She was sitting on a vinyl covered straight
back dining chair in the middle of the room against the horizontal dual shaded,
peeling wall. Above her a sketch of Jesus with a cross behind was hand painted
into the aged white wash. The sun outside was temporarily hidden behind
ominously dark clouds, but every now and then a stream of sunlight, formed into
an accusing finger by the dust in the air, arrowed through the barred windows
and pointed at the bundle in her arms.
A small bundle two weeks into existence in
this cruel world, swaddled in clean borrowed linens and with a fresh donated
white woollen beanie covering her head. The new little baby girl lay still,
content and asleep in her 13-year-old mother’s arms.
This place is home for a number of women
and girls who have been rescued from abusive, trafficked or troubled contexts. But
Shanthi (not her name) sits in this dormitory room by herself; her long hair falling
around her face framing her bowed head – her large dark eyes, fixed and
unmoving on this little bundle, were pools betraying a hybrid mixture of fear,
awe - and shame.
Raped by her father, rejected by her
mother, family and community and pushed out onto the city streets. She hid in
the shadows and dirt, but survived until, heavily pregnant and obviously in desperate
need she was picked up by the police and bought to the Salvation Army’s rescue
centre at one of the busiest intersections of life in Colombo.
Two weeks ago she gave birth to little
Shanthi (she gave her baby her own name) and today both are well, both are
clean and both are fed – but what next? Normally girls and their baby’s cannot
stay indefinitely at this place of rescue. But she has no home to go to –
family don’t want to know her but even if they did, her abuser father is due
for release any day soon.
I wonder, how do we help this baby - and
her baby? The Salvos have done so before and I have no doubt will find a way
around ‘system normal’ to do so again. But Shanthi is not unique, too many
girls are out there, being trafficked, being abused and left as rubbish on the city
streets.
So, for today, Shanthi sits alone in a hot
room infused by streams of accusing dusty sunlight fingers - staring at a
little bundle in her arms – what is she thinking?
