Dictionary Word of the Day

turbid: muddy; not clear; also, confused; disordered.

Sometimes words just work!

Someone sent this to me, good stuff!

Help Me to Believe in Beginnings

God of history and of my heart,
so much has happened to me during these whirlwind days:
I've known death and birth;
I've been brave and scared;
I've hurt, I've helped;
I've been honest, I've lied;
I've destroyed, I've created;
I've been with people, I've been lonely;
I've been loyal, I've betrayed;
I've decided, I've waffled;
I've laughed and I've cried.
You know my frail heart and my frayed history -
and now another day begins.

O God, help me to believe in beginnings
and in my beginning again,
no matter how often I've failed before.

Help me to make beginnings:
to begin going out of my weary mind
into fresh dreams,
daring to make my own bold tracks
in the land of now;
to begin forgiving
that I may experience mercy;
to begin questioning the unquestionable
that I may know truth
to begin disciplining
that I may create beauty;
to begin sacrificing
that I may make peace;
to begin loving
that I may realize joy.

Help me to be a beginning to others,
to be a singer to the songless,
a storyteller to the aimless,
a befriender of the friendless;
to become a beginning of hope for the despairing,
of assurance for the doubting,
of reconciliation for the divided;
to become a beginning of freedom for the oppressed,
of comfort for the sorrowing,
of friendship for the forgotten;
to become a beginning of beauty for the forlorn,
of sweetness for the soured,
of gentleness for the angry,
of wholeness for the broken,
of peace for the frightened and violent of the earth.

Help me to believe in beginnings,
to make a beginning,
to be a beginning,
so that I may not just grow old,
but grow new
each day of this wild, amazing life
you call me to live
with the passion of Jesus Christ.

Random updates

Nothing new and exciting going on. But I do want to give some random updates:

Rani, the girl that Scott posted about, who works downstairs as a servant, is now coming to visit us at least once or twice a day. She is so cute and her smile is infectious, she talks so fast it's hard to understand, but we get by. I look forward to seeing her and try to always have a treat ready. She knocks on the door, we open, she walks in, usually goes straight to the fridge and looks at our pictures, then she starts talking. Oh, her mom was visiting this weekend and I got to meet her, she seems nice and loves her daughter very much. So sad that they can not be together (see older post for the whole story). She stopped by today to show us her new outfit.




I want to thank all of our supporters, because of you we were able to see the need and help out one of our Bengali co-workers. Shila is a bearer in the office, she makes tea and keeps the office clean, along with many of other duties. Shila has a son (18) with epilepsy and they have never been able to get his seizures under control. We had a doctor come to the training center to check all the women and children and Shila brought her son, the doctor recommended he see a neurologist in Dhaka. With the help of some of the ex-pats and the Dhaka office manager and Joyce (who we affectionately call "the fixer"), we had her food and lodging covered, her medical bills covered and a translater to go with her to the appointment as she is illiterate in Bangla and English. It was a great team effort and so wonderful to be able pass on the love you give to us to another.

Scott returned from Nepal on Monday. He had a relaxing time and was able to get the refreshment he was seeking.

We head to Dhaka today or tomorrow for 2 weeks of meetings, that will affect the direction of what we are doing here in Bangladesh. It will be hard to be away from home and staying in a guest house for that long, but the whole ex-pat team will be there, so we hope to have some fun as well.

Thanks for your continued support!!

My visit to the brothel

(from my journal - Aug 21st)

It’s been a long week of traveling with 8 survivors, one supervisor and our driver. We traveled out to the Borishal region to see Job Creation sites. Which means businesses that have been created to employ women at risk, usually widows or girls without fathers. We were surrounded at all times by lush green fields lined with trees of various sizes and shapes. Truly beautiful. It was fun, was to see the women experience travel, some for the first time. (except car sickness) They got to see part of their country they have never seen before.

One of the stops along the way was the Salvation Army in Jessore. Their office is directly across from a brothel. They provide a place for the women to come to be counseled, a store that sells discounted hygiene products and a presence in the brothel that shows they care and are there when the women decide they want out. Very spur of the moment the supervisor asked if we wanted to go into the brothel. I hesitantly said yes, I will go. But I wanted to make sure our women knew they had a choice to go. They are 5 months into our program and I didn’t know how they would feel seeing it.

It was horrible, in every sense. What I imagine Hell would be like. You walk down a small cramped, hot and humid dark hallway, I didn’t want to look down on the chance of seeing a rodent, but also needed to watch where I was stepping. At the end of a hall way sits a large women and a man, who I assume is the Madam and either a security man or a Babu (husband/owner of one of the women). He said in slurred Bangla “salam alaikum”. I nodded and said hello, he gave me the creeps and I was nervous, which of course made me respond in English. He persisted, I think wanting me to respond back in Bangla. One of the girls said Nomoshkar which told him I was a Christian. He was a big burly man, acting drunk. The supervisor said he wanted to have his picture taken with me. I said no. He was trying to talk in English, and kept asking the women around him what to say next. Finally, I was getting mad now, I didn’t like this guy or how he was acting. The rage and hatred inside me was boiling to the surface and I have a hard time hiding it on my face. This man represented to me all that was wrong with this system. Women being sold for sex, not being free to be the women God created them to be. He represents a systemic evil that pervades this country, that some people do not have value as human beings, they are objects to be used. Whether it’s the bearer in the office or the women on the street, they are ordered around, called stupid and treated as less than.

Finally, I asked if could we move on. Turning our attention from the drunk man, we kept walking farther into the brothel. The long hallway opened up into an interior open air courtyard with bedrooms lining the outside walls. The rooms themselves looked decent, there was space for a bed and a few sparse furnishings. I looked inside one room and saw a man sitting on the bed fully dressed with a women getting dressed. I decide I shouldn’t look in any more. In front of each room ran the sewer drainage, I didn’t see any bathrooms but I imagine they were there somewhere. The cooking is done over an open pit in the middle of the courtyard. Further in I see a woman washing her hair, she is only wearing her bra and her sari slip. I am shocked at the immodesty for some reason.
They way the women were painted up with layers of makeup and lots of eye make up, made them look like they were going to a celebration, but their expressionless eyes told a different story. They are stuck there, they may all have different stories of what brought them, but the reasons why are all the same. They live in a country where if you are born into a low-income family the children’s education is not priority; many are sent off to work at a young age. The children are vulnerable and there are always people ready to exploit them. The children may have been sold to a broker, who then sells them to a madam or babu and they become property. They are trapped, they have no voice and definitely no choice in the matter. Sometimes they are sold on contract and have the freedom to leave after a certain amount of time, but what are they going to do? Their families won’t take them back, they are spoiled or used goods. The only thing they know how to do is use their bodies to make money. It is evil, it is wrong and I don’t think it is supposed to be like this.

Wondering What To Feel

We just had the opportunity to meet a very sweet little girl who lives in our building. Her name is Rani, she lives in the ground floor flat and we think she is about 11 years old. Rani is a bearer/aya (a housekeeper) but Rani probably doesn't have to much say in the matter. This issue is incredibly complex and because of the overwhelming poverty in Bangladesh many of the children are employed as "helpers" in peoples houses instead of going to school. They work year round doing all the menial work and they infrequently will get to visit their families in the villages. The children, especially the girls, have such a deep sense of responsibility to the family that going away means they are less burden to family and it may bring in some additional income. It is just accepted here as part of life. We knew another family that had someone working for them, the girl was treated well but when she turned 14 her family brought her back to the village to be married. She went from one oppressive situation into another without much choice in the matter.
It finally hit me how difficult the situation was when I asked our house manager about it, he was saddened but said the problem is so big that there isn't much that can be done about it. It breaks my heart that Rani has probably never gone to school, she has never known the options that are available to her. It would be great and easy to just pay for school but it is so much more difficult than that. There needs to be a shift in what people hope for. When someone is focused on survival, education seems a distant prospect. When the cow needs milking or the goats need food, having a little worker at school is a hardship.
We are going to talk to people who have experience in this field and try to learn more about it and we will pass on what we learn. Please pray for Rani that we could continue to see her smile but that somehow we could be part of seeing her hope as well.

Scott-

Probitra Learning Tour

I can't believe I haven't posted on this yet. It seems like eons ago. I spent a week traveling with 9 women in the Probitra program, one driver and one woman supervisor. The trip included many many hours of travel in hot hot weather, I came home and promptly got sick.



At the Burial site.

But it was worth it because I got to see the women smile giggle and laugh like school girls. For many it was their first experience leaving Mymensingh. On the way we visited the founder of Bangladesh's grave site, they all exuded patriotic nostalgia and talked of the revolution of 1971.

We visited enterprises where other groups of women are employed and every time we arrive at a site, our women instantly fan out and sit themselves down with the other women and begin talking. I have no idea what was said, but I could see friendships being formed and bonds being made by the smiles, the touches and the hugs. When we were served food, which is typical whenever we visit anywhere, they shared their food with the others. I loved seeing their generosity with all things. At one site women were knitting jute gloves that are sold at the "Body Shop", I sat down too and took over a glove from one gal, they laughed and giggled as I showed them I could knit. Then one of our gals took the glove from me, she however could not knit, the woman who I took it from just smiled and patiently showed her how. Then after we gave it back I saw her unraveling and starting from where she left off.
It was at the same place I was trying to communicate with one woman and Romella translated for me. She is not someone who has much if any formal English school. Romella was asked how do you know English, she pointed to me and said, she is my teacher in English. then she proudly grinned from ear to ear and I smiled and gave her a hug.

Overall it was a good trip. Maybe it's good that I waited to post, the hard parts are starting to fade in my memory and only the good things are remaining.

Oh, we also visited a brothel. but that's a different post. Wow, did that not bring real life out and slap me in the face.

New Life Celebration - Part III

We added 11 more gals to the Probitra Training Program this week. So Monday morning I arrived early to have the women help me put my sari on. They proceeded to sit me down in the middle of the room and also do my make up and hair. It was a surreal experience to have 10 women watching and 2 women applying and arranging.
During the ceremony the women are adorned with flower wreaths, then I was given one. I was encouraged to put it on Scott's neck, which I proceeded to do. It was followed with giggles and laughter. I guess that is part of a wedding ceremony as well. Scott was wearing his best outfit and I guess dressed like a groom.

It was great fun. This week I am heading out on a learning tour with 9 of the women to visit Job Creation sites around Bangladesh. We will be gone 4 days and I expect it to create even more comradely among them.