Walking towards the restaurants, all I could focus on was how dirty my feet were getting. With each step, more and more dust covered my toes and the harder my heart pounded. My eyes watered from dust trying to make itself at home and I could feel my skin begging for a bath. I began to be so distracted by how dirty my feet were becoming, I decided to look up–But immediately I missed the view of my dust-covered feet.
Men lurked everywhere. I could feel their eyes observing every move my group made, pondering why we were there or maybe even admiring this group of foreign women. My heart sank with every accidental eye contact and I couldn’t wait for it to be over.
I was becoming exhausted by just the walk to the restaurants that I began to think, “How in the world can I actually go into these places if just the city itself is draining me?!” My steps consisted of maneuvering around trash piles or dead animals, passing groups of men, and covering myself in more and more dust.
I looked down at my feet again and noticed several dead butterflies. A usually rare siting, but everything seemed dead here: the bodies of the animals, the smell of burning trash, the souls of the men, and the hopes of the women.
After what felt like ages, my group finally made it to the doorway of our first restaurant. Now these restaurants are no Applebee’s or some local hole-in-the-wall; these are cabin restaurants. Each “cabin” is meant for a woman and her customer, and the customer receives services based on how much money he spends. These “cabins” are no more than thin plywood, make-shift stalls; everything can be seen and heard. And this is why we were turned away from our first restaurant because the hosts did not want foreigners to witness guests being serviced.
“Phew!” I thought. One less heartbreak to endure.
We walk to a couple other places, drop off gifts we had made for them, gave hugs, and went on our way. I began to think this would be pretty easy if all I have to deal with are dirty roads and staring men.
Finally, we reach our last stop and this time we actually got to go in and sit down for coffee. It was my first time seeing the stalls and sitting where these women worked. Almost instantly I felt cold, dark, and heavy….and that was only after five minutes! These women–no, girls!–work here seven days a week for hours on end, and I could barely handle a cup of coffee.
My group sat and talked with a few of the girls and I couldn’t stop focusing on one girl’s face. She was constantly sad and maybe only looked up twice. Shame and hopelessness was written all over her. After some get-to-know-you questions, one of my teammates asked what the girls’ dreams were. They said, “There is no point in dreaming. This is my future….Sometimes I wish I had been born in a different womb because then this wouldn’t be my life.”
My heart dropped. It ached for them to feel love. And the worst part? The only time I saw that girl smile was when she was laughing at the concept of having a dream.
After that, it was nearly impossible for me to stay composed. There have been countless times in my life where I have praised God for allowing my mother, my family, my life to be the womb I was conceived in….I couldn’t wrap my brain, or heart, around the idea of literally wishing I was born to someone else. These girls are no different than me, so why do they have to endure this? Minutes earlier, I was worried about my stupid feet getting dirty, when these girls are so drained that they don’t even have a dream.
My group gave them their gifts (a scarf and the book of John) and shared about the Gospel and how much Christ loves them, and that He is their hope. The girls shared that they do believe in Him and want to go to church, but circumstances have made it hard.
They gave each of us a hug as we walked out, and as I was feeling hopeless for them, I saw the most beautiful thing: A hot pink, perfectly kept rose head was laying at the foot of the doorway. Maybe it was there when we walked in, maybe it wasn’t, but God had me notice it then. In the midst of the dirt, trash, and death, there was this sign of beauty, hope, and life. Christ reminded me that although their circumstances are heartbreaking and seemingly-hopeless, HE is enough. He is their Savior, and He loves them so. Through Him, these women will be restored.
Please keep these women in your prayers, as well as the men. Sometimes our human hearts cannot comprehend loving such darkness, but these men need the Spirit just as much as we do. And please pray for me and my squad as we continue to serve!
Here are some photos of the cabins:
