Another Email from Aidan: White Rabbit

"who are you?" said the caterpillar.

alice replied, rather shyly, "i, i hardly know, sir, just at present--
at least i know who i WAS when i got up this morning, but i think i
must have been changed several times since then."

"what do you mean by that?" said the caterpillar sternly. "explain
yourself."

"i can't explain myself, i'm afraid, sir" said alice, "because i'm not
myself, you see.'

"i don't see," said the caterpillar. "who are you?"

the above quote comes from lewis carroll's "alice's adventures in
wonderland." in his fictional tale, a young girl named alice is led
into a completely different and entirely confusing new world by a white
rabbit. the reason she entered wonderland was different from that of
why she finally left, and once she did, she re-entered the real world
with a renewed consciousness of self and of her purpose. i could not
help being reminded of alice and her quandary over the existential
question, "who are you?" this afternoon as we visited the assessment
center in phnom penh, cambodia, of world hope international.

it is here where girls of all ages (currently those 19-7) who have been
rescued from the sex trade or from rape situations are brought to live
for as long as 2-3 months. the assessment center views itself as sort
of an emergency room, acting as an immediate refuge for young girls to
feel safe, develop routines, and begin the development of a healthy
self-image. a handful of them had been there practically three months,
while one girl had just been safely recovered and delivered last night.

the group of 27 girls generally prefers to sleep in the same large room
together. because of the painful memories the sight of a bed can
conjure, they sleep on straw mats on the floor covered in tent-like
canopies of lace, keeping out unwanted insects. there are many
activities in which the girls can be involved during their stay at the
assessment center including games, crafts, music, and self-defence
classes. each girl speaks with a counselor twice a week in addition to
group therapy sessions.

the sights and sounds with which i was greeted upon arrival were not
unhappy ones; in fact, i was shocked by the squeals of laughter and
smiling faces of all the girls playing a game together in the open, sun-
filled courtyard. we even received a few beautiful smiles when we were
introduced to the group. there was, however, one little girl who
immediately caught my attention. i don't know that i will ever forget
her as she sat expressionlessly, slightly removed from the rest of the
group, in her red and black polka-dotted pajama suit. she could not
have been more than 8 years old, yet her silent, vacant face spoke of
years of abuse. i wanted to speak to them, to tell them that we loved
them, but stayed silent knowing all the times they had been lied to. i
wanted to smile but found myself unable to do so, remembering these
girls had been smiled at plenty of times before. i wanted to run and
hug them, but stood perfectly still, realizing they Had been touched by
as many as 30 men in a day, every day, for years. all of my good intentions and
thoughts were rendered useless as i stood there, stupidly, feeling that
at that moment in time, i could do nothing.

we were given a tour of the facilities including the arts and crafts
room. it was filled with drawings, pictures, posters, and other crafts
that the girls had made themselves. nothing exceptional - no future
picassos or rembrandts among this group from what i could see. it
wasn't until i noticed one of the paper chains that was taped to the
wall when i realized the true significance of these precious works of
art. on the simple, paper chains were hand-written messages, some in
khmer and some in english. i was overwhelmed as i stood and read
phrases like, "someday i want to be a cook and cleaner." - "thank you
god for rescuing me." - "i'm so thankful i'm here." - it was then that
i understood what was really going on here. for the first time in
years, these little girls were being given a chance to be someone
unique and special. i grew up believing i could be the president if i
wanted to be, and look at how long it has taken and is still taking me
to figure out who i really am and where on earth i fit in life.

inside the assessment center were probably over a dozen white rabbits
hopping about freely. their presence has helped the girls relax and
focus their emotions. there was one little girl who had been recently
brought to the center who only stopped crying while she was holding one
of the small bunnies in her arms. a few minutes after we had arrived
there, the thick, humid air was pierced by cool, refreshing rain. as we
scrambled for shelter from the storm, so did the white rabbits. they
huddled close together in groups under tables and steps, providing
comfort to each other during their time of hiding from the storm. as i
watched them, my thoughts were directed to the little girls here at the
assessment center, also giving each other love and company as they
waited for their storms to pass. i wondered what the white rabbits in
their lives were, the white rabbits they decided to follow who led them
here. i knew their journeys through wonderland would be even longer and
more difficult than that of alice, filled with even more bizarre details than
carroll's novel. but then, at last, i was able to smile, knowing that
at the end of their journeys here at the assessment center and wherever
they were directed after, when asked, "who are you?" they would be able
to answer boldly and confidently, and for once, however and in whatever
way they chose.