Reality Checks

I never thought staying in South Asia was going to be a breeze. No sir. I went through lots of internet research, asked questions from people who had lived there, read a few books... and scared myself reasonably silly before even stepping foot in the country that we have committed our time to for (God willing) this next year. But I've found that no matter how much you prepare yourself for a new culture and a new place, actually arriving and being there has a sort of x-factor that you cannot prepare for no matter how hard you try.

Tomorrow marks our 2-week mark in country and for me there have been a number of "oh crap," "oh-my-gosh," and "Toto... I don't think we're in Kansas anymore" sort of moments.
"Oh crap" moments like sudsing up my face all good and soapy only to realize that the water has been turned off for the day, and my best bet is to splash myself with the 'emergency flush bucket' water.
"Toto...We're not in Kansas" moments such as watching scads of teenagers burst into tears when they realize that one of the country's biggest movie stars is eating in the cafe we're in while I have been wondering why on earth that 'guy over there' has so many friends that only stop to say hello but don't sit near him afterward... (stupid American).
But one of my larger wake up calls so far has been something more of an "oh-my-gosh" moment.
I'm volunteering with a NGO that teaches jewelry making to girls in aftercare homes. The girls I have had the privilege of getting to know this past week are very much like any teenagers you run into anywhere. They giggle a lot together, they shoot each other glances loaded with sarcasm, and they like to show off the things that they know when they have a captive audience. I am that captive audience.
I'm still getting my bearings when it comes to this mad new world that we've been dropped into and my local language skills are non-existent, so at the moment I am mostly an observer while the women in charge of the project do their thing. This is not an issue for one of the girls who seems to find unending amusement in learning new phrases in English and testing out her English on me as often as possible. I personally am getting a kick out of trying to pronounce words in her language and how she and the other girls think it is so funny when I can't quite make the sounds. She also finds it amusing how my extremely pasty white skin turns pink and reddish when she pinches it for a moment and lets go. This also makes me laugh, as it is not the first time that my extremely pale skin has been amusing to another person and I respect the chutzpa it takes to poke so confidently at someone you hardly know.
After sitting for a while, listening to the discussion of the story of Queen Esther, she starts to sing quietly to herself and I realize that I know this song very well. "Oh be careful little eyes what you see. Oh be careful little eyes what you see! For your Father up above is looking down in love, so be careful little eyes what you see." I start to sing with her, which is great because her face lights up that I know this tune as well. "okay sister!" she tells me, "Let's sing more... come... oh be careful little feet where you go..."
It is about this time that the "oh-my-gosh" hits my stomach. This is not a just any teenage girl singing a song about simple lessons of self control and warning to other children that you need to keep you eyes free of bad things, but this is a young girl who has seen many things that 'little eyes' should never have to see, and has had to go where 'little feet' should never have to go... careful or otherwise. The heaviness of this song in this context makes my insides tumble.
I think this is one of those moments when something you thought you cared about previously, suddenly gains a real face. Girls trapped in brothels and being exploited are suddenly no longer grainy pictures with blurred out eyes, but very real tangible beings that sing and laugh and eat and give hugs. While I have known this to be true for a long time, this drove it home again.
I sat back in our flat that night turning it over and over again in my mind. Young girls laughing... oh be careful little eyes what you see... the smells of spices and dust. "Oh-my-gosh." How resilient we as human beings are. The ability to laugh and sing, even after such abuse, speaks so loudly of hope to me. Yes, there is a lot of hurt and dysfunction and plenty more beneath all of the singing and laughing, but still that glimmer of hope and possibility still sits on top and gives me some of the first chills I have had since arriving in this steamy part of the world.

*Please pray for the hope possible for these girls to be realized, and for healing, wholeness, and freedom for their entire beings.
B