Completely exhausted, my first night in Cambodia I am invited to join a few others on an outing to go visit some of the girls in the red light district. We hop in a tuk-tuk (a motorized, open-aired means of transportation) and begin our evening at a local hotel/bar. The girls at this particular bar are not paid to be there. “They freelance,” James, from one of the anti-trafficking organizations here, tells me.
He begins to point out girls that have consistently been there for 5 years, and others he has only seen in the past few months. As he begins to tell us more about how things work in this particular place, I find myself distracted by what’s going on behind him. A young, beautiful Cambodian girl (probably 17 or 18) has been sitting near an older white man who’s nationality I cannot make out. He seems to be around 65-70 years old. I watch as simple conversation turns into sensual touching, and eventually they head upstairs. This is reality for these girls, but my heart can hardly take it and my mind is too tired to fully comprehend what I’m watching unfold.
We eventually pay for our drinks and then head on to another place.
I snap a few images with my camera mostly hidden in my bag as we’re pulling up to the next place. “The red light is universal, for some reason,” James says. At first I assume he’s talking about the concept of a red light district, but then I look up to see the place we’re about to walk into illuminated by red lights. As part of his job, James comes here often to spend time with the girls, develop relationship with them, and continually assess the situation. As soon as we step through the door, his investment in this place is obvious.
The girls flood towards us, so excited. They greet James with hugs and laughter, then quickly move on to say hello to the three of us who are with him.
I can see the eagerness in their eyes to be loved by us, but the hesitation of their bodies to feel confident that we will. I step towards one and put my arms around her to greet her. She smiles one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen, then grabs my hand and refuses to let it go. We are seated, but soon after, the girls suggest that maybe we should go outside to talk. I find out later that it was because another “customer” was upset with the commotion we were causing because we were obviously not there for the same reasons he was.
We sat around talking, laughing, and just hanging out with these girls. Each one was dressed the same … short black skirt, small little black tank top, gorgeous makeup. They couldn’t have been more different from one another on the inside, each one with their own personality.
I spent most of my time talking with Sokary, a girl who went by “Kary.” She was stunningly beautiful, and I wouldn’t have guess her to be more than 23 years old. I was off by a long shot, though. She was 34. She told me that she had been working there for 4 years, and that sometimes it was very boring. “The men are boring,” she says.
Kary wants to have a baby, but cannot. Just before she began working here, she had been seriously dating a guy and gotten pregnant. Only a few months into the pregnancy she started having serious pain and bleeding, and went in to the doctor to find out that she had miscarried. They operated on her, and as a result of the operation she will now never be able to have kids. Shortly after, her boyfriend left her for another girl with little explanation.
“I want to adopt someday,” she said, “but right now I cannot provide for a child.” She looked away. When she talked about her mom and two sisters, I could see shame in her eyes that made me want to fight for her. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone has ever stood up for this beautiful girl and fought for her heart, for her justice, for her value.
I wanted to take her with me and somehow offer her a new life.
I will never forget the words that Kary spoke: “Dreaming costs nothing … let’s dream.” It made my heart leap for joy with the hope that one day, just maybe, she’ll get to have that new life that we dreamt about together for her.
