Two Different Time Zones.

I sit in a coffee shop amongst jazz-filled walls as autumn leaves gently hit the ground outside. I look up at the clock hanging from the coffee shop wall—it’s 1:17PM.  I immediately do the time conversion and realize it is 12:17AM in Chiang Mai. This is when if you were a passerby peering through the coffee shop window you would see me gently fall into a daze. If you could read my mind you would see the worry start to take form. I start to wonder and imagine where the RCP boys are, what they are doing and who they might be with. I become filled with worry until I can divert my attention back to my computer screen and my work.  Like a worried mother our first inclination would be to pick up a phone and call that person we worrying about. Let me tell you about an annoying habit amongst Thai youth, it involves exchanging, selling and trading-in their mobiles as if they were trading cards. This inevitably makes it so that any person trying to make contact with a Thai Youth, which in my case is all the time, is forced to hear the annoying nasal sound of the Thai operator informing the caller that the phone has been disconnected.

I miss the boys everyday, no matter the hour. But sometimes it is so intense I wonder if something is horribly wrong, like maybe a message is being sent through the lines of telepathy.  I remember when I was younger and studying abroad, there were countless times when I was so upset, gushing tears and hyperventilating. It was at that moment when my eyes were crimson red and my nose was entirely stopped-up that my mother would call me from the States, “What’s wrong?”, she would ask me. She told me that she felt a sudden sadness and ‘sensed’ that something was wrong. Trying to be strong and not worry her I would coolly, in-between hiccups, say that everything was “fine”—fully aware that I was miserable. She would console me and then immediately get me back to emotional stability so that by the time we hung up I was laughing and composed. I always wondered just how it was that my mother knew to call me at just the right moment. When I would ask her years later she would tell me “a mother always knows”—I definitely understand that statement now.

It is now 1:54PM (I’m a slow writer!), its 12:54AM in Chiang Mai which means the Red Light District is filled to the brim with sex-tourists, pedophiles and young boys.  I wish I could call the boys and give them the words of wisdom that my mother so often gave me despite miles of separation.  If ever I believed in the power of prayer and positive thought it is now. As if the boys can hear my voice I talk to them (even if it is in English and not Thai). I tell them to go home (if they have a home); I ask them to eat (because more than likely they haven’t eaten since lunch time at the RCP youth center); I ask them to look out for one another (don’t let Sam go home with that man!), and I tell them that there are many people who love them and are praying for them. It comforts me to talk to them, even if it is not by phone but through prayer.

Photos of The Week.

Photo of the Day.

Photo of the Day.

Photo of the Day.

Thank You to August 2010 RCP Donors!

Growing Pains.



Looking around the boy bars on my fist night back to the seediness and stench of the Night Bazaar I saw many familiar (s)ex-pats who frequent the boy bars on a nightly basis. One of them was hugging and kissing a youth I had befriended on my very first trip to Thailand. This particular boy was also my motivation and reason for returning to Chiang Mai four months later to start a project with the Night Bazaar boys.  Unbeknownst to him he had changed my entire life’s course.  He saw me and secretly wai-ed me from a distance unable to leave his seventy+ year old customer. As I discreetly watched him from afar I felt this enormous weight of sadness fall over me. The more I watched the more I realized he was taller, stronger, had facial hair, and a mandatory swagger of self-confidence needed in order to survive in this environment. When he finally broke free to come and greet me I barely recognized his voice, it had deepened about 4 decibels since the last saw him only four months ago. 

 

These boys were essentially growing up in the Red Light District. There entire youth would be spent surrounded by sleazy men groping, tugging, pulling and fondling them for a few hundred baht that would leave them with a lifetime of emotional debt. I was jolted back to the moment by what should’ve been another familiar face had he not grown four inches in height and now sporting facial hair and lit cigarette. Four months ago this particular boy would always sport a Hawaiian shirt that maybe an eight year old would wear, but tonight he proudly wore a tight black t-shirt that proudly displayed his new arm tattoo which he had given himself with a sewing needle and pen ink.  When I asked him about his best friend he glumly told me he had gone to Bangkok to try to earn more money.  Suddenly I understood his need to grow-up and to grow-up fast. Unable to withstand this sudden realization I realized I was holding back a floodgate of tears.  I could feel myself becoming emotional and I did not want to show any sadness in front of the boys—I had made that mistake once before and had to withstand their questioning stares.

 

***

I am often times told or advised to show more pictures of the boys that are poignantly heart wrenching and have more shock value. When people see my outreach pictures they say it looks like we are having “too much fun”.  As a female outsider going into this sick fraternity of Sex-tourists I strive to bring comfort, encouragement, and new options to the boys.  My intentions are not to bring judgment, depression or gloom to these boys. An RCP volunteer told me something the other night after outreach that really touched me, she said “wow, you are like a shinning light that goes into that dark place. When the boys saw you they all lit up, you were great in there!” My purpose for visiting the bars is to establish a healthy connection between RCP, our services and the boys. I try to bring a respite from forced entertaining, stability amongst all the chaos and an ounce of reassurance amongst all the gore.  I ask you, is their story not heart-wrenching enough to you?  Will pictures of their sorrow, sacrifice and sexual exploitation be the spear that will pierce your heart and cause you to react?  If it is pictures I need in order to capture your heart, if my words are not enough, then I will try to capture the ‘heart wrenching” pictures. But I ask that you realize the immense appreciation these boys have at the opportunity to laugh with someone who is not interested in taking them back to a hotel or dirty hostel. I consider myself privileged when I see their young smiles and innocent laughter because they are infrequent and very far between.

Thank You NFS Advocacy Delegation!!



RCP would like to thank Global Exchange and the NFS Advocacy Delegation on Human Trafficking for visiting RCP to learn more about RCP’s dedication to the boys of the Red Light District here in Chiang Mai.

Outreach in the Red Light District. Take #50

I was filled with nerves and a slight bit of anxiety as I prepared to show two RCP volunteers the Red Light District and the Night Bazaar of Chiang Mai. The sun had set and the rain had dissipated making it a perfect night for Western sex-tourists to emerge from their hotels and hostels and descend upon the plastic stools of the red light district.  As we approached Loi Khroh Road, the hub of the Red Light District, the neon signs and girls standing outside along the sidewalk was all that could be made out. Mixed within the chaos of this popular street were children selling roses and jasmine necklaces, timid Westerners trying to decide which bar had the prettiest girls, and then the brazen Westerner who arrogantly throws himself on a stool and demands a beer and a girl with an air of entitlement.  As I walked past one bar, I saw a familiar face that belonged to a transgender girl who had worked in the Night Bazaar only 3 months ago, she was now a “hostess” at a new bar.  We exchanged wai’s (a traditional Thai bow of “hello”) and I promised her I would come back to visit her.

As we got further down Loi Khroh Rd. the cluster of bars become clusters of massage parlors with beautiful young girls sitting outside with one another as their babies crawl about, wonderfully oblivious to what was happening around them.  The closer you look at these beautiful babies you soon realize many of these babies had light brown hair and were the product of a Western/Thai “exchange”.  It made me realize how many of these babies would grow up to have fathers oblivious to the fact that a “massage” had produced a beautiful baby.

As we approached the Night Bazaar I got the extreme overwhelming feeling of anxiety, fear, self-doubt and dozens of other feelings that wanted to paralyze my stride.  This always happens on the first night back into this awful place.  Pushing through these doubts I kept forward, not wanting my volunteers to sense my nervousness.  As the boy bars came into sight I was immediately calmed as I began to hear my name being repeated again and again.  “Kulap”, “Kulap” “Pi-Kulap”…it was if I was being reassured that I was supposed to be there.  Boys, street-cart vendors and bartenders I had never properly introduced myself to were wai-ing me with a bow of respect.  As we made our way thru the paparazzi of boys we were able to find a table.  It was overwhelming to see all the familiar faces but even more overwhelming to see  the stream of new ones…younger ones.  As usual I got what I call the “Western stare down”—this is when all the sex-tourists irritated with my presence, look at me as though I have just foiled their evening of fun.  I was right back into the depths and epi-center of sexual exploitation at it’s finest.

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RCP youth gets Dengue Fever. The boys working in the Night Bazaar (Red Light District) are so young we were admitted to the Pediatric ward!