If you had not come to help us, we would have died in the factory.”

Freedom Training

Freedom Training was conducted at a local college campus in the heart of the city. It took about an hour to get there through the traffic congested streets of Chennai. I was getting pretty used to the sights of Indian cities outside our van window, but still had my camera ready at a moment’s notice. You never know when you’ll drive by a wall that says, “Do not Urinate” in large painted black letters.

It reminded me of something Tim said in Kolkata one day. He was talking about getting used to the bizarreness of it all and he said, “You know, I stopped questioning stuff a long time ago. I mean, ‘why wouldn’t you see a cow on the median and why wouldn’t you see a man walking two monkeys on a leash and why wouldn’t you see men peeing on building walls. It is what it is.” I was finally starting to understand what he meant.

The college grounds were not what I was used to. We were in the middle of the city, but the campus seemed to be a bunch of dirt roads leading to nondescript buildings hidden by trees and bushes. It was a maze and we took lots of wrong turns before we found the Social Work building.
My mind was still a bit absent, so when the bus stopped, I grabbed my bag, hopped off the bus and started following the crowd, not really focusing on why we were there. And then, I stepped inside a large room with cement floors and ceiling fans to see at least 40 dark faces staring at me. There were men, women and children, from 7 months old to 7 decades old.

It seemed as if every single one was smiling.

And then it hit me…these people were slaves just seven days ago. Abused, oppressed, hopeless. Now they were sitting here…free. I had to wipe the tears from my eyes to see them all.
An IJM aftercare worker was standing in front of the room. He welcomed us and then explained that they had been learning a song to sing to us. He said it was the first time they had sung together. The next thing I know, I’m listening to former slaves sing, “If You’re Happy and You Know It.” Are you kidding me?

When they finished, we sang it back to them. It was one of the coolest moments of my life and I could see from the looks on our team’s faces that they felt the same.

The aftercare worker then explained that over the last three days, they had been taught life skills, like how to say “no” to someone, the difference between good touch and bad touch, what it means to have a dream in life, how to spend your money wisely, etc. He asked them if they had enjoyed their training and they all smiled and clapped.

He continued his teaching, using a hand puppet to entertain them. Every one was engaged, even the littlest kids. We were all sitting on chairs, sort of surrounding them. One by one, we started to get up and move to the floor to sit with them. I had my camera out, which many of them had never seen before. They looked apprehensive when I quietly took their pictures. I showed them the pictures and they broke out in huge smiles. I then handed my camera to a boy that looked about 10. I showed him how to take a picture. All this was happening while the aftercare workers were trying to teach. I’m sure we were distracting, but we couldn’t help it.

Pretty soon, all of our cameras were in the hands of the children and they were snapping away, cutting off faces, putting fingers in front of the lense, covering the flash with their hands. I didn’t care. These would be the best pictures taken that day.

When the teaching stopped, we broke into a few large circles and got to ask them questions via a translator. They told us all about life in the rice mills and how hard it was for them because the owner treated them so brutally. Brian told them that I was a school teacher and the kids in my school raised money to give to IJM to help them. A man, who looked about 20, looked at me and said, “If you had not come to help us, we would have died in the factory.”

More tears.

We spent the rest of the time outside, taking pictures, chasing the kids, playing peek-a-boo. At one point, with all the commotion of two languages and cameras clicking away, I walked to the other side of the courtyard so that I could look back at the scene. I just needed a minute to take it all in.

We left to lots of waving and smiling. As our bus drove away, the 10 of us just sort of sat there, as if we were all thinking, “Did that really just happen?”

It was never more clear to me…all the assemblies, the posters, the silhouettes, the morning announcements, the concert tickets, the money counting, the effort by students, teachers and parents…what that all meant. These people were slaves last Friday. Today, there were free.