Exploited young women

Child sex trade

 A midwife’s work is to help to safely welcome the newborn of every society and to assure, as best she can, the well  being of that child.  This baby, nested within its mother’s arms is held  by the family and community in layers of tradition, earth and well being.  To do this safely,  girls must be guided into puberty and child bearing with the deep respectt, love and protection of that society.  Each child must be of equal worth and each child helped to find their own best way to help and protect the community they live in.  Midwives, therefore, become natural protectors of young women and their right to choose partners who are healthy and committed to their growth and well -being.  Nowhere is this more violated than in the case of the child sex trade and prostitution.  This story is the collective story of several stories I have collected over time in many countries, including the city where I live in the United States. 

Currently it is estimated that there are 80,000 to 100,000 prostitutes in Cambodia with 17,000 of them in Phnom Penh. It is believed that 30% are under 18 with an estimate that there are over 5,000 child prostitutes in the country. 

For many men, having sex with a virgin or young girl, is believed to make them strong, successful in business and have greater health.  It is seem as an inevitable  part of society.  A young woman who is orphaned or left without a mother is at greater risk of ending up being sexually exploited.   It is the community midwife’s work to protect young girls from exploitation and to take away the many causes that may contribute to its existence.

I come from the countryside…..

It is dark at the health center.  We sleep in the patients beds in case a woman comes ready to give birth.   Our dreams are interrupted  by  loud  voices .  I rouse myself quickly and grab  pants and a flashlight.  Stumbling outside, I go to see who has come.  There is  a car and not a moto.  It is big, black Lexus; a car we see frequently in Phnom Penh but never out in the countryside. There is no gathering of sisters, mothers, and aunties who  accompany a woman in labor.   A man ,in a suit, opens the back door and motions for us  to look inside.

Crumpled  on the back seat is a very young girl lying in a pool of blood soaked sheets and rags.  She is still and makes no noise as I gently pick up her limp hand and feel her pulse.  The midwife asks the man questions and he answers nervously as he lights a cigarette.   Another man sits in the passenger side seat and does not get out.  He stares straight ahead into the sleeping countryside.

We tell them we must start an IV and give her medicine, even before, we try to move her.   He is pointing to his car and the blood and yelling at the midwife. I call for the translator. This is clearly not a husband or a miscarriage.  He motions for us to take her.  

As she is given fluids and oxytocin, the man tells me she is his maid and got pregnant.  He tells me she took a pill she bought at the market and started bleeding.   I say she is wearing pretty fancy clothes for a maid in the middle of the night.  Her nails are painted bright red.   I ask about the marks on her face and he sneers, “Maybe her boyfriend hit her.”  

I ask how old she is and he shrugs.  I ask how she came to be his maid. 

“Look, we bring them from the countryside and give them a place to live and more food than they have had in  their whole life.  We send money to their families each month.”

She opens her eyes and looks in my own.  It is too much work and she shuts them again. Gently we lift her off the smooth leather seats  and carry her to a bed.   We find water and rags to wash her, trying to be gentle where the blood has dried and stuck to  her skin. Outside the Lexus and the two men pull away and vanish into the night.

The midwife shakes her head, “They brought her all the way out here because the police in the city are watching them.  They have brought too many women to the hospitals there so they have to keep going further and further out.”

I hold her hand and put cool cloths on her forehead.  The midwife skillfully suctions the failed miscarriage from her so that she will stop bleeding.  

After the suction, we rub her utereus and the bleeding stops. The baby was over twelve weeks .  She tries to get up and go outside and find the men.

“They will beat me if I run away.”  She cries.  We tell her they left her and not to worry. 

We bring her fruit and some crackers we packed in our bag. Slowly she tells us her story. 

“I am the second daughter and was in school in my village.   My mother died after my little sister was born.  The family had no money for school and we were very poor. A man came and said he would take some girls to work in the clothing factories.”

“I did not want to go. I wanted to stay with my family.  I begged my father. I said I would work in the rice fields and not go to school. “

I ask what grade in school she was in and she answers,  “I was in seventh grade.  I was a good student.  I wanted to be a nurse.”

She says she believes she was twelve when she came and is now fourteen.  She has never seen her family again.  If she stops working there will be no money for them. 

Her pulse is becoming more regular and the bleeding has all but stopped.  

She begins to cry.   “They will tell my father I was a disgraceful daughter and ran away with a man.  My family will never accept me again.”

“You can stay here until while we figure something out.” I say as I stroke her forehead as my mother once did for me.

She shuts her eyes and sleeps.   The translator and I lie down beside her.  It is dark and the rooster crows.  There are crickets and the sound of small frogs.

When I wake up, the bed is empty. I ma afraid but  she is outside bathing by the large, clay water jug.  She looks up and smiles shyly.

I hurry her back to bed and go get her warm tea with sugar, banannas and later a bowl of warm noodles.    When I touch her back, I feel the bones of her back and she cringes.

“They said I would work in the factories but then they said there was no work and I stayed at the man’s house to clean.”

She looks down and straightens the sarong we have given her.

“One day the man brought me to a room and forced me to be with him.  I screamed and cried and he hit me many times. When he was done, another man came in. They did this for many days.  I cried and cried but they did not care.  They said I could never marry now and was ruined. “

Outside the monks are chanting in the temple.  It is the anniversary of the king’s death.  I ask.  “Wasn’t the king a supporter of the Khmer Rogue?” She does not answer.

Young, beautiful girls ride their bicycles to school.  I consider that  she was once one of those girls; a clean white shirt and blue skirt; laughing and talking with friends. 

When she recovers, we bring her to the guest house to help with small chores so she can eat and rest and feel safe.

We learn that she worked at a dance club but she will not tell us where.

“They will kill me.”

One day the big black Lexus returns and a man gets out of the car and asks at the health center for her.  I watch from the upstairs porch as another volunteer hides her.   He is screaming at the midwife who is shaking her head and I can see  her saying she does not know where she is.   We watch as the car stops at the chief’s house.   We hold our breaths. 

We sit, in the evening, peeling the small fruit of the logan tree; each one white and lovely like a pearl.

“Not all the men” she begins, “were unkind. Many were lonely and old and wanted someone to dance and talk with. They said their wives were not nice to them and they were sad.  Some were worried about their businesses or their children or the government.   They cried in our arms.  We all tried to get a rich man to favor us so that we would be treated better and our families would get more money.  I thought of my younger sister and hoped that she would have a better future for my sacrifice. This is how I survived.  “

“But what about diseases.  Didn’t you get STD’s?”

“We were given medicine every morning to prevent pregnancy and disease but sometimes it did not work.  Every night we washed the inside of our private parts with lemon and water.  Sometimes we were sent to health centers for a test.”

We were all quiet.  She was fourteen.  

“Once” she continues, “a group of people tried to come and get us but they found out and were waiting.  They shot at the people. Many were Barangs. I wondered why white men and women were coming to get us and I was afraid of them too.  We hid and did not run away with them.  Some girls left with them but I was afraid and did not.  They say they helped them but I was afraid and there was much shooting.  Later I thought it might have been better to be shot or take my chances with the Barangs. “

We light incense in the spirit house and leave a bunch of bananas.  She asks that we pray for her future and we do. The spirit house is connected to a small solar panel that lights the small house each night.  We stand and watch the twinkling lights; silent in our own prayers.

The next morning we hide her in the bottom of the car and the driver takes her to  to live in a temple.   We beg her to let us contact an NGo but she says it is better to live in a temple for awhile.  

After her abortion, the nurse throws the contents of the pan in the tall grass out behind the center.  The baby spirits visit the spirit houses looking for candy and small toys.   I had asked when they tried to explain this to me, “But who are the baby spirits.”

They shrug.  “Just babies who wander around looking for a little treat.  If you leave one they will protect your house.” 

I think of all the baby spirits and leave a small candy for the little gang of baby spirits roaming around together in the night.