Home Outreach Leaders Articles for Outreach & Missions How a Prostitute's Child Stole My Heart

How a Prostitute's Child Stole My Heart

Anala has big brown doe eyes, eyes that wander around the room, captivated by the smallest details. Eyes that entrance you, but when you look into those eyes it feels like she is somewhere else, lost in that mind of hers. It’s kind of like she is playing hide-and-seek with the world, only emerging when she feels safe.

She’s small for the age of five, barely tipping the scales at 20 pounds. Anala is dressed in a tattered baggy t-shirt that hangs over her underwear. Her hair is cropped short, probably due to a recent lice infestation, and she has smears of dirt on her arms and legs. That day she walked into the room, straight into my arms, and in so doing stole my heart.

They say she is mute, though she makes up for it with her hand gestures and facial expressions. She struts around on her tip-toes looking around the room to see who notices her, something she probably learned from growing up in the red-light district. She has moments of incredible tenderness where she nestles herself into your arms and looks up into your eyes with a smile, and then, suddenly, moments of incredible violence where she hits, elbows and throws punches, her little face contorted with hatred.

Though I can hardly blame her. Her story is one that digs its way into the depths of my soul.

Anala was born in a red-light district in India. No one really knows her mother’s story, but it probably goes something like this: Her mother was most likely kidnapped from Nepal around the age of 13 and sold into prostitution for probably around $70. After that, her mother stood at the edge of a run-down alley all day, wearing thick lipstick, heavy eyeliner and bright eyeshadow, waiting for a man to come to bed with her. When she was approached by a man, she was his for only $2.

Two dollars to do whatever he wanted to her. Two dollars for her body and her dignity, half of which going to the pimp who owns her. When he finishes with her, he casually leaves, going on with his life as if she was nothing more than an object. She did this probably 10-15 times a day, just like the millions of girls like her in India. 

Somewhere along the way, she becomes pregnant and gives birth to a bright-eyed girl and names her Anala (fiery), whom she loves for six months, until she is sold to another pimp. Anala now becomes the property of the pimp; a man who, for a living, sells women as if they were objects.