Working in the Corn Fields: Juliet and Sylvia

My little naive eyes are seeing much, and my heart wants to break each time with each new discovery. There are things you see that leave you speechless…experiences that show you that people are in bad situations. You know this…you read it everyday… but when you see it, you’re numb because somewhere deep inside of you didn’t believe it could be true…or that it couldn’t be that bad…but it is…For some people everyday, it is that bad. Perhaps my shock is simply personal…maybe I’m just too naïve to believe that girls are struggling like this everyday. Despite my naivete, why should anyone be used to hearing this or seeing it… The title says its all…

(sigh)

On Wednesday afternoon, I went with two of the cultural mediators, Laura and Collete, to do the street units, or unita d’strada as they say in Italian. Basically this means we go in the handy dandy TAMPEP van (I feel like its going to break down every time we hit a pothole in the road) and we drive around the city and the outlying areas to distribute HIV/AIDS prevention materials to the sex workers there. I’m kind of nervous you know…so like I’m a pretty open person, love talking to people…but its not every day you pull over on the side of a deserted road to talk to girls about prostitution.

We proceed to drive…rather bump along… outside of Turin. Now this is country if I’ve ever seen it…there are beautiful houses in the mountains, the roads become narrower, and green fields stretch for miles on end bursting with every kind of crop you can imagine. Its beautiful, I tell you- a place for a picnic, a place to ride horses….not a place where you’d expect to find sex workers. Laura was driving and telling me how many girls they usually saw during the week and explaining the literature they gave them. I tried to listen…I did, but my eyes kept darting to the sides of the road, bracing myself for what I was going to see. I’m thinking, “Girls couldn’t possibly prostitute out here.”

We turn down a small road…and bam…right there were two Nigerian girls…sex workers. Seeing them there seemed so normal, like they were waiting there because they’re car broke down or that was their weird hangout spot to chat…but it was all sooo very wrong. They were sitting under the shade of trees, playing cards. One was on the ground while the other sat in a little chair...kind of like the ones you’d see in a classroom. Thinking we were perspective clients, what looked like the younger of the girls, stood up and flashed us her backside. I turned away. As we pulled in next to them, the TAMPEP mediators rolled down the window, and greeted them, “Ciao bella!” Laura leaned close to me and whispered, “ We’ve met them here many times before. This will just be a follow up.” Really?…I began to wonder how many times they’d met them there.

Seeing that we were girls, they immediately began tugging on the few clothes they had on to cover up what they could. Laura started asking them questions- how were they doing? Had they visited a clinic? What were the results of their bloodwork? I kept staring at one of the girls. She was pretty, probably around 19 or 20. She had a nicely done weave- a fiery reddish, orange natural twisty afro that interestingly complimented her shiny brown skin. Her skin…was beautiful. Having had skin problems in the past, I marvelled at how clear hers was. I started thinking about what product she must use. Many of these girls spend lots of money on skin creams to maintain their “market” A lot of Nigerian girls, specifically, use skin brightening creams. Maybe their clients like lighter skin….I don’t know…

I reached out to pinch her cheek like I would do with any of my friends and said, “Look at your skin- its sooo clear- so pretty!” She smiled a big grin, exposing the little gap between her front teeth. “Thank you,” she replied. She quickly flipped back, “Are you Nigerian?” (Ok, so I was used to this question, as many people I’d encountered were curious….they thought I was French and that I had a different look than the other Nigerian girls .... I hadn’t heard that before). I told her my Nigerian name and she said, “Oh Oluchi! So you’re Ibo? What state?” I tensed slightly. Collete, the TAMPEP cultural mediator told me earlier that when Naija girls here see that you’re not from Edo State...rather you’re from Imo or Anambra state, they think that you’re trying to show them up or something).

I said, “Imo State.” Her eyes looked down…and I changed the topic quickly. I started asking about the other girls name and age (TAMPEP-style: get key info through basic conversation). She was 23. Gosh.
As we were talking to them, a van drove by with a man leering out the window. One of the girls quickly hopped up, and acted like she was bending down to pick something up. She hadn’t dropped anything. It dawned on me. She was sill working. Even as we’re talking to them, they still had to look out for the next job. As this guy drove by again, it took everything in me not to run up to the car and shake him. Didn’t he see these were young girls? Didn’t he care how they got there? ….of course not, Leslie…Why would he?

I turned back around and we began explaining to them about Project Turnaround, a TAMPEP project that helps girls that have been voluntarily or forcibly deported to make a new start in Nigeria. The girls listened politely to all the info. At the end, we left, hoping that at least one of them would come by the office for help.

We drove off slowly. Having to turn back around to get to the main road, we passed the girls again. They were smiling and looking a few feet away from their spot on the road. They had a client- a really old guy, standing furtively by his car, under a bridge. Seeing how old he was, I thought I was going to be sick. Despite our words to them, they still had to do this…If they didn’t bring money back, they faced a madam at home that could beat them, or risked being turned into the police, or the “threat” of the consequences of juju rituals that said they and their families would die if they didn’t do this.

To them the obstacles to turn away from this were too big. This was life or death.

Technorati Profile

We met a girl who had been diagnosed with kidney failure 2 months ago. When we met her, she was having dialysis 3x a week...and still did prostitution.

She felt that she had no other choice but to do this...she didnt owe her madam anything. Everything she was making was for her survival.

She had the opening to the port in her chest, covered by a piece of lingerie.

What do you do when you see something like that? I kept asking her to come see us in the office...we can help, but she seemed reluctant.

(While watching my TAMPEP colleagues eat ice cream)This is my follow up of a young 21 year old Nigerian girl who had recently been trafficked into Turin ...Even though she was doing this type of work, she was still very much a young girl. I doubt she was 21 actually...We gave her health information and encouraged her to come to the office to visit us.

To protect their privacy and the work TAMPEP does, I didnt feel comfortable posting pics of the girls i this platform.

This is a clip of my dialogue during the afternoon street units in Turin. Each week TAMPEP drives around the city, speaking with the girls who work on the street. This particular day, we were targeting our outreach to Nigerian girls...many of which have been trafficked into the country.

We saw many girls...too many girls...all in broad daylight. It broke my heart that this is what they felt they had to do....

I'm psyched that some of you are interested in learning more about the issue of sex trafficking. This is the point of these blogs....to get you guys fired more to read more about it and spur you to action!

First place to check would be the The US Dept of State's annual TIP Report. This is a great report detailing each country's progress and highlights those working in the field.

You can also check out the temporary site for my and Okey's Making Noise page. There we have some statistics and video you can watch.

You can also read about the anti-trafficking campaign the United Nations INTERREGIONAL CRIME AND JUSTICE RESEARCH INSTITUTE did in Nigeria. It was a great initiative!

Happy reading you all, and keep your questions coming:)

ciao!

This is a quick video blog recounting a conversation I had about renting to Africans in Italy.

Yes! The day had come. Angel had reclaimed her wings and she was beginning to regain her freedom again.

Last Monday, Angel was placed in a protective shelter, where three other trafficking victims lived. I accompanied her with another TAMPEP worker to her new home. I was crazy excited- it was amazing to be able to see her story from the beginning to where she was now. More importantly, she was even more excited! She was ready to start over.

So here’s how it happened:

I was at the computer trying to figure out something in Word that was in Italian, when Sonia (a TAMPEP worker) peered over the computer monitor.
“Leslie…” Literally to me that’s what it was-dot dot dot. It was all Italian…none of which I could piece together. (Did they think I learned Italian overnight?) I stared blankly at her and then we both started laughing. I pulled her in front of the screen and pulled up the trusty Free Translation site. (I love this! It’s bad grammar, but it gets the job done).She typed in her question, and when I read the English translation, I shouted a big “Yes!” She was asking me if I could accompany her in taking Angel to her new shelter. Dude! Yea! I love anytime I can talk to Angel.

The next day, I was ready- you would’ve thought I was getting a new home or something. I walked into waiting area, and she was sitting in one of the chairs. She stood up and grabbed her bag when she saw me. “Ciao!” she said. As I greeted her back, I jokingly grabbed her bag and asked, “What’s in here?” She looked at it and said, “Some small small clothes I have.” That’s when the seriousness of this hit me- she escaped from her madam, she’s been living in a shelter… she wouldn’t have a lot of belongings.

When Sonya came, we started out to her new home. Throughout the car ride, I kept poking her and asking, “Are you excited? She just laughed and kept saying, “Yes, yes, yes!” When we got to the shelter, Angel became noticeably subdued. No more joking and singing around- this was for real. I can't imagine what was going through her mind or how she felt, but I would imagine its like being in the witness protection program. Instead of having seen a crime, imagine a serious crime was committed against you…and while they were finding the person who hurt you, you had to be hidden- taken away from where you were living, taken from the few people you’d gotten to know. Now imagine all of this in a foreign country- in a language you can barely speak or understand. If this were me, I would have lost my mind or worst. Angel had every understandable right to draw into herself right then. We leaned against the car, waiting for Sonya to buy a parking pass.

“What are you thinking Angel?” She looked away-
“Too many things…”
“Why do you want to do this?” I asked her
She smiled to herself, thinking. “I want to have a good life- I don’t want to be doing that type of work anymore. I want to live a good life.”

I could have crawled into my book bag.
Before coming to Italy, I’d been up to my neck trying to choose what medical school to attend in the fall, what loan to apply to…where would I live- all of this mental exhaustion just to choose what would give me a “better life.” For Angel, her mental anguish was how do I escape from this woman making me do this?...Do I go back to Nigeria?... I can't understand this language…What shelter will I be assigned to?
I could choose any school I wanted and still be ok, but if she didn’t choose to run when she did or come to TAMPEP, her life might have been very different.

The shelter was beautiful (For protection, I cant describe more than that), and so was her room. She sat on her bed and looked around her. One of the shelter leaders came in and began explaining how things ran, when meals were, and who the other girls were…all in Italian. Angel would just nod her head, saying, “Si, Si.” Wanting to be sure she understood, I asked her, “Do you really understand?” She laughed and shook her head no. Seeing this, the shelter leader, myself, Angel, and Sonya found ourselves somewhere between Italian and English, trying to communicate with each other. As we continued trying to talk, I could see tears begin to fill her eyes. When it was time to leave, they fell…hard. She crumpled within herself and wept.

What do you say? - “Its ok”…”Oh, don’t worry!” No, you can't possibly say those things to her. I moved beside her and gave her a long hug. If I could, I would have moved my stuff in to stay with her...but I can't…no one can. Angel has to start this journey, some of which will be alone. I stood up and looked back at her as I walked out. The door closed and that was it.
A big part of me was happy- she gets a chance like this.
But the other part of me was sad as I began pondering what would happen over the time she would be there. I prayed she would get her wings to fly…to have her life again… I prayed she would see goodness again and know that she was truly loved, beyond what she could imagine. I prayed for new beginnings and that she would be a light for another girl in this situation.

God, I pray this to be so…

(Occurred June 11)

This was soooo cool! It was after an awesome church service at a local Nigerian church in Turin. I was standing among a Nigerian pastor, two Nigerian guys from the community, a Nigerian woman who worked with the city, Rosanna my director at TAMPEP, and we were planning a revolution.

Rosanna, Laura (another TAMPEP worker), and I came to the service to share about Project Turnaround- the project I’m working on this summer. The program ensures that girls, who are voluntarily or forcibly deported, are met with local organizations in their home country and given counselling and repatriation assistance. After the service, those that were excited by the program, gathered loosely around us.

“We need to organize like a town hall meeting where we get Nigerians and other Africans to meet on this issue. Something needs to be done!” said one of the guys. “I’ve heard this before,” I thought to myself, thinking back to Ibo Union meetings that started with a need to fix an issue, but ended in shouting and yelling. “Hmmm, that’s a good idea,” I responded. “But what’s our goal? Who are we trying to reach?” The buzz in the room grew quieter as I spoke. Now, I could pretend and say that they were fascinated by the wisdom that poured from my mouth, but I think they were just intrigued that this Naija girl had such an American accent.

I continued. “Are we going to target traffickers who are luring these girls here?”
The room really went quiet this time.

One guy in the room twisted his face. “No, no, no- we’re not going to talk about such things- We’ll talk about representation. That’s what we need! We need to organize…”
The conversation went on without me. Wait... hold one now… Isn’t trafficking what we're dealing with here? Shouldn’t we storm the streets and pull out the villains who are wreaking this havoc?

“…we should rent a hall and pass out fliers to Naija people on the street!”
“Yes! Yes!” I heard as I tuned back to what they were saying.

“Hold up! Why can’t we target people who we think are traffickers? Isn’t that the point?” I ask.
Again the room went quiet…Either my accent was that intriguing or they thought I was completely stupid. Rosanna spoke up, “No, no- this is not America- where you rush in to fight something. Many girls here were brought this way (trafficking). You don’t judge. You don’t want to scare anybody off from coming. You have to be discrete with this…these are delicate issues.”

Wow. That shut me up. Fast.
“I have a lot to learn,” I thought, as the buzz of the revolution sparked around me.

(This blog, and the others, can also be viewed on my Making Noise site at: http://www.myspace.com/livethenoise
Live The Noise!)

Ok, so I knew trafficking was a complex issue, causing complex consequences, but this one I totally didn’t expect. Apparently there are a number of Italian male clients who end up marrying the foreign sex workers they picked up on the street. I know right?! It blows my mind! I’ve seen many mixed couples in Turin, some of which are former client- former sex worker duos. The local paper “Africa Times” profiled the story of a couple- Claudio and Isoke. Claudio, driving around one night, spotted Isoke, wanted to “hire” her for the evening, and they ended up falling in love. They even wrote a book about it and started a local organization for other couples like them (reformed clients and rescued sex workers). Now these couples meet to discuss ways to get other girls off the street and encourage men to stop “buying” girls for the evening. The article quotes,

“Claudio says when the male members of the association go out to the streets to meet clients of prostitutes, they tell them we were like you, we also went for these girls, but realized that most of them are slaves, and by continuing to come here for them, we contribute to their slavery’. They normally invite the clients to join them for a discussion on how they can jointly help the prostitutes. Many clients of course do reject their invitation while some do join them”

Now, get me right- I’m in no way poking fun at these couples. I’ve met a few couples in my time here who fall in this category and are living happily with children.
It’s just interesting…that’s all…

(This blog, and the others, can also be viewed on the Making Noise site at: http://www.myspace.com/livethenoise
Making Noise- using arts and media to "make noise" about social injustices affecting Africans))

Shortly after Angel’s last counselling session, she was taken by two TAMPEP social workers to have a look at a new shelter she’d be moving into next week. (In the summer, many shelters close due to lack of staff and resources to house the girls. This creates a scramble to reassign girls for the summer months). Before she left, her eyes were bright and her body language was upbeat (I was telling myself perhaps she really enjoyed the meatpie I’d given her earlier. Nah…new home trumps meatpie anyday!)

The next day, the entire TAMPEP staff met for the weekly office meeting. Here, each social worker talks about their case and gives the progress of each one. The morning was full of “Yes, Rebekah, was hired for the new job!” or “Sophia put her baby up for adoption, now she wants him back.” Since this was being translated to me from Italian, I drifted off a bit, until they brought up Angel. My ears perked up. Leaning close to my translator, I heard her update. Apparently, when Angel was taken to the shelter, she broke down crying. This new place was quite different from the shelter she was currently living, where she had mainly Nigerian girls to relate to. At this new shelter, she would be the only African among a group of Romanians, Italians, and Brazilians (who were also rescued sex workers). As the tour of the new shelter came to an end, her face slowly crumpled and tears fell.
The social worker narrated, (translation) “I think she realized what this all means for her.”

When Angel came in that afternoon, she called out a greeting to me as I passed through the waiting area. “Oh, Angel, I didn’t know you were here!” As I sat down next to her, I asked, “ I heard you didn’t like your new place. Too many Romanians and Italians for you, huh?” She laughed and looked down at her feet. I paused, as I tipped my head, trying to catch her eyes again. “You know- it wont be all that bad. Yes, its something new and different- but focus on where you are going. It’s an ends to a means. You wont be there forever.” She raised her eyes to mine, with a pensive and serious face. “Yes, yes, I know.” I continued, “You’ll manage it and you will be strong. You’re already strong.” Angel sighed, as if doubting what I’d just told her. “You are!” playfully poking her in her side.

Wanting to lighten the mood, I asked her, “So what kind of food was in the kitchen there?” She immediately distorted her face, showing disgust, as she responded, “Italian food!” I laughed, as I asked her, “ What’s wrong with Italian food?” “I don’t know,” she responded. “The way they make their food is somehow…” (Naija people… African people for that matter…we all know what “somehow” means right?!)

Angel and I laughed together.
What a sweet girl she is.

(This blog, and the others, can also be viewed on the Making Noise site at: http://www.myspace.com/livethenoise
Making Noise- using arts and media to "make noise" about social injustices affecting Africans))

I love gelato! Almost everyday since I arrived in Turin, I’ve purchased a cone of this sweet stuff…literally…its that good!

I love the Italian style architecture and design- grand piazzas and beautifully decorated porticoes. It would be soo cool to walk down downtown Silver Spring in Maryland or stroll through Eastern Market in DC and see beautiful fat cherubs blowing trumpets or the etchings of a green utopian landscape. That’d be nice- I’m so blessed to be able to see all of this.

One afternoon, I hopped on the tram, trying to make my way to Piazza Solferino, a popular tourist area in Turin. I wanted to see the sights…and find new flavours of gelato. I wanted to double check which stop to get off, so I asked one Nigerian lady in front of me. She looked quizzically at me and responded that she didn’t know the area well. “Ok,” I thought. I tapped another Nigerian women to my front and asked the same thing. “Oh, I don’t know where that is.” Really?! Asking for Piazza Solferino is like asking for the metro stop for the Smithsonian Museums in downtown DC. How do they not know where it is? (Now, perhaps this task might have been easier, had the stops been labelled or announced upon our approach to each one or if I spoke Italian) They didn’t say they were tourists or visitors.

Yes, this very well could have been an isolated case…I’m not judging these women at all. Though
it made me wonder- have any of the girls trafficked into Turin (or immigrants for that matter) had a chance to really see Turin? Or do they only know it in reference to the corners they work? Have they had a chance to walk down Via Roma, hurridly licking a gelato cone before it melts on their fingers? What is Turin to them? It made me think of the girls that come into the office- they rush in and out- busily hurrying off to the next place, whether it be Italian school, work, or their apartment. Do they ever have a chance to just stop and enjoy an afternoon to themselves?

In the time I’ve been here, I have learned most of these young women…and most immigrant workers…do not have that luxury. The week is spent at work. Italian law stipulates that you have to work more than 20 hours/week to be eligible for a Permit of Stay (which is like gold for foreign workers) to reside in Turin.

(sigh) Its not fair- these girls were duped into coming to Turin, of all places, to work, and when they are here…they still suffer. It's not fair…everyone should have a chance to enjoy gelato strolling down a piazza…everyone.

Last week, I had a chance to sit in on my first counselling session with a 21 year old girl that had been trafficked from Nigeria to Italy. Since her case is new and for her protection, I’ll call her Angel.

Just shy of her 22nd birthday, Angel sat in one of the rooms in the TAMPEP office, nervously shuffling her feet in and out of her sandals. In a mix of English and pidgeon English, the cultural mediator asked her, “ Do you mind if everyone is here? Make you go tell me, and I’ll use style and ask that person to come out. Just tell me eh?” Angel looked down, and with no hesitation said, “No, its alright. Everyone can stay.” Angel sat on the one side of the desk, next to an Italian social worker. On the other side, was the Nigerian cultural mediator and another Italian who typed out Angel’s testimony.

“Ok, Angel- From the beginning, tell us how you came to Turin? What happened?”, asked the cultural mediator. With a heavy sigh, Angel began her story. Six months ago, while still living in Nigeria, she was approached by a man, who knew of the situation of her family. He encouraged her to travel abroad so she could find work to help her family, since they were quite poor. He said she could work in a factory or in an African store. After refusing several times, she finally agreed. The man sent her to Lagos, where she joined several other girls who were getting “paperwork” processed to leave the country. Angel was given a fake passport and visa, and left Nigeria a few months later. She arrived in Turin a few months ago.

Upon her arrival, she was picked up by another women whom she did not know, and later taken to her madam’s apartment. Angel expressed to the counsellors, that she inquired about when she could start working. Her madam, also a Nigerian women, laughed and gave her clothes and shoes for her “new job”. When Angel looked at the clothing, she asked, confused, “ How can I work in a store with clothing’s like this? Is this how you dress in a store?” Her madam laughed again and asked her how she expected to work in a new country with new papers. “This is your new job now,” she told her. She was alone in a new country and confused and scared. She shakingly followed the orders of her madam, and was placed on a street where she was to sell her body. Her first job was “sex by mouth” for 20 euros. The room grew quiet, as if we all needed to process this information. In halting speech, she described how she finally escaped from her madam1s house and refused to continue the work she was doing. “I want to stop it. It is bad work. I want to go back to my parents in Nigeria.”

As I listened to her experience, I wept inside. This girl was young and afraid. In any other place, she should have been just finishing university, thinking about what job she wanted to pursue. She was around my late sister’s age, and I so desperately just wanted to reach out to hug her, pay any money I could to help her get back to her parents. I wondered if her parents knew the fate that had befallen their daughter. Did they think she had “made it” in Europe? Were they rejoicing while this girl was sitting shaking in our office? The sad thing is this is the story of many girls who end up in Turin. They are tricked to leave their country to pursue work overseas, and when they get there they are forced to sell their bodies.

After the session ended, Angel waited in the office to be taken to one of the shelters that TAMPEP opens up for girls in her situation. I asked her if she was hungry, and gave her a small meatpie that I had in my bag. I wanted to give her more. I wanted to give her her life back.

Last Thursday (June 7- my third day in Italy), I attended “Luna e I falo”, a regional conference on trafficking on Corso Stati Uniti, a main street in Turin. There were several hundred people there, all to discuss trafficking issues around Turin. Groups from Asti, Rome, and throughout the Piedmont region were well represented. TAMPEP was perhaps the only organization with programs in countries outside Italy. It was simply amazing! In the U.S, trafficking issues are not as in the forefront as it is here in Turin, nor have I seen a conference on this issue of that scale.

There are many groups working on this issue in the area. PIAM Onlus was another great group that was represented. Similar to TAMPEP, they serve women that have been illegally trafficked to the area and provide shelters, clothing, and counselling for them. They also produced videos for these girls to show them how to seek medical checkups and seek help from police.

Since the entire conference was in Italian, portions of it were interpreted through one of my English speaking co-workers. I learned something new- Juju or witchcraft is not just used with African trafficking victims to trap them into coming to Italy. This method is used with Albanian and Romanian women as well. Just to give you all background: In many countries, where trafficking is prevalent, traffickers use witchcraft to force their victims into going overseas and scaring them into doing this illicit work. They take samples of their underarm and pubic hair and menstrual flow and perform rituals with them. Traffickers tell the girls, that after performing these rites, they or their family members will be harmed if they escape from their madams or return to Nigeria with no money. Because these things are often common to some of these cultures, the girls believe it and are afraid to report their traffickers.

The conference was valuable and well planned. However, I was surprised to see that for a conference on immigrant issues and trafficking, there were only 2 immigrant speakers throughout the whole convention. There needs to be more representation among the immigrant population regarding this issue…a revolution needs to happen…

Before arriving in Torino, I thought I would be one of the few Black women among a sea of white Italians. Friends of mine, who had visited Italy before, warned me about racism in the country. Even though I grew up in the American South, I can honestly say I hadn’t had a terribly racist experience before. As I prepared to travel to Torino, I was nervous. How would I respond if someone treated me unjustly? Would there be something similar to NAACP in Torino? Were there simply no Blacks in Italy?

My first week in Torino definitely proved me wrong. On my street alone, are several Nigerian families. I fell asleep my first night listening to the soukous music playing from my neighbor’s stereo. (African music is sweet o!) as I explore my neighbourhood throughout the week, I come to see that I live in a very diverse area. Just to name a few, there are many Senegalese, Morrocans, Albanians, Nigerians, Romanians, Chinese, and Brazilians living in this area (and they all speak great Italian!). It truly is a beautiful melting pot!

Seeing this completely eliminates my nervousness, and I push away my worries. Its funny, even though I'm in Italy, Ive had very little interaction with Italians. The only real interaction Ive had with them are in my office, and that's just 6 or 7 of them.

This is playing out to be an interesting summer!

I now know that traffic, MoTown, and rain are universal things. Here I was, newly arrived in Turin, sitting in a nice taxi (fully equipped with a TomTom navigation device) in Turinese traffic. Yes, even here in beautiful Turin, people leave work in massè to fight for right of way on the streets. It was comforting and annoying at the same time- part of me kept repeating to myself “Wow! I’m in traffic in Italy….wow!” and the other part just wanted to get to my apartment to sleep (We had to wake up 3am EST in preparation for landing!).

I sat in the cab, fighting sleep and sitting through the forced stuffy silence that language barriers create. I would sneak a glance at the cabdriver, and I could see him secretly glance back at me through the rearview mirror. After a few minutes, he switched the radio on, and sounds of old school jams from MoTown wafted through the speakers. He turned it louder, perhaps as a way of talking to me. I laughed to myself…Yes, even here, people jam to MoTown! Had I been sitting in traffic in Washington DC, I would have immediately switched the station. However, since I was hearing it in a different country, my ears craned to hear and my toes tapped lightly to the familiar beats. Yes, good music is universal.

The cab pulled up to my apartment door, and I sat back and accessed the area. It was a cute place….kind of like Adams Morgan in DC or Little Five Points in Atlanta. I was to ring the door bell for my landlord’s son, and he would show me into my studio. I rang the bell once…twice…three times….no answer. My stomach knotted up…fear came across me…was the apartment contract a hoax? Horror stories I’d read earlier about Italian landlords not renting to Africans came back to mind. Did he see me out the window and refuse my entrance? Just when I was about to really lose it, he answered the door, and shortly after, came running down the stairs with a big smile. “Welcome to Borgo Dora!” he said. We struggled through a conversation of broken English and broken Italian, that was interspersed with our periodic giggles because we couldn’t understand each other at times. We walked up several flight of stairs to reach my apartment and , finally, I was in my home away from home. After surveying my room, I tried to plug in my laptop and get signed on to the Internet. No response…rather I smelled smoke! I immediately unplugged it, and retried the process…No response again. My connection to home was gone…no Skype, webcams, email, English…nothing. It was now just me and the sounds of Italian television streaming through my room. After being so tired, this seemingly small issue nearly brought me to tears…honestly. As I stood in my apartment, frustrated and confused, thunder sounded in the distance. I opened the windows and watched the rain pour with fury on those outside. Yes, thank God rain is universal. I opened my windows wide, cleared my bed, and wrapped myself in my little Kenyan blanket, a treasured gift from my boyfriend. As the rain fell, I closed my eyes and forced myself to sleep…and to temporarily forget where I was. Yes, thank God, rain is universal.

DISCLAIMER: I dont normally cry over non-functional laptops...However, after lack of rest and missing my connecting flight earlier, this hit me when I was down! After being here for a week now, all is well, and I'm all smiles:)

Link: http://www.torino.com

It’s hard to believe that in exactly 2 weeks, I will be flying to Torino. This trip has literally been in planning for almost a year, and now the time of departure is sneaking up quickly. I’m ready, but in many ways still feel unprepared. On one hand, I’ve been reading, talking, listening to everything and anything having to do with sex trafficking for the past 9 months and feel like I have a good basic understanding of the issue. On the other hand, I still feel that apprehension of stepping into a new place, being foreign to the language and culture, and nervous about if I’ll even be of help to my sponsoring organization. The latter, I know, will subside as I get comfortable there and find my way around. I just have to literally jump in and get my feet wet.

This summer, I will be working with the TAMPEP International Foundation, which has a branch in Torino, Italy. The organization provides rehabilitation services for sex workers. Since Torino is a major destination point for sex trafficking victims from west Africa (Nigeria) and eastern Europe (Albania), majority, if not all, of the women are victims of this illicit sex trade and are in need of a way out. TAMPEP-Torino provides safe housing in a shelter, job training, counseling sessions, and accompanies women to health clinic visits. I, and my fellow intern Michelle Lanspa, will have a chance to serve these women in each of these capacities.

By the end of this summer, I want to have a detailed understanding of policies and programs regarding trafficking, specifically the status of trafficking between Italy and Nigeria. I also want to capture the stories of these women to ideally show others in the U.S. and Nigeria just how grave an issue this is. I do not want this summer to just be spent in an office- I sincerely want to leave Torino knowing how I can bring attention to the plight of victims of sex trafficking. Going to Torino is just the first step in this journey...I am passionate about being a voice for those facing injustices, and specifically, I hope to travel to Nigeria next summer and work with sex trafficking victims there. But for now, Torino is before me, and I’m excited!