category: Uncategorized
A reflection by Brooke
We sat together preparing for the work day and I rested my hand on her leg… it’s a casual way
to sit with one another in Indian culture… and in my mind, a way of developing and encouraging
community with another person. After a few minutes of mindfully letting my hand rest on her,
she picked up my hand and enveloped it in hers. As if allowing my hand to rest on her wasn’t
enough… she embraced me more in receiving my gesture of intentional fellowship – a gesture
that doesn’t require any spoken words and in some ways I think surpasses limitations of speech.
I love working in a place that isn’t just about the product we produce… we are a community of
folks who give and receive from one another.
You know the type of person that brings out the best in you? The people that make you want to try a little harder? To do a little better? Those relationships are pretty amazing. Recently I saw this play out at Sari Bari.
First, a little necessary background information: each woman at Sari Bari sews one type of product while she is at Sari Bari. (Many women bring work home in the evenings and over weekends to earn extra money, and they can sew whatever they want then, but they’re product specialists at Sari Bari. This allows them to become experts at the product they sew, which allows them to sew faster, and earn more money. It also helps us know what to expect in any given month in terms of production). At the end of every work day a manager goes to each of the women and tracks how many lines they sewed that day. It’s a way for them to track their progress, and to set measurable goals for themselves.
A few months ago one of our newer employees started sewing baby blankets. She sews very fast, works diligently, and is very driven to earn money to provide for her family. It really is beautiful to see how dedicated and hardworking she is. She sews about 70 lines a day. She sews in the same room as another woman who has been sewing baby blankets for quite a while. A few months ago, this second woman was sewing about 35 lines a day. But every day she would hear the first woman say that she sewed 65 or 70 lines – and slowly the possibility of sewing faster seeped into her mind. And slowly the number of lines that she sews in a day has increased. Now she sews 50 lines a day.
Fifteen more lines a day. That is significant. It means she can complete one more blanket a month. Which means she earns more money. Which makes life a little easier.
Yes, she had to decide to work a little harder. To be more focused. To try a little harder. But the spark came from a co-worker sitting across the room working hard for herself. No one planned this when the two of them started sewing in the same room. It’s just beautiful, unexpected fruit from relationship, and from freedom, and confidence, and desire overflowing out of one person, and onto another. They’re bringing out the best in each other.
A reflection by Beth
Some days for all the difficult stories, struggles, pain, disappointments that we experience, that we hear on a weekly basis… the redemptive moments peek through like the trees on the side of buildings here, like the flowers in cracked cement, like a break in the monsoon storm. The women inside our four walls often interrupt me mid-worry, and when Sari Bari heaves with laughter, I am caught off guard by life, and the potential for freedom that surrounds us all here. The laughter is contagious, hoots and hollers over mispronounced English words (one woman calls my leggings “huggies”), marriage, cooking, the lastest TV shows. Truly this place brings me to life, reminds me in the midst of worry and frustration how resilient and incredibly beautiful each one of our women are.
Even as I write, another round of belly laughs have just started in the room next door, an office full of great story tellers and a great audience… what an honor to receive such reminders of life and energy… certainly laughter is a healing balm for us all…
Written by Sheila Yoder
I went home this summer for my brother’s wedding. The days leading up to leaving when I was telling the Sari Bari ladies I was going home were the days that I have yet cherished the most. The ladies never let us forget how much our leaving hurts them; yet as they say good-bye, they shout out words of love and desire for us to return. They make sure that we understand why we are leaving: to find a husband (or in Kyle’s case, a wife)— we never agreed to try to find one, but they are certain we will do our best.
It is always in their minds to make sure that our lives are taken care of for the future, which is why they always remind us to find a spouse. In their culture, a woman without a man means she is vulnerable and will die destitute; they do not want this for us. There has even been the suggestion that some of the ladies will take our unmarried female staff to the park in order to find a suitable Bengali boy. Never mind that we don’t like these methods of husband-hunting, the ladies are certain we need to do something—anything! As one woman put it: “If I want to sew this blanket, I don’t ask God to sew it for me. No, I must pick up my hand and begin sewing.” There is a bit of truth in that.
There is no doubt they love us. When I returned from the US, one of the ladies told me that while I was gone, she had a dream that I died. When she woke up, she was so scared. As soon as she got to work, she shared her dream with all the others and they prayed for me. I would prefer the ladies not to have dreams about me dying, but even as I heard the story, I heard her love for me. Her worry means that I mean something to her. The fact that they all prayed for me, means that they want what is best for me.
I look at our ladies and smile. The ladies are our family here. American and Bengali methods of communicating love and concern are often very different. Despite the differences, though, the love is communicated. For as many times as they tell us to get married, that many times over we know they love us.
A guest post by Kyle Schroeder, friend of Sari Bari, about his Freedom Drive
When I was a kid The General Lee came to my hometown with the circus. It was then that I learned there were more than 200 orange cars used in the filming of the Dukes of Hazzard television series. This means that at least one reality of the early 80’s TV show was a steady stream of vehicles moving in and out of body shops for repair after being used to outrun crooked authorities or jump medium sized bodies of water.
This makes sense to me now because every week, my family watched the airborne auto nearly fold in half at touch down. Yet every time a cut away shot followed quickly with Kentucky cousins shaking it off and leaving the leap site at full speed in a completely unscathed Dodge Charger.
More, or less, dramatically (I am not sure), Gary Haugen, director of the International Justice Mission, in his book Just Courage, remembers acting as a charger for his children when they were afraid and unable to sleep. ‘With a running start I would throw myself into the oblivion of their bedroom. Enveloped by the dreaded darkness, I would freeze in the middle of the room. My children, clutching stuffed animals waited breathlessly in the hallway to see what the terror and darkness would bring. Each time, — nothing. So they would line up, giggling over the anti-climax, and rush in themselves. What they needed was someone to charge the darkness first, and then quite marvelously they found their chains of fear melting away.
In 1995 I made a commitment while in Southeast Asia, to remember the poor. 2006 was my introduction to the movement to end contemporary slavery. And truthfully, I’ve spent a considerable amount of time out in the hallway paralyzed by the fear of darkness, stunned by the measure of harm one human being can do to another, and no less surprised by my own capacity for self-deception.
I am embarrassed by this, because God is greater still. Our heavenly Father, through the mystery of Christ, has charged the darkness. He has named His children the light of the world, calls them to live lives of justice and asks them to walk with Him in humility.
For so many, myself included, Sari Bari has been a humble expression of this light in our world of darkness, a garden in the desert, beautiful color glowing from the ashes. It is the rarely arranged marriage of both bravery and safety.
Earlier this year I sent an email to Sarah Lance in Kolkata describing a road trip I was planning to take in an old Volkswagen and asked if Sari Bari would help customize the interior of this 1964 survivor Beetle. In May, I received four really bold door covers hand-sewn by a precious woman named Bida. Formerly bound and abused in the commercial sex industry, Bida has a new life now and any person that climbs into this people’s car sees her name. They are surrounded by the product of her courage and reminded that our Father came into our sister’s room to charge the darkness.
On July 27, 2011 we are taking the road trip: Four cylinders in support of four organizations fighting against people selling people, ‘Miles,’ the world’s first abolitionist spokescar will travel 2,700 miles to raise 2.7 million dollars on behalf of the estimated 27 million people enslaved in our world today.
Text ‘FOLLOW’ to 50555 to receive trip updates. Text ‘SLUGBUG’ to 50555 to give $10 dollars to the fight against human trafficking. Visit sttfreedomdrive to follow the story that stops traffick.
$10.00 donation to Word Made Flesh. Charges will appear on your wireless bill, or be deducted from your prepaid balance. All purchases must authorized by account holder. Message and Data Rates May Apply. Text STOP to 50555 to STOP. Text HELP to 50555 for HELP. Full Terms: www.mGive.org/T. Word Made Flesh has agreed to distribute all proceeds from the Freedom Drive equally among The Salvation Army, Not For Sale, International Justice Mission and Word Made Flesh.
‘Miles,’ the world’s first abolitionist spokescar, is not affiliated with or endorsed by Volkswagen AG or Volkswagen of America, Inc.
A reflection by Melissa
We’ve been here since 10 am.
A day at Sari Bari is full. Full of work, laughter, stories, the radio in the background, tea time, problems to solve, jokes, the occasional spontaneous dance party, lunch break (followed by nap time), and sometimes conflict. (We’re like any other family – we’ve all got our own stuff…conflict at home, stress, personality conflicts, health issues, money worries, miscommunication). You never really know what a day at Sari Bari will hold – but it will always be full.
It’s 7pm. Everyone has packed up for the day. Blankets are folded and stored, needles, thread, scissors and the ever important needle threader are all safely tucked where they belong. Saris have been re-draped, lunch boxes gathered. The windows closed, lights, fans and radio all turned off. Closing time.
It’s been another long, full day – and we gather to close it together. We’re all off to our homes. There are family members to look after, housework to be done, meals to be eaten, friends to see.
But first we gather back together in the room where we started the day. I stand there joking with my sisters. Our work is done, we gather simply as family, and we close our day together. I can’t shake the feeling that this is sacred space.
A Reflection by Brooke
(Katha is the Bengali word for a hand quilting saris)
In India, people are accustomed to sitting on the floor to cut vegetables, to play a few rounds of cards, to sell goods in a shop or in the market… when we started Sari Bari the ladies also preferred to work on the floor rather than at tables. The ladies lay out their blankets, scarves, and bags weighing them in place with multiple bricks. Preparing their thread and threading their needle, they lean over and begin a new row of stitching. As the stitch moves along the sari the ladies scoot along, sometimes in the familiar sit-squat pose of India, all the time leaning over to ensure a straight steady stitch.
I’ve started learning how to stitch. The Sari Bari staff made a 15 x 15 inch piece of fabric for me to learn on, and gave me the necessary tools to create a small katha piece. My lines were not straight. I started over. My stitching was uneven; I pulled the thread out several inches and re-threaded my needle for a second try. The stitching continued to be uneven. Rows continued to be crooked. I saw small waves forming in my stitching when I thought I was making a straight line. I told myself if I was persistent, I would improve. I sat there for a few hours stitching on my small katha. When I stood up to take tea, my back filled with pain. I looked down to observe my work: it looked awful.
Through this frustrating exercise, I understand in a new way what it might be like for women when they first come to work at Sari Bari. Learning a new skill of stitching can be frustrating and discouraging. It takes time, persistence, and patience. All of our friends at Sari Bari have had to faithfully nurture the skill that they now possess in order to produce beautiful products. It is through their hard work and desire for freedom that Sari Bari exists as it does today.
A reflection by Melissa
One of the things that is very life-giving to me is visiting the red-light area near our business. I know that seems strange. I don’t understand it myself – but when I sit in those rooms with our friends, something in me comes alive. And as I balance (often precariously) between darkness and hope, I am alive in ways that I’m not any other time.
A few weeks ago Beth and I went to visit a brothel that Beth had previously spent a lot of time in – but we hadn’t been in recently (and I’d never been in). While we were sitting there talking with Beth’s friends, and older woman came in and began to tell us her story. She told us of a life of abuse, and a lack of hope. It’s a story I’ve heard over and over – and at the same time it is unique. After all, this is not a book I’m reading, or a movie I’m watching. It’s not a documentary. There she is standing in front of me, telling me her story. And it’s a story that should never happen. It should never have to be told – but it did, and it does. And then she told us about her son, and her grandson – and how well they are doing. I just kept thinking about how horrible her life had been. I can’t comprehend the betrayal, abuse and despair she’s lived through. Simultaneously I could hear pride in voice that her son and grandson had very different lives than she did. And I just kept thinking how she provided for her family at great cost to herself. My heart broke that she’d lived through what she’d lived through, and it celebrated with her that her offspring had a different life (as much as it can with a near stranger).
And then I realized I “knew” this woman, or at least I knew about her.
She’s “that woman” who owns the brothel. It’s a dark brothel. There are young girls forced to work there. It’s not a nice place (and this is in comparison with other brothels, so that’s saying a lot!). She’s the woman that I blame. I judge. I have no compassion for. She’s the oppressor. She’s “the bad guy.” She’s who we’re “fighting against.”
But after hearing her story – none of those labels fit anymore. After hearing her story, it somehow makes a lot more sense why and how she makes the decisions she does today. It’s still wrong, and I still hate it, but it makes sense. She has been broken. She has been oppressed. She has been abused. She’s lived through more than most of us can conjure up in our worst nightmares. And while that doesn’t justify oppressing someone else, she needs freedom as much as the girls she “owns.” How beautiful would it be for her to find restoration and hope and freedom? Can you imagine?!
My heart is quick to judge (hopefully its becoming a little slower). How quickly I had written her off , seeing only the worst of her, and not her humanity. I saved that grace for myself and those I deem “worthy.” If I’d known who I was talking with – I know I would have listened with different ears. But on that day, I received grace I didn’t deserve. I received the grace of hearing a story without the filter of my judgment.
I hadn’t seen her at work in a long time.
She’s still relatively new, so I was starting to worry that she might have quit.
I saw her on Thursday, gave her a hug and told her how happy I was to see her.
I told her that I was worried that maybe she had quit working at Sari Bari.
She looked at me and said, “Never. On the day I die I will leave this work.”
Freedom is taking root in her heart.
Breath-taking.
Beautiful.
A Reflection by Brooke Taylor
It takes a lot of courage to leave what is familiar and enter into unknown. It takes a lot of
courage to place your trust in anyone when you have been taken advantage of multiple
times in relationship with others. It takes a lot of courage to disregard what people say
about you and believe something different about yourself.
“I’ve been stitching these blankets for years,” I could imagine her saying. She rested her
left elbow on an old sari blanket as she wove her needle rhythmically through the layers
of sari. Today like most days she was working on a queen size blanket; the stitching and
nature of the work has become natural for her in her few years at Sari Bari.
It takes time to grow in skill and confidence when first learning to sew. Our friends we
work alongside at Sari Bari are massively courageous. All of them have developed new
skills coming to work at the business; some have taken positions of leadership within Sari
Bari due to their attentive skill.
These women are courageous because in coming to work at Sari Bari they have left a
lifestyle where they were told they had to stay. They were told that there is no place for
them in society, they have no value, they have nothing to offer; but they have chosen to
reject these lies and take back their life that was stolen from them. They have created
and are creating a new life for themselves. It is their own courage that has created their
freedom. This is why they are our heroes.
