Tears filled my eyes as it hit me. This could be me. I could be selling myself to provide for my family, for my mom.
This was my second week in a bar talking to prostitutes. I was becoming more familiar with Thailand’s sex industry. About 2,800 girls work in the plaza that claims to be the largest adult playground in the world.
There are three floors of bars: beer gardens, go-go bars, and show bars. Beer gardens are a little tamer. They are outside the area before you get to the inside with the girls dancing on stage. Once you walk behind the curtain, it is considered a go-go bar. The girls are usually in little clothing dancing. The show bars are more risqué, and the girls are paid more since they show more as they dance.
I was excited and nervous as we walked into Nana Plaza for the first time two weeks ago. I didn’t know what to expect. I knew the reason we go to the bar is to share love in a really dark place, to make friends, and to share that alternate employment (our ministry, Samaritan Creations) exists.
Yet, questions were swarming around in my head as I tried to focus on where I was going instead of the half-dressed girls and men gawking at them.
Are the girls going to be friendly? Are they going to be angry we don’t want to “buy” them for the evening? Do they even want to talk to me? What do we have in common?
Then, I met Apple.
In order to talk to the women, you need to buy them a drink. It buys you a little time before the manager is ready for her to move on to the next customer. So, we sat down and ordered our cokes. This sweet girl came to our table and took our order. Once she brought them back, we asked her if we could buy her a drink. She acted very flattered and thanked us as she walked to get her drink.
After saying CHEERS and clinking our glasses (multiple times), our conversation turned from, “How old are you? What to you like to do?” to “How long have you worked in the bar?”
One day. This was her first day. We were her first customers. She was happy to see a table to girls—as she shared girls never come to the bar like this.
As we got more comfortable in conversation, we asked why she worked here.
“I need to support my mom. My dad died when I was 14, so I need to send money to my mom who has cancer, but she doesn’t know what I am doing.”
My heart broke. I shared with Apple that my Dad died two years ago. We had common ground. We weren’t so different after all.
She is hoping to only work at the bar 2 months. Once a friend’s nail salon opens up, she will work there.
I left our conversation hoping to meet up again during the day this month, hoping that she doesn’t have to keep working at the bar, hoping that our conversation about alternate employment at Samaritan Creations will make her think about leaving the bar.
It wasn’t until a week later that the weight of my heavy heart for Apple made sense to me.
I was back in a different bar watching women dance, trying to please men, and pretending to be happy.
Then, it hit me. That could be me.
I could be one of these women. I could be Apple.
My dad passed away. I know the pain. I know the feeling of wanting to care for your mom. I would do anything to take care of her if she couldn’t work or provide for our family.
I know you are probably thinking, there are other options.
Well, if I was born in Thailand, there may not be. These women make almost the equivalent of someone who has graduated from college. In Apple’s case, she didn’t have an education to get a better job. This was her option. This was “easy and fast” money. Yet, it is destroying her on the inside.
My fears of not being able to truly relate were gone in that moment. My conversations from a week ago echoed in my head. Apple. I could be in a similar situation had I not been born into my family or been able to afford an education.
I don’t know where to go from here.
My heart hurts for her.
The reality of women having to sell themselves has hit me. They are not just statistics or figures anymore. These women have faces and names. This city is a dark place. How will I ever truly impact these women? There are so many women who do this daily for less than $500 per month. Women who have to make certain quotas to be paid. Women that are burdened for their families or even told by their families to go work in the bars to make them money.
My heart is broken. My heart is heavy.
But I cling to hope.
Where I go, light goes.
Where I go, Jesus’s love is poured out.
Where I go, smiles are given instead of judgmental looks.
Darkness can’t exist where I go. In the presence of light there can be no darkness.
[The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it. John 1:5]
Jesus is enough.
Praying for those women, telling them that there is a creator who adores and loves them—true love. Not a man who promises the world and gives them dirt. A man who gave his life for them. For Apple. For me. For each and every one of us. That is enough.
This isn’t a hopeless battle. I am not bar hopping without reason. My reason is Jesus. Jesus loved me so much to restore, redeem, and to give hope. He can do the same for Apple.
He can do the same for you.
