spend[yourself].

The differences between us were obvious. She was ten years younger than I, Indian and dressed in a vibrant fuchsia dress, a gold ring in her nose; she was certainly a far cry from my pasty-white, plaid-shirted self of that day and definitely of the Abby who once wore Doc Martens and her hair to her waist. But there I was, in the middle of a tribal village in God- Knows-Where, India, sharing a wordless conversation with a girl so much like the Me of only a few years ago.

Nearly one year ago (gosh, it feels like only yesterday) I traveled to southeast India with Faceless International, a non-profit dedicated to promoting awareness and combating human trafficking. This particular day was spent visiting a small impoverished village hours from the closest city. It was here that many women and youth were at high risk of falling into trafficking because of the extremely limited, opportunities for education and employment. We were there to establish relationships, spread cheer and harmony. To help people know they were loved and valued as human beings.

The Faceless Team was ushered through the village by a small man beating a drum like an Indian Pied-Piper, beckoning us through the dusty streets. Women surrounded me, smiled and giggled, whispered greetings, “Namaste,” with their hands pressed together at their chests. The entire village danced and sang together to the rhythms our friend Kris’ guitar and that one little drum. Amidst this beautiful chaos, a small girl hid behind a doorway, watching all that was in front of her. I turned in her direction and for a moment our eyes met. She shrank behind the door for a moment and then reappeared. She smiled. I smiled in return, only to frighten her away once again.

The party turned to ceremony. We listened to Vijay, our project counterpart from St. Joseph’s Welfare Association, as he addressed us and the villagers. I tried to pay attention to his words despite the assault on all of my senses- food cooking, children laughing, colorful saris sweeping across a backdrop of shabby huts and dirt.

And then, I felt a timid, unsure touch on my shoulder. I turned and there she was, the same girl from moments before standing next to me with a hand extended. She opened her palm and offered a small green bean. I, of course, accepted the gift and whispered, “thank you,” with a smile. She smiled back, but her eyes were riddled with uncertainty and fear. She shrank away with no words and it was then I thought, “you are me.”

Once upon a time, I never would have dreamed I would be on a volunteer trip in India. As a teen, I suffered from debilitating shyness. Protected but encouraged by my parents, it took years for me to overcome my social anxieties . . . and now I was here in India to encourage and support strangers who spoke a language I didn’t understand with twenty-four teammates I had never met before a week prior. I was a world away (figuratively and geographically) from the girl I had once been.

The evils of this world prey upon the innocents, people who only want to improve their circumstances with honest work and pay. Girls who are forced into trafficking never enter that world of their own free will; they’re lured by the lies and the promise of a better life. For this young girl I met that day, becoming a young woman was a dangerous and uncertain life. I felt like I understood her in so many ways and yet I knew (and still recognize) that I have little idea of the challenges that stood before her then and now.

I watched that little girl throughout the day. She slowly edged towards our group of Americans and children playing games and snapping pictures together. She even jumped into a few frames; she didn’t smile at first, but by the end of the day, she grinned and held my hand as we walked through the streets. Her shell melted away during those short hours and though I will probably never see her again, I would like to think that maybe she is still learning and trying to share her heart with others and remaining safe from predators who might break her innocence.

With a simple twist of fate, I could easily have grown up in that small Indian village and or into a Kolkota brothel. But I wasn’t. Though we seem so different and separated from our brothers and sisters who suffer lives of oppression, we are all connected. I share something with that young girl I met in India. I share something with the children who are brought up in the red light districts and the women forced into the sex trade. The threads of humanity bind us together and bridge the disparities that divide us. I hope when people give to Resc/you, they understand they’re investing in a life that is just like theirs, just as valuable, indeed distinctive, but so very much the same.
- Resc\You