Living with ‘traffickers’

Sinddhupalchowk doesn’t seem to be fortunate to have advantages from its being so close to Kathmandu, the Nation’s capital. Still portraying somewhat like medieval life style resulted from extreme poverty these areas have become breeding grounds for all kinds of criminal activities including women trafficking.

- By Kehar S. Gurung

My major encounter with Tamang, the third largest indigenous group of Nepal became possible when I was assigned to run a small project for Melamchi Drinking Water in 1995 at Pati Bhanjyang, Sindhupalchowk located at about 33 KM from Sundarijal en route to Helambu.

Sinddhupalchowk doesn’t seem to be fortunate to have advantages from its being so close to Kathmandu, the Nation’s capital. Still portraying somewhat like medieval life style resulted from extreme poverty these areas have become breeding grounds for all kinds of criminal activities including women trafficking.

No one can question plausible efforts of many NGOs and INGOs to eradicate this problem, providing income generating skill to girls and women. Neither can any one raise eye brows against government’s genuine commitment. The national leaders also claimed to have been deeply concerned. But the overall picture of success at hand based on real ground situation seems to be somewhat mere stories of limited success coupled with fabricated rosy picture of effort aiming at generating generosity in the minds of foreign and national donors.

While living with them and listening to stories of girls trafficking I had some kind curiosity to see what traffickers looked like and I had specially instructed our local security guards to inform if any opportunity for “once in life time experience” came.

One day I went with a former VDC member to ask for his availability for tunnel project in case of accident. After one hour walk up the hill we stopped for rest. Seeing my attention caught by some expensive and colourful clothes hanging outside one of the houses the VDC member said winking one eye, “This man has two wives. One is local and one from “there” Sir”. He further added “Sounds weird but most of the people working “there” can afford corrugated tin sheet for their houses in this part of world, Sir.” “What? How could you possibly mock your own people? It wouldn’t be completely fair for other normal “houses” with corrugated tin sheet.” I said annoyingly. I hated him as if he was humiliating not only his own community, but entire human race.

Surprisingly only those “our” locals on our payroll were ready to talk. If their hair-raising stories are not intended to entertain us but are the guide, most people had been engaged in this affair once in his life time. Some of “our” locals didn’t seem to hesitate to name even local dignitaries or traders.

One day one security guard told about the arrest of a trafficker along with girls and girl’s father by the police. I told him I’d join soon while thinking about the event that’s going to be unravelled after few minutes. How would the trafficker look like? Did he have gun or knife when arrested? There must have been shooting and vicious sparring like in cinemas. Is he handcuffed? The victims would simply not have imagined the nature of the job they’re supposed to do, terms and conditions of employment, health hazards, safety and the expectation of employers and customers when they reach the work places in Delhi or Bombay? How devastated was the father when someone stole his beloved child? He would have beheaded the trafficker with “khukuri” if found by himself and not intervened by police. The tsunami of extreme outrage among the locals attending to listen to the verdict will wreck his life. “What a waste of life!” I said.

I entered the upper floor of police station where many locals and few policemen were sitting and smoking. The room seemed a bit dark due to cloud of smoke. I grabbed one chakati (pad) to sit while scanning the whole room in search of the trafficker. There were four little beautiful girls aged 13-14 in their nice local attire at the corner. “Gosh! These girls would be put to rigorous tests in the cruel Indian job markets” I thought. Due to my position in the project as dignitary my very presence seemed to make others a bit uncomfortable. I was there just to check how the trafficker looked like! Unfortunately not much was happening. “Did I miss the climax?” I thought. I recognised all my “own” people sitting there except an old man sitting opposite of me and smoking. I saw him giving cigarette to another young guy beside him. The security guard emerging from the crowd approached me and pointing out his index-finger towards the young guy said, “It’s him, Sir”. I wished he didn’t do that at all. I would rather have little difficulty to find trafficker from a group of “own” people then provoking the public attention.

“What? Hardly 19-yr old boy!” The same very old man happened to be the father of one of the girls and didn’t show any sign of anger in his face nor was there any trace of feeling of humiliation in the trafficker’s face. The talks between girl’s father and trafficker seemed kind of normal as if two all people known met after a long time. He had no black eye or no broken ribs and neither was he handcuffed, as is always the case. His dress was as if he was just headed for a dating. As most of talks were focused on other personal matters my curiosity subsided eventually. Dense smoke from the cigarettes was chocking my throat making me difficult to breath. To bolster the situation the intensity of rotten egg like odour emitted from bodies of so many people sitting so tightly together in that small room was beyond the limit of my tolerance. I came out and headed for my apartment located at a couple of steps away.

“Only a fool would believe that skinny kid could be a women trafficker? Even my one punch is enough to knock him down. This is the crime, man! You need some training for handling weapons to fight locals and law enforcement agents and for camouflaging technique to trick watchful eyes of NGOs.” I thought.

“Why did you come out, Sir” I heard the voice of the security guard. He was leaning against the door frame. “What the heck do you think they will do to him?” I asked being optimistic.

“Hmmm...little bit paper work and may be some fine but it’s at police’s discretion. Girls are now in good hands. People say it was a close call. But no one needs to worry. Every body is for win-win condition”, he said. “What else do you want to happen with that guy, Sir?” he was poking his finger into hornet’s net. “Got any idea about jail-term for that sucker?” I asked as if he were my arbiter to tell the verdict.

Stepping forward and looking behind at the door he whispered as if he lost his voice a minute ago. “Sir, you are joking, right? He is just a mule, ordinary poor guy like me, any other men in that room and in this village. Only God knows who and where the real heck of a person is.”

“Don’t tell me that a guy with no muscle, no martial art skill, no gun or knife can somehow grab those four girls from their houses one by one against their will when their family members and neighbours were away. He makes each of them hostage. Later he hypnotizes them with his “mantra” again somehow and makes them follow him like herd of sheep up to the nation’s capital,” I said directly looking at his eyes to give a strong humiliating blow to his morale if he had any left.

Surprisingly he came closer as if we’re hugging. Further lowering his voice he said, “Is, Sir, trying to suggest that there had been some kind of mutual give and take game between these two parties? How could you possibly have a slightest doubt about that? You have been with us for more than two years. Of course, it has always been like that for years. Only the problem this time was “bad luck” for both the trafficker and girls’ families. Wrong time, wrong place! It can happen to any one.”

“You know what? I don’t care about that sucker and about you guys. Now do you think I deserve some rest” I yelled. He left without knowing which of his statements made his “big” boss behave so violently.

Even now very vivid memory of commonality prevailed in the mindsets of a jobless trafficker, ill-advised girls; a cunning father, turncoat guard, paranoid VDC member, selfish husband with twin wives, and low-esteemed locals send shock waves through my mind. No matter whether or not this tug of war between alien force of INGO, NGO, government authorities and domestic cohesive force backed by traffickers, girls, family members, locals, local leaders continues, more and more houses in these areas continue to get corrugated tin sheets in the days to come.

(Gurung is a Mining Engineer and currently lives in Ottawa, Canada. He can be reached at: gurungkehar@hotmail.com.)

(Editor’s Note: Nepalis, wherever they live, as well as friends of Nepal around the globe are requested to contribute their views/opinions/recollections etc. on issues concerning present day Nepal to the Guest Column of Nepalnews. Length of the article should not be more than 1,000 words and may be edited for the purpose of clarity and space. Relevant photos as well as photo of the author may also be sent along with the article. Please send your write-ups to editors@mos.com.np)

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