The dream that became a nightmare

You may have noticed that my blogs have been quite focused on human trafficking recently. I'm not going to apologise for this. It is something I feel passionately about and desperately want to see eradicated. But rather than writing another fact-filled blog of protest, this week I decided to write a poem from the point of view of a trafficked woman.

Perhaps poetry isn't your thing, and I realise I can only imagining what it must be like to experience such horrific circumstances. But maybe it will help you do the same. Feel free to let me know your thoughts.

Traffik stoppers

He came and gave my father money;

promised a land of milk and honey

He guaranteed a better life;

I’d learn a trade, I’d be a wife.

This had always been my dream;

this cat had always chased the cream

I’d see the world, I’d fall in love;

this man was sent from God above!

                         











But far away from friendly faces

I serviced men of many races

This is how I earned my bread;

my life suspended by a thread.

I’d never felt such utter shame;

they cut my hair, they changed my name

Kept under the hand, not just the thumb;

my heart so uncomfortably numb.

Every night I turned that trick;

They made me sore, they made me sick.

I didn’t dream, I couldn’t sleep;

My hope was gone, I dared not weep.

I longed for sunshine on my skin

but day and night I was kept in

Mastered by a tiny key

I prayed that God would rescue me.

Some vowed they’d take me out of there

but once fulfilled they didn’t care

My jailor locked me up with fear;

his words a curse, his smile a leer.

                         

One day I managed to escape

but I was found and tamed with rape

To my throat he held a knife

until I begged him for my life.

If ever again I ran away

he said my family would pay

He covered my face in black and red;

no dignity left, no single shred.

Three times I found myself with child

after I had been defiled

But even they from me were taken;

my babies stolen, lost, forsaken.

Why did I ever leave my land

for a language I didn’t understand?

Why had I sold my soul for this;

the stolen sex, the stifling kiss?

                                   

And then the men in blue they came;

I opened my legs for more of the same

They locked me in a metal cage;

I knew they’d make me earn my wage.

                                                     

Instead they sat and questioned me;

they brought me endless cups of tea

Trapped behind another door;

with words I’d never heard before.

                           

But then a stranger brought me light;

she fought for me with all her might

She risked it all to rescue me;

to cut me loose, to set me free

She told me I was no one’s slave;

for me a man his life he gave

To give me hope, a destiny;

this man named Jesus paid my fee.

It sounded an unlikely tale;

I had no faith in any male

But she spoke from a melted heart

and offered me a brand new start.

She helped me overcome my fears;

she gently wiped away my tears

Free to laugh, to sing, to dance;

I gladly seized that second chance.

But I am not the only one

to live a life without the sun

To suffer ever new disgrace;

ensnared within a cruel embrace

It won’t take one, or two, or three

if we’re to set the captives free

If we’re to make the traffic stall

to block it off: for once, for ALL.

It won’t take luck; it won’t take magic; it’s up to US to stop the traffik.

If you want to know more about human trafficking, visit A21 Campaign's website. It offers plenty of information and ways to get involved.

Read more from Joy in the upcoming issue of Liberti magazine, and in its parent publication, Sorted. 

Trying it on

Do you try on every stitch of clothing you own before heading out for the evening… and then end up wearing the very first thing you tried on?

I’ve done this more times than I care to remember. And worst of all, I tend to scatter the discarded items all over the floor to be dealt with when I get home. (Don’t tell my mum!)

But interviewing a very special designer for Liberti changed the way I think about clothes altogether. This designer, Lavinia Brennan, recently co-founded Beulah London with her friend (Lady) Natasha Rufus Isaac.

So why did this news have such an impact on me?

Well, firstly, the company designs the prettiest dresses imaginable using the most exquisite materials available. It made me realise that, rather than nipping to Primark and picking up 30 items I don’t need, it might be worth investing in a few really special pieces that stand out from the crowd.

Now the dresses don’t come cheap – prices range from £150 to £600 – but if I owned one of them I don’t think I’d need to try anything else on. And I certainly wouldn’t be throwing one on the floor.

I’ve always prided myself on buying clothes at rock bottom prices, and making sure I tell people how cheap I got them. But I’ve started to understand the toll the ‘fast fashion’ industry is taking on the environment and workers in the developing world.

And that brings me to the most important contribution Beulah London is making. The young designers have found a way of turning fashion—an industry in which sex clearly sells—on its head by helping victims of the sex trafficking industry. Their Christian faith has inspired them to create a business that isn’t just about profit and prestige.

You may be wondering how making a few pretty frocks will enable the girls to do this. Lavinia explains: “Natasha and myself spent two months working in the slums of Delhi in an aftercare home for women who had come out of the sex trade.

“Most afternoons we spent in a very small production unit teaching the girls sewing skills. This is what first inspired us. We saw that there was a need to provide the women with an alternative, sustainable income that would utilise these skills that so many of the women were being taught.”

In 2008, the UN estimated that nearly 2.5 million people from 127 different countries were being trafficked into 137 countries across the world. Many of these women are starved, confined, beaten, raped, forced to use drugs and threatened with violence towards their loved ones.

The London-based designers already employ women from human trafficking backgrounds in India to make the canvas bags the dresses are sold in. Ultimately, they hope they will be able to fund training schemes for the girls and one day open their own factory where the women can make the dresses themselves.

After talking to Lavinia I realised that cheaper isn’t always better. If I bag myself a bargain, who is really paying the price for it? Can I justify posing in front of the mirror in a £4 dress when I know that it was most likely made in some sweat shop that is probably mistreating its workers?

I’ve also realised that the choices we make can have a much greater influence than we think. If we knew that buying a Beulah dress would help rescue one trafficked woman, wouldn’t we all get one? (I know this is an oversimplification, but you get my point.) I guess what I’m asking is, are we more concerned about the way we look, or the way women across the globe are being treated?

Okay, so I can’t promise I’ll never buy cheap and cheerful again, or that my wardrobe will be exclusively populated by Beulah’s gorgeous gowns. But I can say that I will think much more carefully about what I buy (fashion and otherwise) in the future.

Find out more about Beulah and read the full story in the upcoming edition of Liberti magazine.