And suddenly, something in my chest relaxes. When I am holding her, it feels like everything might turn out all right. I can feel God dancing all around me, and I can feel a fiery hope in my chest for redemption. My soul sings a silent hallelujah to a day well-lived.
If only my day had ended there.
When it comes time for us to leave, I lay Anala on a bench and walk outside into the muggy, cigarette-filled air. I squeeze my way between the women of the street and their clients. I force a smile and give a hug to a woman who had brushed my hair earlier that day. She is leading a heavy-set man down the alleyway.
And as much as I try to spin it, there is no good ending tonight.
All I can think about is what will happen to Anala tonight, what she will see, what she will hear, what will be done to her. And my sight turns red.
This is the life Anala has to look forward to if something doesn’t change. I ask Abhay (our contact and the man in charge of the House of Prayer) if we can just kidnap Anala and give her a hope for the future. He says that the pimps are violent and will kill over their property. I ask if we can call the police, and he says they are corrupt and will be bought off by the mafia. I ask what can we do.
He says pray.
Pray. And love, that is all I can do for now. I think I finally understand the words of Mother Teresa, “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.”
And that has to be enough—for now. But there is a fire is my heart, and it won’t be quenched until I see justice.
This race has lit a fire in my heart for women. To see justice and love brought to the child, the prostitute and the beggar. It’s a path that, God willing, will put me through law school so I can fight for children like Anala, because she matters.
