We just left a message parlor where we met the mother of a child we
work with.
She was beautiful just like her little girl. Smiles painted her face as she
looked through the photos and videos on our phones soaking in every ounce of pixel
on the screen. Her kid doesn't know she works here, and she hopes it stays that
way. You see working in a brothel disguised as a message parlor is nothing any
mother would want her child to know. She says she doesn't care if she lives or
dies, as long and her child is safe. She laughs. It is interesting the
different emotions that can exist in the same room at the same time.
Now, as we enter the second parlor we are greeted by another mother of a
different child we know. We exchange Namastes. She has the biggest and most
welcoming smile. We were warmed by her friendliness, but the warmth dissipates
as we walk down into the back of the room. There is a bed, and a young woman is
covered in a black shawl laying on her side. She is quivering and facing the wall.
I feel a sword puncture my stomach and pierce up into my heart, I bleed pity as
the room is now thick with a hopelessness and compassion. This is her first
day, and she has serviced three men. It is only the afternoon, which means she
still has work to do.
She thought she was working in a message parlor to make
some money for her and her family.
Like many before her, she was deceived into
prostitution. "She'll be ok", they say, "it's just her first day."
We enter a third parlor yet again another mother of a child we know. We meet some
other women who are happy to see us but smiles turn to worry as customers begin
to arrive, and leave. I see a man walk down from the upper rooms as another man
comes up from below expecting services. I was dizzy with sickness and anger.
But our host then gathers us, "we should leave, at these hours they can
make good money, we ought not to distract."
And we walked away into the night.
It is a day later, and I retain a numb anger and a knot in my throat of which I
can't shake.
In the message parlor / brothel industry in Nepal, no one knows the owners, but
he knows everything about his prostitutes. If they leave or try and accuse him
he can harm them or anyone close to them. And even if the cops come to do a raid,
the
prostitutes go to jail, not the customers, and the owner never gets found,
because no one knows who they are.
It is complex and discouraging and infuriating the hell that is created on
these streets. But we continue on and do what we can to care for these children,
and support organizations fighting for social change.
I know you can't understand if you have never dealt with sexual violence,
assault, harassment, or abuse, but you can stand along side those who have, and
do your part to make sure everyone knows how real the situation is, and that it
ceases to happen.
