she said, so we formed a circle: the bar girls, Rosalyn, Mae, KC, and me.
Now, the circle happened to be centered around an unoccupied pole (there wasn’t room elsewhere). And it so happened that some of these girls were very good at pole dancing. So, once they had finished showing off their moves, they motioned between me and the pole. “Your turn!” they said. I froze in shock for a second, but then I laughed. “Alright,” I conceded, and danced my way around the pole like an absolute dork. They applauded.
KC went after me, and then the girls motioned to my dad, who was still sitting in the booth. If anyone ever had any doubts that I have the coolest dad ever, this will put all those thoughts to shame: My dad actually got up and also danced around the pole like an absolute dork. The girls laughed and clapped over the music, eyes bright.
After a couple of songs, Rosalyn asked if we could sit down (I don’t think that she likes dancing much), so we walked the few steps to our booth. We talked for hours. She told me about her family and eventually admitted that her parents didn’t know where she was working. “I am shy to tell them,” she said, “because I am ashamed.” But she wanted to support her younger siblings.
She told me that the bar girls work ridiculous hours and are often awoken in the middle of the night for dance practice. “They don’t treat us like humans,” she said, then quickly covered her smile as if she couldn’t believe that she had said it aloud.
Many other things were said, too many to put in a single blog entry. But finally, it was time for us to move on to other bars. I looked at her sadly. Nine o’clock. Hotel America. Tomorrow morning. We repeated the words to each other. She said that she could not promise that she would be there, but she would try.
…
Nine o’clock came and went the following morning. We had just about given up when Rosalyn showed up with her friend, looking gorgeous in a polo shirt and jeans. We invited them to breakfast inside the hotel. “Okay, but we can’t stay long,” Rosalyn quickly explained. She said that they had a dance practice that morning and that their pay would get docked if they missed it. “I promise that I will come and see the house on Tuesday,” she said. She had Mae’s number and we knew that Wipe Every Tear would do everything that they could to give her a visit.
As we sat around the breakfast table, she took everything in quietly. My squadmates and the Filipino girls from the safehouses were talking and laughing. People were taking pictures, and Rosalyn and I were invited to join in.
“It is like a family,” she said. “Where I work, it is not like this.”
Time fled from us. All too soon, the buses were loading up. Eight girls were brave enough to see the houses that day. I was sad that Rosalyn could not be among them, but I thanked her for coming. “Thank you for your time,” she kept saying. I gave her a hug and a polaroid picture of us. And then she was gone, disappeared down the street and into the heart of the City of Angels.
…
I do not know if Rosalyn was able to make good on her promise. I contacted the ladies at Wipe Every Tear and, so far, no one has heard anything about a Rosalyn. I do know that it will be difficult for her to escape; because she is a virgin, she is extremely valuable to Club Asia, and it will cost $2,000 USD to buy her for a night. Two thousand dollars for a life.
I know that I will never forget her – the girl with the hopeful eyes and shy smile, worth more than anyone could ever pay. I will forever treasure the memories that we made on those crazy nights, when I stumbled into her world and found her waiting for her life to change. Someday, I believe that it will.
…
Blog Glossary-Type-Thing
(in case anybody’s confused)
Ladyboys are biological males who feel like they should have been born females, so they do everything that they can to look like women. With some, it is hard to tell the difference. They are broken people just like us and Coach encouraged us to reach out and show them love, too.
The girls in the bars are often tricked into prostitution or feel as if they have no other choice. In the Philippines, you can’t even work at a gas station without a college degree. Because poverty is so rampant, many people in poorer districts cannot afford to get an education, so it looks as if the bars are the only way that they can support their families.
My dad was with me because of something called the Parent Vision Trip, which allows parents to visit their Racers on the field for about a week and do ministry with them.
Wipe Every Tear is an organization that we (Adventures in Missions) partnered with for the Parent Vision Trip. Their vision is to set girls free from the sex trade and provide an opportunity for restoration. They provide a free education, childcare, lodging, food, and a weekly stipend. They now have 5 houses with 71 girls who have been rescued from the sex trade, many of whom are now in college. It is completely founded upon faith, so they never ask for money, but somehow God always provides. If you’d like to find out more and/or support their organization, you can find them at http://wipeeverytear.org/.
Coach (Kenny Sacht) is the founder of Wipe Every Tear. He is a former basketball coach and history teacher from America who found out about the sex trade in the Philippines and felt like God wanted him to do something about it, so he did.
Mae is one of the girls who was rescued from working in the bars and is now living in one of Wipe Every Tear’s safe houses. She and many of her friends are eager to go back to the bars and tell other girls that there is a way out. She is now in her third year of college and wants to become a policewoman.
The Red Light District (Walking Street) in Angeles City is a quarter-mile strip where over 15,000 girls are trapped in prostitution. It does not allow anyone but foreigners to enter (or Filipinos with foreigners), which is why Wipe Every Tear needs groups like ours to come in order to rescue girls from the bars.
KC is one of my squadmates who was also there for the PVT. She has a huge heart for ladyboys and is currently fundraising so that she can stay a little longer after the Race is over and participate in Wipe Every Tear’s first ever retreat for ladyboys. If you’d like to support her or hear more of her heart on the matter, you can find her blog at kaitlintimmons.theworldrace.org.
If you’d like to read more about our experience in the bars, you can read some of my squadmates’ blogs here:
You’re the Light in this Darkness
Pole Dancing with the Prostituted. (KC’s blog)
If you have any additional questions or just want to talk, feel free to comment below or email me at [email protected]. I’d actually really love to hear from you guys, so feel free to talk to me about anything! I may not reply right away, but I promise that I will respond as soon as I have the WiFi and the time.
Thank you so much for reading! There’s always a lot more to say, but I tried to keep it as short as I could. 🙂
~Jordan
The entrance to the Red Light District
Club Asia
Kenny Sacht | Wipe Every Tear from Crash Eleven Productions on Vimeo.
