Not a Slave

"Be with them in your own imperfection. There is no need to wait."

This is the story of a journey that began nearly 60 years ago.

Several years ago, as I listened to an Awakin.org call, I felt an instant soul connection with the woman being interviewed. The guest was Gitanjali Babbar, a woman who helps the sex-trafficked, kidnapped, and enslaved women and children in the brothels on GB Road in New Delhi. At the time, 4000 women and 1500 children lived in 77 brothels. It is worse now. It is a horrific place of suffering. Gitanjali started alone, and a few years later, when this call took place, she had over 100 volunteers. The organization is called Kat Katha. Gitanjali’s daily devotion changes things — one woman and one child at a time — with small acts of great love.

Gitanjali said something during the interview that deeply hit my heart when she spoke of helping others.

"Be with them in your own imperfection. There is no need to wait."

Suddenly, my lifelong fears felt ludicrous when I thought of the degradation and terror these women and children go through every day of their lives. What they experience is not just a maybe or a remote possibility of what may happen. It is happening now, every moment. It is hell on earth.

Gitanjali said that for the first three years after capture, the women and children are held in a room behind a secret wall and never see the sun or feel the rain. I thought of my mind prison that had created my self-enslavement for NO discernable reason*, and I knew I could be brave again. I cried big, ugly sobs that were cathartic. Even this comfort was nearly stolen by my (at the time) self-loathing until I remembered a favorite quote by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés:

”Tears water the garden of our souls.”

*There was a reason. Years ago, I was a prisoner and a slave to the twisted desires of some family members. This continued for nine years, from age 5 to 14. But unlike the women and children on GB Road, I saw the sunlight and felt the rain. In between times, I got to go home to my mother’s house.

I nearly didn’t make it out alive but never spoke about it. I couldn't tell my mom until I was 19. But this mind warp (aka panic disorder/agoraphobia) began decades later when I finally got safe. Somehow, fear put me back there again, only this time behind walls without sun and the simple pleasure of the feeling of wind or rain on my face. It took every bit of courage to go out my front door every day, and most days, I lost. It was so bad that I could not attend my oldest daughter’s wedding in the UK. This only compounded my self-loathing. Still, every day I tried even though I had no clear idea of how to fix it. There were periods of remission. With the help of books and the support of friends, I made incremental progress. But it was as though I had a disease without a cure.

After the call with Gitanjali, I wrote to some friends.

“Now I know the cure. I must continue to learn what real bravery is all about and keep learning from those who are brave and those who help them.”

”I am not hiding anymore. What I share, I share with love, and my fear will not stop that. Despite this terror, I wrote and shared my song to prove it. I did my best, with love, and that's all that matters. I hope it helps someone. I wrote this blurb below on the song description on YouTube:

This song is for you if you've been through anything like this. I wrote the music at 14 and rewrote the lyrics while in a DV shelter in my 30s. The sound quality isn't the best, but I have musician friends helping me redo it soon. I wrote many songs about this but only ever had the nerve to put this one up so far. I'm sharing this song because (as I wrote in another song) "If I could, I would say the spells, sing your tortured soul from hell, take it from the beast who owns it, send him back into his own pit. Magic baby, I have none to heal what was torn from the little one ...but I was there too. You are me I am you." (Magic, 1996)

That same day, I wrote another poem for Gitanjali and the didis and children she helps and sent it to her.

Not a Slave

Inspired by Kat Katha and Gitanjali Babbar

v1

Today, I stepped outside of me.

I felt a shift. I will never be

The same again, and I realized,

As I looked through your tear-filled eyes,

That everything I thought I knew

Was blown away when I looked through

Your eyes,

Your pain.

I will never be the same.

v2

But every day is the same for you.

You steel your heart for what you must do.

Your children know. They love you so.

They dream of saving you, just up and go

To a lovely home far away from here;

A country home, quiet, safe from fear.

They dream.

They pray.

Every single night and day.

CHORUS

Every day, I feel your pain

I will never be the same

Every day, I feel your heart

We are never far apart

I want to see your dreams come true

A quiet home, your kids and you

A place of peace and dignity

I pray someday that this will be

v3

In a perfect world, this would never be.

You would live in peace, with dignity.

You would not be stolen, not enslaved.

Not forced to sell your body every day,

Far from your home and your family.

You’d be free.

Safe from harm.

In the life where you were born.

v4

We are sisters now. My heart sees you.

If only I could carry you

To a sunny place with sweet, cool rain,

To ease your burden, heal your pain.

I’ll do anything that I can do

To help make your children’s dreams come true —

A home

Just for you.

We can all

make this dream

come true.

Niki Flow 6 July 2015

She said she loved it and asked me to put music to it for a their Independence Day celebration on August 15th. I said I would try, but inside I panicked. I had no idea how to write a song so quickly. The lyrics come easily but it takes years sometimes to figure out how to get the music out of my head.

I was working at the time with a brilliant young man in Ghana named Ita Bobo, a reggae musician. I’d been working on creating an animated music video for one of his original songs during the Ebola outbreak in 2017/2018. Bobo worked with kids in schools in Accra and taught hygiene with music and dance.

After he read my poem to Gitanjali, I told Bobo about the problem with creating the music so quickly. He didn’t respond at first. Without telling me (until it was done), he hired a background singer, booked a studio, and created the beautiful music in the video below. He sent me the music. I was astonished by and deeply grateful for his kindness.

I created this video using Bobo’s remake of my song in order to thank Bobo and spread the word about Kat Katha. At the end is the “Story of Three Nations”—India, Ghana, and America—that went into making this song.

---

Poetry, music, and all creativity were part of my healing journey for the past 20 years, as were beautiful, supportive family and friends. One day, my friend Jessica said, “If you like, I’ll text you daily to ask if you’ve been outside.” I loved this idea. When she texted, I responded with a haiku answer. This became a three-year journey of love and almost daily haikus in a collection I called Steel Bars Made of Smoke.

In 2018, I was cured of both agoraphobia and panic disorder. For 18 years, I never gave up, at least not for long. This long, dogged road of tiny steps finally paid off. One day, everything changed.

____

Four years later, I submitted the poem to ADA.org. They featured it on their “Stories of Triumph” page. For the first time in a long time, I felt brave. Not long after, Dr. Edvaldo Lima read it on ADA and contacted me. He is a professor at Heart Math in Brazil, and he asked if he could include the poem in his next course. I happily agreed. Dr. Lima asked for a bio for his students about how writing had helped me. I made this short video. (Forgive my accent in the intro. I have never studied Portuguese. I used “Google Translate” for pronunciation. It is a beautiful language.)

Today, I promised my inner child to remove the word 'should' from our vocabulary—again. This needs a constant update. When speaking about ourselves and our downfalls, the word “should” does us a great disservice by trying to resurrect the dead past. The past,” say the stoics I learned recently, “belongs to death." This means that this moment, right now, is the only one that truly belongs to the living.

♥