Not A Dirty Word (part 2)

They're so tragically beautiful, these women and men on the streets. The men in their make-up and jewelry, the women in their tiny skirts. I just want to tell them over and over and over, "You are beautiful, you are loved, you don't have to be this way. You are beautiful, you are loved, oh please, please, please, be free."


My friends Desi and Miguel are two people I admire greatly. Desi came to Ecuador from Holland as part of a missions outreach. She didn't intend to stay in Ecuador. In her heart she had always envisioned trying to help women in the infamous Red Light district in Holland. But then she met Miguel, a former Ecuadorian Street-boy who had lived at Casa Gabriel for many years. His affection for her was immediate and obvious, but she took her time. Finally, seeing that her heart was being drawn towards Miguel and Ecuador, she talked with Casa Gabriel founders Phil and Debbie, and asked them: "You help street boys, but what about the girls? Where are they?"

The boys ended up on the streets due to poverty, abuse, and neglect, so surely the girls often had similar fates, right? Yes, except that they ended up hidden away. Some are kidnapped, some are sold by their families, some are tricked into thinking there is a job for them in another city or country, sometimes by a man who claims to love them. They are trafficked, beaten and broken into forced prostitution. Modern-day slaves.

Desi and Miguel eventually got married and started two ministries: Casa Adalia, a home for women rescued from or at-risk of trafficking, and EsperanzArt, where women learn how to make jewelry, earning money and receiving mentoring and giving them confidence to support themselves. Meeting with women and men in prostitution in downtown Old Quito twice a month is another outreach that is just beginning.

Twice I've gone downtown alone. Desi and Miguel are in Holland visiting family and I wanted to keep up the relationships they had started. The first time, I bought a dozen large cookies and walked to the street where they usually stand and wait for clients. It had been at least a month since I had last visited - I wondered, would they recognize me on my own? How would they react?

As I waited for the traffic to let me cross the street, four women saw me and waved. When I crossed the street they greeted me with the traditional touching of the cheeks and kissing the air.
"Que tal? Como estas?" we asked each other. I handed out cookies and we simply and talked. It's strange: when I'm with them, I find myself smiling so widely and laughing so openly. The women and men on the street corners are so happy to have friends, it drives away the sadness. When I'm with them my heart is both breaking and bursting with the feeling of thankfulness that they are alive and present and carrying some kind of hope. I smile and laugh so much with them. Then I go home and go for a run, pounding the pavement, listening to music, and processing. My therapy.

I'm hopeful to see where this outreach will eventually lead. It will take time and resources. But it can happen. There's a boy from Casa Gabriel who spent time doing mission work in Brazil who wants to study political science. Because of the conversations he had with street boys there - who feel that their future options are either to somehow play soccer professionally or to sell drugs - he wants to help shape laws to try and break the chain of poverty and give more people real hope. Maybe, through a combination of changing the laws, offering classes, and other things, people in prostitution can have better lives. I don't know where it will all go, but maybe it will start with a warm smile and saying, "Hello friend, how are you?"