My Visit to the Red Light District

I’ve tried to write this several times now. It’s not coming easily. There was nothing easy about my visit to Kamathipura, one of India’s largest red light districts.

I visited Prerana, one of Dasra’s NGO partners. Prerana is working to eliminate second generation trafficking of children and the prevention of commercial sexual exploitation of children, minor girls, and young women. I was supposed to be met outside the school that houses the NGO, but my contact’s cell phone was switched off. I headed in, having prepared as best I could. (My Dasra colleagues had warned me that this would be a tough visit; I shouldn’t go if I was likely to cry…or faint…something others have done on previous visits.) The building was dark except for the school yard in the middle. Hearing kids’ voices, I headed there to find the Prerana office.

When the school children saw me, they all came running. “What is your name?” they asked, practicing their English. “How are you?” (I could answer the first question easily.) I asked where Prerana was, and one child took my hand to lead me there. As we walked I nearly tripped over a woman sleeping in a hallway. At first, I hadn’t seen the 10 or so women sleeping on the bare floor. I did notice the children further down the hall. Some were being bathed, others were playing. Most looked like other Indian kids…Looks are so deceiving.

I was a bit early, so a staff member gave me a report and case studies to read for some additional background. The material was riveting, providing insights into the lives of the children and women served by Prerana. I learned that HIV-positive children and those with AIDs live life on the lowest rung of “society” in the red light district. The accounts of their lives, especially as their mothers were dying from the disease and no longer able to work, were tough. I recall reading about the decision to begin talking with children and their mothers about death and dying to prepare both for what was to come. (Both the children and their mothers “welcomed” these conversations. It helped each to prepare for the inevitable…especially to plan for the child’s care.) The lucky ones would be placed in institutions if no other family members could be identified. There is often a problem with the pimps and brothel keepers who feel they have rights to some of the children and some have come looking for them at the Prerana. They expect girls to eventually take their mother’s places. They have other needs for the boys…

I learned that children in the red light district are often pawned, pledged, sold, and kidnapped. Generally, they grow up understanding that their profession is to serve the next generation of johns. I read how infants and younger children are often drugged and made to sleep at the foot of their mothers’ beds while their mothers service their johns. I learned a lot more.

I didn’t realize that an hour had passed before my interview began. I met with the head of Prerana, a middle age woman named Priti whose passion for the children and women she serves is immediately evident. She spoke about the services Prerana provides, including a night care shelter so the prostitutes can drop off their children, as well as a drop in center which is an emergency shelter for girls who have been expelled from their families and communities. Prerana also places children in residential care institutions to keep them away from the traumatizing environment of the brothels. Currently, more than 5000 children and 2200 women are being served with medical, psychological, educational, and meal services. I jotted down notes and took in details.

It wasn’t until Priti and I walked through the community together, though, that I more fully understood the warnings of my colleagues. The sites, smells, and sounds all around were overwhelming. As we passed brothel after brothel, I could see the blue painted entries and linen curtains that separated one room from another. In more than one brothel, I saw men, some putting on pants, others removing them…and it was only 6 pm. In front of many of the brothels were beds made of netting, and prostitutes were sleeping on many of those. I saw other women on the street of every shape, size, age, and color dressed in brightly colored saris. I understood clearly that their lives depended on their being able to bring in a sufficient income to their brothels. When they could no longer do so because of AIDs or other illness, they would be thrown out onto the street. (Priti told me that on one street women charge 10 to 20 rupees. That’s less than $1.)

I saw kids everywhere we walked. Some were sleeping on outside beds with their mothers, others played in the trash that lined the streets. Many seemed alone, uncared for, disheveled…just plain filthy. I noticed some of the older kids busy….taking buckets into the brothels, carrying brooms, and food, and whatever else. I saw women in the street washing themselves with water that started out dirty. Some even brushed their teeth, using their fingers, with the same water. My stomach turned.

As we walked further, women all along the way greeted Priti. With some it was just a slight nod. Others brought their hands together saying “namaste,” and their respect for her was immediately clear. Priti was stern with several whose children had not been to the center for awhile. She explained to me that she has that kind relationship with some of them. There was one woman she really gave it to. Her grandson had been absent from the program, and Priti wanted her to take the child there right now. In spite of the boy’s tears, the grandmother picked him up and carried him back to Prenana. Priti said the child’s mother is a prostitute; so is his grandmother.

At one point we passed a small baby lying alone on one of the outside beds. With all that was going on around me, this was one of the hardest sites. I wanted to get closer because it seemed to me the child wasn’t breathing, but Priti took my hand, and we kept walking.

Someone asked Priti if I was an AIDs worker. Generally, the whites who come to this area are AIDs workers. The incidence of children here who are HIV-positive or who have AIDs is about 10 percent.

I wanted to take photos of what I saw, but felt conflicted. I asked Priti, and she said my camera would be stolen within minutes. My sense, though, was she felt the photos would be intrusive…I guess I agree, but also feel a need to share more of what I saw….almost an obligation.

When we returned to Prerana, the school kids I had seen earlier were gone and the children remaining were the ones who were there for the night. They were seated in the schoolyard and having a lesson on personal hygiene.

When Priti and I parted I realized that I’d left without really saying goodbye or thanking her for her time. More so, I wanted to thank her for the work she’s doing. But “thanks” seems pretty shallow.

Quick Takes

Frank’s in Osmanabad making a field visit with his NGO. (I missed having him here when I came home from Prerana because I really needed to talk.)He took an overnight train to get there and was met and driven two hours to the field. We’re able to connect by phone, which is a good thing. He called tonight to tell me his return is delayed a day because there’s civil unrest in the area around the train station. There’s no concern, though, as he’s two hours away. He’s with staff from his NGO, and they’ll wait until things settled down tomorrow before making the trip back. Fortunately, he’s in a hotel…although he tells me it has an Indian-style toilet.