Robbed of Innocence

This morning we hit the pavement running and I wasn’t sure if my old forty-five and a half year-old body was up for the day. I was sitting there thinking about how I really needed to take better care of myself and put ointment on my scaly elbows. With that thought still on my mind I looked up to see the Phnom Penh street-cleaning women hard at work—picking up the garbage with their bare hands. The Cambodian people work so hard here. There is an unlawful energy about Cambodia that I don't remember absorbing before this trip. Everyone seems to be recklessly driving and the sex industry is so in our face.

We went to meet with Don at Agape. He runs a shelter for girls rescued from prostitution. He is really cool and was so helpful to Aimee with facts and numbers. He has been working here for two years and has several Vietnamese girls in his shelter. He is working in a Vietnamese area and said that ten-year-old little girls “expect” to be sold when they turn ten. Chinese and South Korean men are paying more for the lighter skinned girls--so the Vietnamese girls are in demand.

He told us the story of a little three-year-old who had to be examined by a pediatrician-friend who was staying with him…you get the point--there was nothing pretty about our conversation with Don this morning. It was confirmation that TAL needs to become more involved with working in Cambodia. I am going to talk to Marie tomorrow and run some ideas by her. I don't know what all this means but I know God is laying foundation on this trip.

We went to one of the brothels that had been shut down about two years ago. It is a vacant building that looks like a storefront from the outside. But behind closed doors there were chambers that were six by six feet. There were about 14 little rooms down a long hallway. Each room had a hand-painted number on the outside of the door. Inside was a wooden slat bed and nothing else. The rooms were personally decorated with magazine pages glued to the wall, hand-drawn crosses of markers and poems. The poem tells of how men come and tell these girls they are beautiful but they know they are called “dirty girls”. One poem told of how she was so unhappy (I will try to get all the words of this poem from Don). It is the saddest thing. In fact, Aimee and I said that the prison cells at least had ventilation and these girls were truly prisoners and sex slaves of the worst kind. I think I will have nightmares of those little rooms.

Upstairs there was a room painted bright pink where the girls had to go shoot up with heroin and then be filmed for sex videos. I sat at the doorway of this room and looked at the pink paint and thought, how sad, every little girl should have a pink bedroom but not a pink sex room where she is to perform the cruelest of sex acts with men.

It is really beyond and out of control. There are white single men just combing the streets here along the river. I think Aimee and I truly can only take one more day and staying here on the river. Thank goodness we are leaving because Aimee does not hide the disgust on her face very well. I laughed at her this morning when she shot a pissed-off look to a guy flirting with the waitress. It is just dripping with disgust here.

I came home this afternoon and had to lay down because I felt the trip was catching up with me. I thought about those little rooms before I napped and it was the first thing I thought of when I woke up.

Well, I have to go. My workhorse of a writer said we must pound some things out this afternoon. She is really coming up with some neat ideas and ways of introducing each chapter. I am getting very excited about the book!

In spite of being tired and missing my family so much, I have to realize that God is not finished with me yet. I have one more day to see what all He needs to show me. Hearing the stories about little Vietnamese and Cambodian girls being tortured and robbed of their innocence is what I need to remember. I must find and keep a fighting spirit so that I might be able to do something about it. I can see Tay's little face in so many of these stories. I see MaiLia walking the streets selling books. I see young women like KeSey dripping in sexual body language. This is not acceptable that these men are coming here and these babies are being held prisoner.

Wait until you see the pictures of this place. It is the glue to all the stories I have heard through the years.