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 Café 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.