The True Story of a Cambodian Heroine
By Somaly Mam
This is one of the most truly awful portraits of mankind I have ever willingly subjected myself to. Somaly Mam was sold into sexual slavery as a child in Cambodia and this book is the story of her life. She is candid and brutal in her openness and entering her world left me broken and sick. But as a Mid-West twentysomething living a pretty charmed life, where my biggest concern is finding a rug to put in my family room…I need a little breaking now and then.
Somaly eventually climbed out of the hell of the brothel with the aid of a Frenchman, and has since dedicated her life to helping other young girls do the same. Her tale is wretched and inspiring, tragic and heroic. I hope you read it. And I hope it wrecks you the way it has me. So instead of talking about the book itself, I’d rather talk about the effects of reading it. (Ok, I guess I’m not a very disciplined reviewer.)
I had a general knowledge about the existence of the sex trade, and rampant human trafficking around the globe before reading this book. But like most injustice that takes place outside of my immediate family and friends…it’s so easy to acknowledge…maybe even cry a little over it…and then go back to rug shopping. Such has not been the case since reading Somaly’s book. I can’t get her out of my mind. I can’t stop thinking about her and the girls she’s helping. I can’t stop praying and asking God why He allows this to happen…and why Christians (myself included) are largely ignoring it. Are these not the orphans…the poor…the weak…that we’re (I’m) commanded to look after?
But the resounding thought that is most doggedly pursuing me is this: Somaly isn’t really out of slavery.
“I’ve tried a great many things. But the past is inscribed on my body now. When you see the marks on your skin, the scars of torture and cigarette burns, the shape of the chains on your ankles, you feel the past can never be wiped away.”
“I lived amid this stench for so long that I can’t bear it now. Even fifteen years later, I feel dirtied by it. So I wash myself like a madwoman, put cream on and cover myself in eau de toilette in order to mask the stench that pursues me. At home, I have a cupboard full of perfume. I spend money to blot out a smell that exists only in my imagination.”
“What’s the use of such an existence? Apart from crying, what does one do with it?...To say that the past is past, that you need to put it all behind you, is what I say all the time to the girls who come to the center with their unendurable suffering. I know how to say all this, but I also know that it’s useless and serves little purpose. Nothing can cauterize those old wounds.”
I realized that in the midst of reading about previously unimaginable suffering, I was still hoping for a happy ending. Hoping that Somaly would be healed. But every time I read the above, my heart breaks anew. She’s living closely with the horrors of her past, not able to escape from the filth, and haunted by evil still. “Nothing can cauterize those old wounds” she says. The thing is…she’s wrong.
Jesus can.
Does she know? Has she heard? Has anyone told her of the power in the blood of Christ? That He can wash her with it, and she can finally be clean? Has she met Gomer…the woman that chose to be a whore and her faithful husband Hosea…who brought her back home?
Does she know?
Does she know that Jesus hung around prostitutes? That He loved them? That He loves her? That He wants her to be His bride? That He desires to and is able to save her from her prison?
Who will tell her? Will I?
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As courageous and heroic as Somaly Mam has been, rescuing others from the pit she herself was once buried in…my heart cries out that it isn’t enough. Girls are being unleashed from the chains of the brothel only to find themselves fettered still…by shame, by fear. Somaly and her fellow workers do what they can to care for these girls, to teach them their value, to show them love. But man’s effort…man’s love…how futile it is without the power of Christ. Only His love can transform, only His love can heal. Only Christ.
But does she know?
Who will tell her? Will I?
