Wednesday, November 11, 2009

From South Africa to Disneyland

by Naomi Zacharias

We have often spoken of Noleen and her story of courage and strength. She successfully changed the course of her life when she received a scholarship from Wellspring. Graduating at the top of her class from culinary school, Noleen has since been a chef at a four star hotel in Cape Town.
She and her son, Jomei, traveled to Phoenix, Arizona, in October to share her story with friends of Wellspring. She showed enormous courage and invited people into her story of much pain suffered, but the remarkable restoration that lights up her eyes. On their way home we sent them to Disneyland, for what is a trip to the US that does not include an introduction to Mickey Mouse? I had to leave for a trip, but left them safely in the hands of a good friend, LV Hanson from the Catalyst team, who took them with friends to the happiest place on earth...

http://www.vimeo.com/7528974

Monday, October 5, 2009

Fair Trade Month

Fall is here. And October is now about more than costumes and candy. October is Fair Trade Month.

Fair trade is an organized social movement and market-based approach that seeks to engage small producers in developing countries in the global retail market. The movement serves many purposes: as an advocate for the local producer, to promote environmentally responsible standards in the production of goods, and to provide a sustainable effort to fight poverty. It focuses on exports from developing countries to developed countries. Products such as coffee, cocoa, sugar, tea, bananas, honey, cotton, wine, fresh fruit, chocolate and flowers are common items available through Fair Trade. Handicrafts are also available at select retailers.
Fair trade respects the labor, talent, and self-sufficiency of the individual, it rewards a strong work ethic, and combats poverty and many of its horror-filled effects. Through our every-day choices and selections, we can each fight against poverty, hunger, abuse, and human trafficking.
Check out the website http://www.fairtrademonth.org to learn a new fact about Fair Trade each day, and different ways to support this global effort.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Slice of Infinity: "You Have Done It Unto Me"

Some food for thought. Check out this Slice of Infinity by RZIM apologist Margaret Manning:

http://ls.egen.net/MessageView.aspx?sid=167786636&cid=167772742&textonly=0

Monday, September 21, 2009

ABC Nightline Link

Attached is a link to a portion of the transcript for the ABC Nightline program on sexual exploitation that aired last week:

Tracking Suspected American Pedophiles in Cambodia
http://abcnews.go.com/Nightline/inside-investigation-alleged-sex-predators-cambodia/Story?id=8579591&page=4

How to help end sexual exploitation
http://abcnews.go.com/Nightline/end-sexual-exploitation-cambodia/story?id=8579638

One of Wellspring's beneficiary organizations, NewSong Center (also called Agape Restoration Centre), is highlighted in this link. Please contact us by email to naomi.zacharias@wellspringinternational.org or by phone to 770-449-6766 if you have any questions.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Nightline on ABC

ABC’s Nightline will feature a story on sex trafficking in Cambodia that is expected to air on September 16th, 2009, with two follow-up pieces for the evening news in the days thereafter. One of the follow-up stories will feature a girl called 'Bella' from the NEWSONG CENTRE which is run by one of the organizations we work with, AIM4ASIA in Cambodia. Nightline usually airs late in the evening so check your local listings. http://twitter.com/Nightline
Newsong Centre is a rehabilitation center that cares for young girls who have been sexually abused and tortured. Through intensive counseling, medical care, education, and a safe home environment, Newsong Centre is helping to reintegrate them into society at their pace. If you would like to know more about Newsong Centre, please let us know.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Gulu, Uganda

by Emily Sernaker

After a brief intermission, I am continuing my travels with Wellspring International; moving from the crowded streets of Mumbai, India, to dirt road villages of Gulu, Uganda. Having seen so much in two months, I sometimes wonder what will stay with me about my summer of mangos and malaria pills. My summer of ‘if it feels like something is crawling on you, that's because it is.’ I can feel my patience growing, personal space shrinking, hands washing off the red dirt, bug spray, sunscreen, sweat, baby snot, caked on my skin and think: today was a good day. My summer of ‘the rest of the world knows so much about us and we know so little about the rest of the world.’ A few more stamps in my passport to show where I've been, a few more inches of fabric to cover my knees. This is a summer of hospitality, crazy ‘they have nothing but still offer you everything’ hospitality. ‘Don't compliment her earrings because she'll take them off and give them to you’ hospitality. I am opening my eyes as wide as I can but I still can't take in all this sky. Doctors, nurses, teachers, lawyers, headmasters, accountants, construction workers, program directors: let's have a meeting. What does it mean to give effective and sustainable aid? This is my summer of crimes against humanity, the burns and bullet holes; I might go home and say I saw hell. How many miles are those women walking for clean drinking water? How many white people have taken their picture and walked away? This joyful summer of bright fabrics and toothy smiles, you can hold my hand and teach me how to dance. I've stopped trying to guess what's coming next. The road is redder, plants greener, drum beats harder then I'd remembered.
And when I see a woman sitting outside a hut, braiding another's hair, or watch a bird sit peacefully on top of a buffalo, everything inside me becomes calm. I might go home and say I saw Eden.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Mumbai, India June 2009

Part 5
by Emily Sernaker

MTV Cribs should do a special on Gandhi's house. I'm serious, instead of watching how Tommy Lee got a Starbucks built in his kitchen, we could be looking at Gandhi's spinning wheel and learning about how this delicate man would spin and spin for all of India. It would be great, we could look at Gandhi's jail bowl and read his correspondences with Tolstoy and Churchill; his plea to Hitler on behalf of humanity. The show could edit in some cool background music to take us through the dioramas set up on the second floor, showing all the important moments of Gandhi's life. Everyone will be surprised how powerful it is, to see a little paper mache figure doing the salt march. Fasting for peace, going to jail, giving voice to the voiceless, hope to the hopeless, all of a sudden there's a dot of red paint in the middle of his little white robe. The viewers of MTV Cribs will be crying as paper mache Gandhi chooses to see God in the eyes of his assassin. They'll hear the quote "my life is my message" and realize that before seeing that special, they had never known what bravery was.

After spending time in rural Badlapur, I've come back to the heart of Mumbai. Chillies tied to the front of taxis, jump onto a moving bus, drive on the wrong side of the road, everything feels like a high speed car chase unless you're stuck in traffic: Mumbai. Get your hair cut on a rock by the Indian Ocean, a shave on the street, a cold bath in a blue bucket: Mumbai. Please don't offer me drugs, or try to clean my ears; a pigeon flew into my face yesterday: Mumbai. Eat every drop of food on your plate and be thankful it was there. Watch someone write any word in Hindi and you'll swear they are an artist. Ask your waiter how many languages he speaks, I'll bet it's five. Don't make eye contact with men, they think it’s an invitation. Don't answer every question with "D) It is written," no one will think you are funny. I saw a story carved in an elephant tusk. I saw a suitcase full of money. I saw statues for a million gods, a million rain drops, a whole city under an umbrella with their arms around each other.

The programs I'm looking at are extraordinary. To watch an older woman who used to be in the district learning to read; to watch a younger woman who used to be in the district reclaiming her life through the vocational center; stitch by stitch it’s hers again. Everyone’s a before and after picture. Everyone has a story that changes everything. Whatever you expected to find here was wrong - if you think you're gonna be sad they'll shove hope down your throat until you acknowledge it and swallow. If you think you're gonna find answers they'll tell you a story so complicated you forget how to put one foot in front of the next. I can tell you I do feel their words sticking to me. I suspect that I'll always be both a little bit weaker and a little bit stronger for knowing.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Mumbai, India June 2009

Part 4
by Emily Sernaker

I think that if you were to ask, India would tell you I'm getting the hang of things. I say go on India, lean on your walking stick, wash your clothes in the river, pierce your nose, burn your trash. Honk your horn before you turn the corner, let them know you are coming. India, I see you gliding down the road with all that spiky firewood, silver jugs of water up on your head; I am in awe of your balancing act. Ask me of my family and offer me sweets. Offer me spices and stories so strong they make my eyes water every time.

Well, I've moved from staying at the women’s center to staying at a center for little ones with HIV. The kids are happy to have a new playmate, as I have quickly become their very own human jungle gym. A good chunk of my day is spent learning about the program, meeting with their teachers, nurses, doctors, and program directors. The rest of the day usually finds me with at least three kids in my lap, one of my hands engaged in an outside thumb wrestling match and the other hand in a circle of down by the banks.

When I asked if there was anything I could do to help, the staff immediately said I could start leading devotion time, which is an hour of stories and songs each day. This particular organization I am evaluating is a Christian organization, and I did have some songs from church camp in my back pocket. I did decide to shake things up however, teaching them an NSYNC classic complete with dance moves: God Must Have Spent A Little More Time On You.

Meal time is my favorite. The kids will spend half of it staring at my blue eyes going "are those original?" and the second half asking me questions about America. "What kind of vegetables do you eat there?" they ask. I spend the rest of the meal naming every vegetable I can think of. When I say one they recognize they cheer for that vegetable. Avocados are met with silence.

Meal time is also special because I have started to help feeding the little ones. I was trying to think of the last time I fed something (I usually forget to feed Buckely, our dog at home). Looking at some of these tiny kids - putting each scoop of food on the spoon so carefully, watching it go in their mouth, praying that that bite might make them just a little bit stronger - it is a different kind of focused and concentrated love. I hadn't experienced anything like it before.

Lately, India has been reminding me of my own childhood. All of these houses made of bricks, some just of sticks, waiting for something to huff and puff and blow them all down. All of these chickens crossing the road to get to the other side. The bed bugs bite, now guess who's a walking game of connect the dots. You know you are culturally insensitive when the first man you see in a turban reminds you of Poonjab from the movie Annie. At least I wasn't wrong to think that some of these giant viney trees are the kind Mogley would climb; the author of the Jungle Book was from Mumbai.

Maybe I've been thinking more about childhood because there was a time when I didn't know what humans were capable of doing to one another.
Last night I was invited to the home of two of the aid workers who help run the women's rehab center. I asked if the women from the center have trouble adjusting to the program after having such terrible past experiences. Without taking a breath, both workers immediately started telling me about prayer time. They said that sometimes, while the women are praying together quietly, one will just start screaming. They said that she screams because she is trying to get out all of her pain, all of her suffering. Every level of her humanity had been attacked: physically, mentally, spiritually. They told me that the scream that comes out of those women has such violence, such sadness, a bottomlessness to it.

The workers went on to tell me more stories about how HIV/AIDS victims are outcast from society, how there is serious government corruption, how women are horribly beaten, and on and on and on. I wished I could go back to just naming vegetables.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Mumbai, India June 2009

Part 3
by Emily Sernaker

I asked some of the women at the rehab center what the best part of their day was. Without hesitation, they all told me the same thing: the rain. It really is something to see everyone look at the water falling from the sky as if it is direct proof that God has heard and answered each of their prayers. I was excited for the rain too, until I realized that the water inspires more creatures to come out and play. The women were quick to give me advice: "Close your suitcase so bugs won’t crawl in. Shake out your shoes before putting them on." After a bug flew in my mouth the other night I started to think that keeping things shut in general seems to be a good rule.

The girls at the center think it is hilarious that I am acting like a contestant on fear factor. They love showing me toads the size of both my feet (I'm a size 6 1/2 ), mice, snakes, crabs, stray dogs ("they won't bite you unless you run away"), red velvet spiders, goats, beetles, lightening bugs, and butterflies (the best butterflies are yellow and look like little pieces of tissue paper floating all around). I will say that I do enjoy it when a cow just walks into the middle of the road and stops traffic cold. If he's feeling really sassy he'll plop down and take a seat in front of the cars. No one can go anywhere because a cow is taking some time to collect his thoughts.

On another note, India has style. It is common practice here to use dye from henna to over up grey hair - which means every day I see elderly people with bright orange hair. Besides embracing orange, India is all about being shiny. Sparkly nail polish, sequins all over shirts and scarves, flower stems wrapped in tin foil; India looks good in the sun. A few other things India supports: hand gestures, garlic/onion/peppers, the girl being three years younger than the man for marriage, tea time, three wheeled taxis, wild pigs.

I have enjoyed staying with the women at the shelter this last week. One of the program directors will pull me aside and tell me stories about what they've been through as we watch the ladies sip their tea and play with one another’s hair. If someone's scarf barely touches the ground, one of the women will rush up to help her fix it. Even the way they tease one another is very soft, very sweet.

Trying to understand things like the cultural importance of a woman's reputation, the idea of being someone’s property, the concept of a dowry, proper burials, the government’s relationship to the mafia's relationship to the madam's relationship to the prostitute's relationship to whoever sold her into the district – it’s all very difficult. In the red light district, one of the program directors handed me a pile of death certificates for all the people they had buried that year. "Look," he showed me, "This one was only 4 years old, this one was 5, 7, 10, 16, 23, 31..." I felt sick holding the papers, just feeling them in my hands.

Holding the hand of one of the kids with AIDS at a children’s center has a different kind of weight. We will be playing and he will be smiling at me and I will be smiling back trying not to stare at his speckled skin. I think, what kind of pain have you known in your little life?

At the same center everyone will cheer when it starts to pour. The children will sit together in front of the window, totally captivated, just watching the rain.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Mumbai, India June 2009

Part 2
by Emily Sernaker

This weekend I had the opportunity to visit all of the programs I will be evaluating for Wellspring International in the coming weeks. Medical clinics in the red light district, children’s homes and rehabilitation centers both in the district and an hour outside it, vocational training centers, and a home for children with HIV/AIDS were among the places I visited. In 48 hours I drank a lot of tea, listened to a lot of stories, and shook what must have been over 300 hands.

One of our early stops, a girls’ center outside of Mumbai, had teenage girls that were especially happy to see me. They asked me a couple of questions about home and suddenly started looking at me differently. There appeared to be a situation. Apparently, the girls believed me to be an Emily from America that had stayed with them a few years back.

“But, she was thin,” they explained, “and you are fat….so we figured that she had just gotten fat.” They paused. “But it turns out that you are not the same person.” Before my trip I had been going to the gym several times a week but apparently India didn’t notice.

In addition to being introduced to the programs outside of the city, the rain brought some other fun creatures that insisted on meeting me. Although I was startled to see that ants here are the size of my thumb, I quickly learned to put things in perspective. Now, I am glad to see the flies because a fly is not a mosquito. A cricket is not a cockroach, a lizard is not a scorpion, and thank God the walls on the bathroom are white so at least I can assess my company before I shower and decide on which bug is my biggest adversary.

Perspective doesn’t just come from the insects though - I have never felt so glad to see toilet paper or to drink cold water or to even just feel a breeze. It is an intense experience to be learning so much every day. It starts off simple, like trying to learn how to position my thumb to eat goewy rice with my hands. But that learning to eat the rice is nothing compared to trying to comprehend the stories I hear while I am eating.

Before coming here, I thought I had a basic understanding of the problems I would encounter. I memorized the statistics before my trip - ‘70,000 women in prostitution in the red light district of Mumbai, over 80% have AIDS…’ My second day here I met a woman. She had been sold into prostitution, locked in a room for 8 years and raped repeatedly. If she put up a fight she would be violently beaten. The only reason she had escaped was that one day, the madam of the brothel forgot to lock the door to her room.

To learn that the majority of the girls in the red light district are victims of human trafficking, to see the bars on the windows and actually imagine being trapped is sickening. During my tour of the district I was allowed to see one of the rooms the girls were forced to use at night. There were three mattresses with sheets hanging between each one. “Six customers at a time,” the madam explained to me. Over the beds were pictures of Jesus and signs that said “God is with you.” To know that the girls see those signs every night before, or as, they are forced to lie with their customers. I will never forget that image for as long as I live.

These last few days I have been staying in a women’s rehabilitation center outside of the city. All of the women have been victims of human trafficking, prostitution, or AIDS - usually all three. This morning, while I was talking with some of the women, a girl my age picked a white flower from a nearby tree. She came up to me and focused so intently on putting it in my hair just right. Her eyes narrowed, forehead scrunched, fingers worked intently. I thought about how hard she was trying to be in that moment and tried my best to be in it with her.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Mumbai, India June 2009

By Emily Sernaker

As I prepared to graduate from the University of Redlands this last year, I was faced with the certain and inevitable question: "What are you going to do with your life?" With a degree in Creative Writing and Social Justice, I answered that in the immediate future, I was interested in going into Humanitarian Aid work and Development. "What is it about all this?" people would ask. "Do you just want to help other countries? Do you just want to help Africa? Is it about children? Or just vulnerable people in general – what’s your deal?"

After some thought, my answer always came back to women and children in the developing world. It is with that understanding that I accepted a consulting internship for the summer with the faith based humanitarian organization Wellspring International. It is with that consulting internship that I now find myself writing from Mumbai, India, the most populated city in the world.

India and I are still getting to know each other: we take off our shoes. We bow at one another. My money belt sticks to my stomach and her bangles slide around her wrist as she asks me if my blue eyes are real, and I ask her if she realizes a goat is chewing up her telephone wire. I like the way her head wobbles when she’s thinking or deciding something is ok. I like that her steering wheel is bedazzled and that her sari is bright orange and her buildings mint green. I smile at store titles like “Just Marbles” because India is being direct with me, and I appreciate that. I don’t know how she can walk so confidently balancing forty raw eyes on her head. I don’t know how some of those buildings stay up, the walls are stacked precariously; like card houses waiting to fall. In her rich areas, India calls me madam.

She puts ice cream in my coffee and soap in my hands. In her poor areas, she tells me to always look down because I might step in feces, but in the same breath insists that I always look up because buses and cars will hit me if I’m in their way. Watch out for the open flame! The children are playing baseball beside it with a wooden plank and an orange ball. Don’t look up too high! You’ll see the brothels above the stores, with bars on their windows and eyes peering out.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Mumbai, India

Monday, June 22, 2009

by Naomi Zacharias

We wake up early and sip on chai tea while eating an omelet and a few chapatis for breakfast. We meet Ena, the director of the vocational training program for women. She is stylish and chic, and as I shake her hand I comment that I like her earrings. “You like them?” she remarks. “Here, you must have them,” she says as she angles her head to each side to retrieve the earrings. I laugh and put my hands up in protest, but she takes my hand, places the large, antique gold earrings that look like India in my palm and closes my fingers overtop. “They are yours,” she says decidedly. I really liked her shoes, too, but I didn’t dare comment and then see her go barefoot. The facility is on the same property as the home and it is beautiful. Inside is a large room with a high ceiling and quaint looking sewing machines. Silk pajama bottoms in tangerine and lavender hang from racks and are stacked in piles, ready to be boxed and shipped. I leave her and Emily to discuss the program details, the mission, the method, the budget, the business plan. I stroll through the grounds, make a few phone calls, and wander back to the house to speak with the girls. They are familiar and feel known to me, even though I live hundreds of miles away and can count the days I have seen them in the past on one hand. We take some photos, and somehow I find myself sitting in a chair getting a henna tattoo on the top of my foot. I anxiously look at my watch as I know Emily will return any moment and we’ll just have a few minutes before I will say goodbye and leave her here for the next three weeks. The girls grin and as my artist finishes the intricate eastern design, I hop on the other foot to go gather my suitcase and leave, only a few minutes late but for such a good cause.

I hug Emily tightly and I hold back a bit of emotion at saying goodbye. These experiences bond you so much in a short amount of time. We shared moments witnessing heartache that then became part of our own. It is hard to explain to anyone, and sometimes you feel a little lost and sort of in this dark corner you can’t let anyone in on no matter how much you don’t actually want to be there on your own. We deal with this emotion by exchanging a few jokes and I wave goodbye to her as she becomes smaller and smaller in my mirror.

A few hours later I am in Bombay and we get lost in the streets that have no street names and address numbers. I remember my Dad telling me things like his school address was “Delhi Public School, Acrross from Fire Station.” And that was the formal address. I find it entertaining as we stop and ask person after person on the crowded streets for number 23. No one knows, though eventually it turns out to be just down the street a short way. I am here meeting with a woman who works for an adoption agency in Mumbai. We receive many inquiries through Wellspring and I thought I would do some research to provide people with information and direction. She patiently explains the very complicated process to me. As I am leaving, I am able to step inside the neonatal room. It is filled with small white cribs, each holding a little one. A few of them are just one day old, tiny bundles tightly wrapped in soft pink blankets. My eyes fill with tears and I am overcome with emotion. Moments later I am shaking hands with a six year old little boy. He has a hearing aid in one ear, innocent eyes, and a sweet smile. He shyly tries to speak to me in English and I struggle to fight tears. What I want to do is fold him up in a big hug, to make sure he is taken care of for the rest of his life. It is one of the hardest moments I remember, to say goodbye and turn and walk away. I have thought of him constantly since then. I wonder what is in store for his life, will it find him loved and cared for, or lonely and sad. I have cried many times since then as I remember him, and I think back to my conversation with Emily about how you feel it as deeply but you learn to cope. For just as it seems you think you learn to cope, there is something around the corner that breaks your heart in new ways.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Mumbai, India

Sunday, June 21, 2009

by Naomi Zacharias

After just a few hours, it felt like we were in a different part of the country much further away. There were mountains, and winding dirt roads, and an open stretch of blue sky. We started the day by visiting a home for girls. We instantly had friends, who giggled and slipped their hands into ours and began to show us their home. We entered rooms with several single beds and pink comforters, and they showed us cupboards with their personal space and items. They gingerly tidied the already extremely neat piles of t-shirts and skirts, obviously wanting us to notice how well they kept their things. One of their first questions was about boys and dating, and what was it like in the US? I encourage Emily to take charge of the answer to this question. They were fascinated by Emily’s striking blue eyes and couldn’t believe they were real.


We left their house and went to another home for children who require special medical care. As we walked in the door, 35 sets of beautiful brown eyes beamed back at us and we instantly had our hands full. We ate a lunch of curries and freshly made chapatis, and learned about this home where children are given extra care and attention to tend to all of their health needs.

From there we went to a home for women previously trafficked and sold, and another for young boys who had been living on the streets of Mumbai addicted to drugs. Every child attends school, and the women can choose vocational training and learn to make silk pajamas and clothing and leather goods that are then shipped to retail vendors in the United States. The houses sit several acres of lush land filled with mango trees and offers a peaceful life of safety and calm.
By the end of the day, we are mentally tired. It is about 100 degrees and the unfamiliar humid heat seems to make everything process a bit slower mentally. And perhaps it is the stories themselves, too. Later that night we each stretch out our single beds, waving away mosquitoes and taking turns at discouraging four legged friends from coming closer. Then we see a lightning bug and something about it soothes us. I don't know if it is the reminder of summer nights of childhood running around for hours outside with a jar trying to get a little closer to this unthreatening creature. Or maybe it just is the little light that flickers on and off and offers warmth, or comfort, or even hope. We lie still to catch the breeze from the fan and talk about all we have seen, the way it hurts inside, how you must grieve the realization that we can’t actually fix the past. We can help to build and participate in the future, but we come from a culture that with all good intentions would love to believe we can actually erase horrors of the past and create a life perhaps happily ever after. But the stories don’t lend themselves to this, and they launch us into a different reality of life that is marked with unusual pain, but life that triumphantly perseveres. We talk until we are too tired to think, Emily strums on a nearby guitar that was recently donated and hums tunes I've grown to recognize in just a few days, and we briefly leave this reality to fall asleep.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Mumbai, India

Saturday, June 20, 2009

by Naomi Zacharias

We arrived in Mumbai at 1:00 am this morning. Our flight was delayed and then our luggage the last to appear on the belt. That's always a nervous moment, when the passengers next to you retrieve their bags and disappear one by one. And then you start to slowly become less hopeful, reprimand yourself for putting faith in the baggage system and checking in luggage against better judgment and looking at the outfit you put on 36 hours ago and wondering how long you'll have to stay in it. But this time, ah, relief! We walked outside and were met with a wave of heat even at that hour. We jumped in the car and sat through traffic on the busy streets of Bombay, a city that seems to truly never sleep.

I am on this trip with Emily, a recent college graduate who will be working with Wellspring for the summer. All of her assignments are overseas, beginning in Mumbai. She is researching selected projects to help us maintain Wellspring standards of due diligence and taking an in-depth look at finances and project management. She is a great travel companion and ready to begin her work. It is her first trip to India, but I know she will love it and it will love her.

We decided to eat as soon as we arrived at our hotel and finally went to sleep at about 4:00 am, our body clocks beginning the path of sleep confusion. We wake up and begin our day. We go to the red light district and walk through the streets. Beads of sweat immediately form in the high heat and we refrain from crinkling our noses at various smells as we step past animals and discarded trash, weaving through the crowded streets. Emily points out an unusually large black goat in front of us, contentedly chewing on a phone cord. We go into a brothel and speak with its owner, a woman who looks to be in her late forties. She was once forced to work here and now manages the business. It is a tiny room, divided with a thin curtain to create the false sense of privacy.

We then go to the children’s shelter funded by Wellspring International. Seventy children shake our hands and ask our names. Many are the children of women working in the brothels and the shelter provides them with safety outside of that home. Others were found living alone on the streets. They dance and present us with brightly colored daisies and warm smiles.

We spend some time in the clinics that offer free treatment to women working in the brothels, including ARV treatment.

And as we return to the hotel, Emily talks about what she has seen. Her heart is heavy and she expresses honest ache over what we witnessed. We stroll along the waterfront and talk it through. We watch people eating popsicles, feeding birds, and Indian families posing for pictures. She steps up and asks one if she can join their picture. They smile and quickly agree and welcome her into their family for a few seconds. The picture is priceless.

We are exhausted and pack our things before falling asleep. Tomorrow we will be driving a few hours outside of the city to Emily’s new home for the next three weeks.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Amsterdam

Thursday, May 14, 2009

by Laurie Grotelueschen

The day started with a cup of strong Dutch coffee and a croissant. After the breakfast of champions we were picked up by Elizabeth from Scarlet Cord and headed to a high school outside of Amsterdam for a prostitution prevention class. Scarlet Cord has been invited to area high schools to conduct a prevention seminar on “lover boys” (pimps) and prostitution. Each seminar is designed to make the young girls aware of the tactics and lies of lover boys. These guys often prey on vulnerable girls and become their boyfriend, woo them, and then coerce them into prostitution through a rather lengthy and psychologically manipulative process. This class had eight girls in it, aged 14. The entire class was conducted in Dutch, which made it very interesting to try and figure out what was being said and what the reaction of the girls was. We could read the body language and the reactions of the girls as they were asked to respond to certain statements with a red or green card to signify yes or no. Scarlet Cord has developed an entire curriculum that can be used in the public schools and conducted seminars in over 35 schools this year. Wellspring International has provided $15,000 USD toward funding this program since its inception in 2006. With full government support, Scarlet Cord is getting tremendous positive feedback from students and school administration regarding the effectiveness of this program.

From there we went to the offices of Scarlet Cord for lunch and a brief business meeting. Naomi and I met with Toos, who is the director of the Scarlet Cord office. We spent the afternoon on a bench by the canals listening to Toos tell us about all that was happening with Scarlet Cord, the girls behind the windows, and plans for the future. She spoke of a new partnership with a high profile international employment firm that now works with Scarlet Cord to facilitate job placement for girls who have left prostitution and are seeking employment that fits their educational background, professional skills, and dreams. She told us of her hopes to develop prevention tools in various languages and suitable for different cultural backgrounds. It was certainly an eye opening experience for me. I heard about a world that I did not really know existed - a world of human trafficking and sexual slavery. HIV/AIDS, poverty, and homelessness are in the news every day and are the chosen cause of many of the Hollywood “elite,” but in my secluded suburban world, I never knew of the dark and desperate situation of so many women and children around the world.

Evening drew near and it was time for us to head into the Red Light District. We went upstairs into the office and prayed. We prayed for Him to lead us to those who needed to hear from Him that night and with a heartfelt "Amen" we went out. We were here to participate in the "Street Work" of Scarlet Cord. Wellspring provides funding toward this program each year, as the staff of Scarlet Cord engage in the opportunity to meet the girls working in the District, to build relationships, to let them know what they do. The purpose of Street Work is to let the girls know about Scarlet Cord and that they are available to facilitate a safe exit, provide counseling, housing, and assistance with education and job placement should they choose any of these options. The choice is left up to each girl. I have to admit that the butterflies in my stomach turned into bats the closer we got to the street.

My first impression as we walked out of the alley and onto the street was one of eerie darkness bathed in the glow of red lights. It reminded me of all the old movies depicting hell. You could feel the oppression weigh down on you like a heavy blanket. I guess in my mind I expected to see brazen, hardcore women enticing men from behind the windows, but when I finally dared to look into one my heart broke into a million pieces. The very first window I looked into had a young, clearly frightened young girl. This was not what I was expecting and I wept inside at the hopelessness I saw in her young face. As I continued to walk down the street looking in the windows I saw sadness, fear, and desperation. There were a few who seemed to put on a good show for the clientele, but if you looked closely, the smile seemed to be painted on and there was no visible life in their eyes. In those first few moments the Lord showed me that these were His precious children and, if my heart was breaking, His was breaking even more. As we walked through the street, Toos commented on how many were new. We learned that many are trafficked in from places like Hungary and Romania. They come with the expectation of a job in the restaurant business or house keeping, and others come out to work in the Red Light District for a few months to try to make money to support a desperate family back home. But oftentimes, upon arrival, the organized network takes their passports and imposes enormous debts on them. They are a commodity.

Toos began knocking on the windows and introducing herself to them. If they spoke some English she would tell them that she was with Scarlet Cord and give them a card with the numbers to call if they needed anything. She has cards and books in every language. The books are stories written by girls who were in prostitution and then came out of the industry. Toos also offered Bibles. It was amazing how many girls really wanted the Bibles. Before the night was over, Toos had run out.

Toos went into a booth to talk to one of the girls that she knew while Naomi and I waited around the corner. While we were waiting I took the opportunity to observe those who were milling about the streets. My heart went from broken to enraged at what I saw. Tour groups were being ushered down the street by a guide. These groups were full of what I would call the “retirement crowd.” Men and women who were my parents’ ages, out on a tour as if it were the zoo or something. I wanted to march right up to them and give them a scolding. What on earth were they doing here gawking at these girls as if they were animals in the zoo? Didn’t they realize these girls were somebody’s daughter, granddaughter? This could have been a member of their family. How would they feel if they looked in the window and saw their daughter? Then there were the men, old men, young boys, businessmen, and the loverboys, all walking up and down the streets and the alleys, looking in the windows and judging each girl as if they were shopping for a car or something. The loverboys stand back and watch. I noticed that a few of the girls would look behind us when we talked with them and suddenly tell us they could not talk. They had obviously been warned not to.

Later Toos and I went into the booth of a young girl named Vanessa. Vanessa was from Russia and actually came of her own will (or so she said). She told us how she came to make money to go to school. She saw that the most money could be made in Amsterdam so she came here. She had been there two years and had no money. She found that prostitution was not what it was cracked up to be. Gone were the dreams of riches and going back wealthy only to be replaced by a resigned hopelessness that all those dreams were now dead. She told us that there was emptiness in her heart now. It was at this point that Toos shared the Gospel with her. While Toos was sharing what Jesus could do to fill the emptiness in her heart, Vanessa listened intently. She allowed us to pray for her and accepted the books that Toos had. We hugged each other and then left as she once again assumed her pose in the window. I keep praying that the Holy Spirit will take the seed that Toos planted that night and make it bloom into beautiful fruit for Vanessa.

We continued to walk through the streets for a little while longer. I stood amazed at this beautiful church that stood vacant and abandoned in the middle of the Red Light District. It reminded me of something I had read recently in Ezekiel 10 where the Glory of the Lord leaves the temple. As the people of Israel slowly gave themselves to idols and wickedness the LORD pulled back from the temple, eventually leaving it altogether. The abandoned church certainly revealed that God had removed His glory. But, lest I end this on a depressing note, I think of Toos and all the wonderfully dedicated people at Scarlet Cord who carry God’s light and glory into the darkness of Amsterdam and its Red Light District. The Lord tells us in Acts 13:47, “I have made you a light for the Gentiles, that you may bring salvation to the ends of the earth.” Through this experience, God has made me very aware of how much we need to be a light to these girls and in this place.

Amsterdam

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

by Naomi Zacharias

We arrive in Amsterdam in time to meet the morning sun. Unable to check into our hotel, we stop in the lobby for a few minutes to check email as we have been out of contact with home since leaving. After checking in and reassuring all we were alive and well, we wander around outside, a little tired, ready for a shower, and in clothes we are ready to retire after wearing them for over 24 hours. I love the streets of Amsterdam, with its quaint architecture and picturesque canals. In this city, I watch bicycles pass with the same curiosity only lent to passing cars at home. Here, the cycles have character. Aged brown leather seats, woven baskets, or old school bells make them an interesting addition to the city’s character, not just an additional hazard to be wary of when crossing the narrow streets. The weather is crisp and pleasant and after brief exploration we head into a Hard Rock CafĂ© and devour a plate of nachos to kill a bit of time.

After check in and an afternoon nap, we hop a tram to take us to a part of town I struggle to pronounce correctly. The tram operator looks at me a bit confused, but my friend had given me the English translation and with a small twitch at the corners of his mouth he nods in understanding. When we step off the tram, my friend is there to greet us. I met her three years ago now.

It was 2006 and I was sitting in the office of Scarlet Cord. Located in the Red Light District of Amsterdam, Scarlet Cord provides alternative options for women working in prostitution. Over 20,000 girls work in the legalized profession, and Amsterdam has made itself famous around the world for the glitz and glamour of this district. Four hundred windows line the streets, each with a red light outside to signify the brothel is open for business. The first time I was here, it took me days to process what I had seen. The women were organized by nationality, as if they were a product in a mall. I wanted to believe the clients were men who looked troubled. And certainly some do. But the truth is that most didn’t, and when you enter this sad world, multiple layers of your person and confidence in others are attacked. You feel sorry for some of the girls, perplexed by others, angry at the clients, fearful of the pimps, and suddenly insecure in your own life, wondering if you can really ever trust someone. The first time, it brought all my insecurities and fears to the surface. Four years later, it affects me differently. Now it makes me incredibly sad. For on either side of any transaction is someone being a destructive version of themselves. The reasons are plentiful, sometimes seemingly simple and oftentimes complex. But for all the lights and supposed glamour, at the heart of it is something tragic.

And Stacey walked in. She had been working in prostitution for eight years. At the age of 17, a boyfriend put her behind the window to work and help him pay off some debts. Her story began long before the night he betrayed her, and she openly shared all that had happened. She was tough and I liked her. I liked that she looked me straight in the eye, that she was honest about life, the things she had figured out, and the things she had not. She wanted out of prostitution now, and one night at work, a Scarlet Cord worker knocked on her window and let her know they could help if she wanted an alternative. The Netherlands wanted to make prostitution a legal and viable profession that women were free to “choose.” But as Scarlet Cord has said, it is only a choice if they can also choose to leave. Physical fear, language barriers, personal debts, and lack of options prevent many from believing they have a choice. When Stacey thought it might actually be possible for her, she wandered into their office. As we sat side by side and talked, I asked her what she wanted to do. She thought for a moment and answered that she thought she would like being a makeup artist.

And so Scarlet Cord helped her leave the district, find housing, and provided a social worker available to her for weekly meetings and job assistance. They helped her to apply for government provisions for housing assistance. They helped her identify and apply to a reputable cosmetology school. And when she was accepted, Wellspring provided a scholarship.

I have not seen her since she finished the course, and I am truly excited. She hugs us warmly and we walk with her to the apartment she recently moved into. It is owned by Scarlet Cord and they manage the property. She pays them a reasonable rent and has a nice apartment and support system. She is now a freelance makeup artist and works for modeling agencies in Amsterdam. She earns a good salary and she showed us recent ad photos for which she had done the makeup work.

She still has the tough exterior. She is still honest and sometimes shockingly blunt. I still love and respect this about her. She openly talks about her life, what she has learned, which battles rage within her. She asks me why I am not dating and wonders aloud how we can fix this. I laugh and tell her, really, it is just fine. We talk about the trials of dating and broken hearts, birthdays, and family, and friendship. And I still feel that same connection. I see myself in her and her in me. That is the thing about crossing into different worlds. Our experiences are different, we’re dealt different hands. But when you see the humanity behind each seemingly distant life, you realize how much the same we all really are.

Cape Town

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

by Naomi Zacharias

We woke up to our last day in Cape Town. Laurie took on another hike in the early morning hours and I tried to catch up on a few hours of sleep after my third night of wide-eyed, jet-lag-induced insomnia. When she returned we ate a hurried breakfast and then began a short day in Cape Town before heading to the airport for our evening flight.

We went to see a Home from Home house currently under construction and tried to stay out of the way of activity as Pippa and the architect went over details, including the wrong colored roof panels that had been recently installed. I realized the many hats she wears and the various areas of expertise she has had to claim, from non- profit administration, to child care issues, to brick laying and square footage. She is remarkable.

From here we visited a school in the community of Vrygrond. It was recently built in a less affluent township and stands impressively due to one man’s commitment to “pay it forward” to his home town and a community that decided to work together for the good of the whole. It’s a beautiful facility and, in addition to providing education that includes art and music classes to 600 students, they provide two meals and a shack to each child every day. For many students, this will be their only nutrition for the day. After spending some time with the Administrator, we left and went to the community library. It won the branch award in the Western Cape in 2006 and its very proud administrator, Beulah, glowed as she told us what made her township different. She credited this to the strength of women in the community. I remember an Eleanor Roosevelt quote I once read that said, “Women are like teabags. You never know how strong they are until you put them in hot water.” From the women in my life to the ones in Africa, this seems to hold true. This library encourages literacy and language lessons and also provides basic needs like shoes and clothing to children who wander through. Laurie and I asked many questions, and as we walked away, we still pondered what it was that makes one community embrace its challenges together to affect change for the next generation, while another allows their circumstances to make each one fiercely concerned for the self at the cost of both the individual and others. This seems to be a question for human nature, rather than any one culture.

We discussed various NGO’s in the area that provide job training and placement for men and women, educational needs, and medical care. When I am there in the future, I plan to visit selected organizations to expand our efforts in Cape Town.

After overnight travel, terminal confusion, and a bit of baggage issues that required quite the circus act, we finally boarded the last flight of this route close to midnight.
When we wake up, we will be in The Netherlands.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Cape Town

Monday, May 11, 2009

by Naomi Zacharias

We seemed to be the only ones staying at the small Guest House, so we picked a small table outside and consumed a full breakfast to energize for the long day ahead. Pippa, the Co-Director of Home from Home, picked us up minutes later and we were on our way.

Home from Home was started in 2005 and provides permanent foster care for children orphaned and abandoned, most of whom are also HIV+. After several years of combined experience, Pippa and Jane developed the model for Home from Home, believing that children are in a healthier environment in homes built to accommodate six children and a house mother. Unlike institutionalized housing, this allows for a normalized lifestyle that ensures accountability, safety, and family living. Each house looks like every other in the neighborhood, there is no sign outside to set these children apart from their neighbors, and they engage in community life. The organization maintains oversight and support to each house mother, ensures that all basic needs are met, trains the mothers in HIV+ care and treatment, places each child in school, and works with the local communities to raise each child in a stable and loving environment. To date, they have 13 homes and care for 78 children.

We began in the township of Khayelitsha. Created during Apartheid, Khayelitsha has a population of about 1 million people. There is a current HIV prevalence rate of 26%, which is actually a slight decrease that has occurred in the last few years due to ARV treatment provided with funding support from international aid, managed and distributed by the South African government, and given free of cost to the individual. We first arrived at what has been named Sibongile 1. It was started by Nomasango, a woman who lost her daughter, named Sibongile, at an early age. Sibongile had Cerebral Palsy and after her death Nomasango made a personal vow to help other children with disabilities who needed special care. Perhaps even to her surprise, twelve children were left in her care when overwhelmed parents and caretakers disappeared. She had only a small shipping container-turned-trailer, and the children, a few workers, and Nomasango all squeezed into this cramped space.

Home from Home came alongside, added a new trailer and renovated both units to create a kitchen and nursery room equipped with mattress-lined small white cribs. As a side note, it was a testimony of what individuals can accomplish. As we passed by the kitchen, Pippa smiled and casually pointed to the white cabinets that once lined her own kitchen and now stood installed in the trailer. The houses are all filled with good quality furniture given by people who are willing to give of their person and their possessions, including the director herself.

In the nursery, our eyes met twelve sets of brown eyes and full smiles. Their true ages are not known for certain as their physical disabilities make it hard to know for sure. Unable to drink, one baby lay still in his bed as the staff worker fed him his bottle through a tube connected to an attachment fastened to his belly button.

Leaving Sibongile 1, we went a few streets over to see Sibongile 2, a three bedroom house built by Home from Home to house twelve children with disabilities taken in by Nomasango. The stark difference was incredible and two young boys in wheelchairs greeted us with excited animation as we walked in. Several of the kids lay on a mat in the center of the floor and one of the boys, Chumani, stared in apparent adoration at a small girl named Lilitha. Finally Chumani could stand it no longer, grinned, and leaned over and kissed her cheek. She laughed, causing his grin to widen. They told us that he often says, one day he will marry her.

The home is equipped with a large washer and dryer, a raised tub, and a wide shower to allow children to be lowered or wheeled as needed to bathe. The large freezer was packed with special food containing vital nutrients, blended and pureed so the kids have a well-balanced diet in food they can consume. With necessary funding the hope is to build a second house to move the children from Sibongile 1 into this permanent home situation as well.

From here we visited Luxolo, the house built and managed by Home from Home with funds given by a generous couple through Wellspring International. The house opened in 2007 and six children live there with Katherine, the house mother identified by Home from Home to be their permanent guardian. Once under guardianship of social services, each one of the children was orphaned or abandoned and placed in the custody and care of Home from Home who provides permanent housing, education, complete care, and their medications to treat HIV. All are under the age of 6 and the house has two rooms containing colorful bunk beds and pictures of the kids hanging on the living room wall.

The afternoon included a visit to the community day care center operated by Home from Home which cares for fifty children five days a week. We drove an hour and half and arrived in Hawston to see the second home built through Wellspring International. This house opened in December and was made possible with funds given to us from a Colorado-based church. The five kids, all under the age of six, played outside on the swing set and seemed quite shy. Their house mother had been away visiting family for the weekend and as she walked through the gate a bit later, the quietness quite truly erupted into glee as five pairs of legs went tearing through the yard to wrap their arms around her exclaiming, “Mommy!!!” Laurie and I looked at each other and couldn’t believe the way the kids came to life when they saw Denise. It was quite a priceless picture. We spent a few minutes with Denise as little bodies crawled all over her and small hands tugged on her ears and cheeks for attention. We soon said goodbye, granting them the chance to catch up on the full attention they truly deserved.

We continued on to visit about eight homes in various townships and ended the day at a house with a married couple who are new house parents to five little girls placed with them, ranging in age from four months to eight years old. They were adorable and three of the girls sat lined up on the sofa, their little legs barely extending over the edge of the cushions. They were each wearing a colorful knitted hat and giggled as they played peek-a-boo with us. The baby had been named Patience. She had been quite sick from an infection and an HIV diagnosis had just been confirmed a few days earlier. Her new mother had just returned from a hospital visit for a check up and medication and she was rocking the tiny, pink-blanketed bundle when we walked in, holding her tightly and affectionately against her. The mother was striking with dark, long curls that framed her beautiful face. The strong bond was so apparent it sent a vibration to my heart as she lovingly cradled Patience and with a face marked with concern for the little one not feeling too well, she spoke constant assurances and comfort into the tiny face that rested contentedly in these arms.

After quick showers, we sat at the table in Pippa’s house with her family for a late dinner. The family tradition is to go around the table and say individual highs and lows for the day. As we each took our turn, I was suddenly aware of how many highs I had been given. From the laughter, life, and unconditional acceptance I found at this table, to the lives I had witnessed throughout the day. The individual stories contained lows of sadness, but when one had to make the call, the high represented was so beautifully apparent.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Blogging Again

The Wellspring blog is now back online. Check back for updates on Naomi's current trip to Cape Town and Amsterdam.

Cape Town, South Africa

Sunday, May 10, 2009

by Naomi Zacharias

We arrived in Cape Town late Saturday night and woke up early Sunday morning to hike Table Mountain. The weather was perfect, the sky a remarkable shade of blue, and I really think this is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. It has breathtaking mountains and blue and turquoise water beaches. Standing at the very top of the mountain with the warm sun overhead, every angle looked like an airbrushed photograph.

We rushed back to our rooms to quickly shower and then hopped in our waiting taxi to meet our friends and go to an award winning local hotel for lunch. It is nice to have company on this trip. Laurie and her husband have become close friends of the ministry and to me personally, and in just a few days she I have shared spectacular scenes and memorable moments.

It is Mothers Day and we are with the son of a friend who I'll call Jeanine, eating at the hotel restaurant where she has worked for two years. She came out in her chef’s uniform and it was all I could do to contain myself. It’s hard to believe that I met her 5 years ago now. At the time, she had just come out of prostitution for the ninth time. I liked her right away and conversation was effortless. I asked her what she wanted to do if she could do anything and I was struck by the quickness, assuredness, and simplicity of her answer: to become a chef. We identified a local culinary school, she interviewed and was accepted, and Wellspring provided the financial scholarship. Eighteen months later, she graduated number one in her class and was offered a position at the main restaurant of this 4 star hotel where she still works today. Earlier this year she was given an award for her culinary skills, and as she walked out to our table from the kitchen wearing her chef's hat, I was so proud of her I could hardly stand it.

We enjoyed a long lunch and then strolled through the hotel gardens with them, Jeanine's uniform retired after a bustling restaurant day. Her son is now 10 and he was completely consumed with the cards and dice game we brought for him. Wellspring continues to provide Jeanine with supplemental income and covers all the costs of her son’s education. He has grown so much since I saw him last and is beginning to talk more, but he still has the same endearing grin.

We said goodbye and Jeanine slipped on her helmet and sped away on her motorbike. I was reminded of how I will never forget her and all she has meant to us.

We joined our friend and project partner Pippa for church that evening and finished the night at an Italian restaurant a few blocks away, drawn in by the smell of wood-fired pizza. We caught up on a bit of life and began to talk of what we would see tomorrow.