Jun 2007

Just imagine:

Your parents sold you for rent money. Your boyfriend of two years sold you for a new TV. That job offer in Germany only appeared to be legit. You're kidnapped and smuggled across countless borders. That dream of yours - the dream of a glamorous life in the West - is the most horrifying nightmare imaginable. You're anywhere from 5 to 40 years old, and you'll be raped and beaten repeatedly everyday for the rest of your foreseeable future.

Your body – your life – is probably worth between 100 – 2000 US dollars, depending on your age, appearance and nationality. Even if you do eventually escape the life of a sex slave, you will not come away unscathed. Survivors must endure life-threatening diseases of the body and mind, acute terror and paranoia plaguing their every thought, recurring nightmares and flashbacks, as well as social stigmatization and isolation.

Human trafficking is not limited to sexual exploitation (although this acccounts for approximately 80% of trafficking situations) - millions of men, women and children are forced into situations of servitude, hard labor, and combat situations (ie, child soldiers). Much to the horror of the international community, the trafficking business is booming with over $9.5 billion in revenue is generated every single year. Thus, the buying and selling of human beings is the third most profitable international criminal activity behind the illegal sale of drugs and arms. Of course, guns and drugs are a one-time sale; a woman, on the other hand, can be sold up to twenty times a day, or 7,300 times per year. At $50 to $500 a client, the pimp can pocket $365,000 to $3,650,000 per woman, annually. When a woman is too ill, too old, too much of a risk - she is easily replaceable by any number of potential new victims.

The perfect commodity.

Statistics are mildly unreliable, as the magnitude of the problem is incomprehensible and many suspected victims are never reported. Data from various reputable sources varies drastically with the generally accepted range being between 600,000 and 2 million human beings each year. Approximately 500,000 of these human beings are trafficked from/into the European continent alone, with more than 10,000 of these being women and girls from Bulgaria. Some reports conservatively estimate over 27 million people worldwide are currently held in some form of slavery…some estimate 10 times beyond that. The crisis is reaching epidemic proportions as numbers increase; after all, the supply must meet the demand.

It is the most horrifying of topics to research, and certainly one of the most difficult to digest. The problem is so far-reaching, so entrenched, so profitable, so disgusting that the work of governments and non-governmental organizations seems frustratingly inadequate. If the demand is booming, the supply will be endless. It’s simple economics. Victims come from every single part of the world – no nation or ethnicity is immune. You thought slavery had been eradicated? Think again. It’s everywhere.

My experience at Animus has been interesting, depressing, frustrating and certainly educational. I knew quite a bit about sex trafficking before my arrival – thanks to my very first Model United Nations conference! Unfortunately, like most people in the world, I did not (and still do not) fully understand the gravity and scope of the situation. I never understood how crafty the traffickers can be, and that even the most legitimate of offers – an overseas internship like mine, for example – are oftentimes incredibly believable fronts for trafficking operations. Citizens of Eastern Europe are particularly susceptible targets due to the overwhelming desire of much of the population to find wealth and prosperity abroad. A life in the West is the dream of most young people – it seems that patriotism and optimism were destroyed along with democracy and the economy during former autocratic regimes. Bulgarian women are attractive, intelligent and itching to see a brand new world beyond their borders. I’ve learned all of this from Bulgarians themselves; Animus is an organization for Bulgarian women by Bulgarian women.

Animus (http://www.animusassociation.org) is an interesting NGO with a remarkable number of past and present projects. Most notably, the help line, psychological services, and crisis center/safe house are groundbreaking services that assist innumerable women each year. In addition, Animus is currently working with the tourist sector to recognize and stem sex tourism – particularly within the popular Black Sea coast resort towns. I was also impressed to learn of their ongoing educational seminars (“trainings”) for individuals, organizations, government officials etc. interested in working against human trafficking. This program spans national borders, as many citizens of other Eastern European nations participate. Animus is also hard at work in conjunction with La Strada (http://www.lastrada.org) to expand their influence to the whole of the continent. And finally, the organization lobbies for government reforms – although I have not seen or heard much about this just yet.

I was amazed to see that the organization is fairly small, with no more than 15 people in the office at any one time. These are all women – save one, and he is leaving – who are educated and extraordinarily passionate. Most of them do not speak English, though there are a few who are expertly multilingual. Unfortunately, my rose-colored glasses are officially lifted, as I now see that the typical NGO problems really do plague every NGO. Animus suffers from bad management (particularly in regards to human resources), inefficiency, poor communication and perceived impotence in the large and intimidating realm of the cause. However, I believe the organization has many wonderful and effective programs (ie, incredible potential for serious influence), and I am hoping to help the organization with more effective marketing/communication so that these programs may be better advertised.

As of right now, I am actually building the website for a large upcoming seminar. The work is tedious but just right for me – I stay very busy correcting grammar, working on visuals and researching content. My biggest roadblocks thus far have been a complete lack of direction (umm…I took one HTML course during my freshman year…but I started the project anyway so I could have something to do!), and stubbornness on behalf of the staff – (the worst English grammar imaginable, but they don’t want to change it because they “like the way it sounds.” Ah! Dr. Geller, you’d just die.) They were excited to hear that many of the programs of DVIS/Call Rape in Tulsa are very similar, but not excited to hear my very legitimate input about potential new projects or program extensions. I am hoping that I’ll get some “street cred” as time goes on. I am very aware that there is a LOT I have yet to learn, but I also know that I have at least a little bit to offer too. Overall, I am increasingly optimistic and I hope to do at least one large project that positively affects the organization before I leave. I am learning so much – and the more I learn, the more I want to make a difference.

If you want to learn a little more about trafficking, here are some interesting sites:

www.Notforsalecampaign.org
www.romun.org/documents/Background%20Info/Human%20Trafficking%20Statistics.rtf
www.unodc.org
www.helpsavekids.org
www.us.oneworld.net
www.humantrafficking.org
www.gvnet.com/humantrafficking/Bulgaria.htm
www.mtvexit.org - really interesting videos

Since I have no idea how to program my own site as Porter did, I decided to pick something fun and easy...google is simply amazing!

http://picasaweb.google.com/mccune.megan

I've just posted pictures from Italy, Germany, Croatia and Bosnia. I will be posting pics from Bulgaria very soon.

I was purely lucky to find an apartment – my previous arrangements had been thwarted at the very last minute, and I was utterly desperate to find something, ANYTHING as soon as possible. During a random web search, I found an old posting for a room in a three bedroom flat just outside the city center. After a few emails, I had somewhere to live! I did a celebratory “whoo hoo!!” in the internet café when I received the confirmation email.

My roommates are friendly and fascinating – one is an Austrian who works as a university professor in another town for half the week, the other is a Bulgarian international lawyer working on behalf of the Bulgarian disabled. Both are approximately ten years my senior (from what I can tell) and very intellectual. My room in the apartment is about twice what it was in Africa (thank heaven) and painted a cheerful light yellow. All three of us sleep on comfortable air mattresses. We have hot water, and there is a constant electricity and water supply…ie, no rations! I’ve decided that I like this situation very much.

I’ll not feign immediate contentment – my first couple of days in Bulgaria were extremely difficult. Everything is in the Cyrillic alphabet: the street signs, the menus, the business names…everything. The language itself is guttural and alien, and my meagre attempts are seemingly futile. The layout of the city lacks the logic of Tulsa, Oklahoma (of course), the taxi drivers usually need directions, virtually no one speaks English, and I am completely on my own about 95% of the time. I can’t tell north from south and up from down most of the time – asking for directions is usually a recipe for supreme confusion for all those involved.

To my astonishment, the head gestures really are reversed – a shake of the head (to Americans meaning ‘no’) actually means “yes”, and a nod (to us meaning “yes”) actually means “no.” Except of course, for those Bulgarians who consider themselves more Western – they do things “our” way…which leads to a whole bunch of befuddlement. Yes? No? Da? Ne? Shake? Nod? What’s going on!?

I was also planning on entitling this entry “Brrrgaria” (I know, how clever) – because the constant downpour was accompanied by 40 degree temperatures. I was certainly not prepared for the cold and wet…I spent my very first day solidly cursing the weather, the language, the lack of internet cafes and my unfortunate aptitude for getting hopelessly lost.

BUT….there is light at the end of the tunnel and the sun came out – (but not before I bought a $6 coat and $3 jeans from a street market). I learned how to successfully point and grunt when ordering food, how to somewhat successfully ask locals for help, and how to make it home at the end of the day (well, for the most part). I am learning the Cyrillic alphabet somewhat quickly – mostly because my livelihood demands it. There is nothing like complete and total cultural immersion to encourage a little learning.

The public transportation system is mostly hopeless – my first attempt resulted in two old ladies adopting me and dragging me from tram to tram, wordlessly pointing and smiling in the fairly correct direction. The only thing I could say was “Ekzarh Yosif!”, the name of the street where Animus is located. I arrived, eventually. The locals are genuine and friendly, and I think that is the greatest strength of the country.

It’s the most difficult culture shock I’ve yet to endure – this place is just so different than any I’ve encountered, and I’ve never had to be so completely self reliant – (which is difficult, but good, I’d say.) My flatmates are exceedingly busy and not available to hold my hand - though they are both fascinating to talk to in the evenings.

So, why is Bulgaria bizarre? Well….I’ll just write a few things to qualify this adjective:

1. The country is mostly run by the mafia. You know, like the kind you see on the Sopranos? I laughed at them when I heard the details – but it is totally true. You can see the fancy cars and the henchmen. They are of little danger to the everyday Bulgarian local – but they have their hands in every market, every government ministry, everything. It’s just a part of life…no big deal. What?! The mafia!?
2. The fashion sense is horrifying – lime green sweatsuits, mullet haircuts, terrible makeup, the shortest skirts imaginable at any age… you think it’s not a big deal, but it’s everywhere!
3. The population has a serious inferiority complex – most people believe the country is backwards, pathetic and virtually unknown. In my opinion, having just joined the EU and such, the only way is up. Half the population wants communism back – the other half are itching to immigrate to Western Europe – this place has so much untapped potential, it boggles my mind. On the other hand, Bulgarians are fiercely proud of their past…their Byzantine, Thracian past that is.
4. The taxi drivers have a strangely unified penchant for the rap artist 50 Cent
5. Just imagine – an abandoned hearse with a huge silver cross growing out of the roof. Not a big deal? Just imagine there’s still a casket inside. Bizarre.
6. The situation with the Roma (Gypsies) can be likened to 1960’s USA or to apartheid Africa. The discrimination is so extreme – it’s completely mind boggling. No one is doing anything about it, and it’s taboo to even mention that there’s a problem. I’ve been told repeatedly to watch my purse or “the thieving gypsies will steal it”, there is severe discrimination within the job market, education, everything. There’s not even an organization to fight for equal rights – it’s just accepted.

Anyway, it is nearly time for me to return home – my start at Animus has been slow on account of my internship manager not arriving until tomorrow. I am become accustomed to life here, and I will write more details about Animus and my work very shortly. Keep the emails coming, it is wonderful to hear from all of you!

My stomach had been in knots for a week or so about my uncertain arrival in Sofia...I couldn't go through Macedonia, there wasn't anything direct from Croatia (not even a flight!), and I wasn't particularly keen about veering several hundred miles out of the way - (the only reliable hub being Belgrade).

Keen or not, my choices were increasingly limited. Basing my itinerary on an offhand travel agent remark about heading to Bosnia, I hopped a three hour bus to Mostar...crossing my fingers for a timely connection to somewhere near sofia. Three hours later, (at approximately 11 am or so), I was bummed to find that my only option was a 13+ hour overnight bus to Belgrade, leaving later that evening. Boo on Belgrade. I sighed a heavy *darn my luck* kind of sigh.

Well, I had a number of hours to kill, and luckily, Lonely Planet described Mostar as a “charming medieval town”. As I was perusing my restaurant options, two young men approached me about my plans for the day. One was a Frenchman living in New York, the other was his American roommate of Iranian heritage – (a general surgeon about to start his residency, I told him all about you dad!).

Since my sense of direction is atrocious, and we were all about to suffer through an overnight Bosnian bus together, we joined up for a little Mostar exploration. There is a famous 16th century bridge (Stari Most) in town that historically represents the bridging of ethnic diversities – ironically enough, it was completely destroyed in the recent ethnic conflict, and then reconstructed. At 24 meters tall, it is a thrill for young local men to go leaping from it into the river. Tourists can pay to see this done – I could think of better ways to spend my money. The whole town is extraordinarily charming and photogenic – though there are many grim reminders of the conflict.

While walking around, it was impossible to ignore the thousands of bullet holes scarring virtually every building of the town. Some of the structures were particularly wretched – so destroyed by heavy shelling that their sagging walls and exposed interiors remain completely abandoned – not demolished, not refurbished, just empty, hulking reminders of human conflict. Of course, there were also freshly constructed homes and businesses in shining coats of gaudy paint dotting the city. The contrast was certainly striking.

We also strolled past a number of graveyards – I was mildly horrified to see that every single headstone was engraved with the date “1992” – to say the least, this put the scale of the casualties into perspective. Graffiti around town included patriotic messages flaunting Bosnian pride, random swastikas, and several Tito’s scrawled on most available wall spaces.

Old town was lovely, mostly intact, and devoid of graffiti; we perused a number of souvenir shops and spoke with the shopkeepers. I managed to meet several lovely gentlemen and a young woman – coming away from the day with two free post cards and a cup of mint tea. I also bought a few souvenirs (I’m a sucker for textiles and the choices were tantalizing)….actually, I’m a sucker for shopping in general. I was mildly horrified to find that many of the souvenirs offered were constructed out of old shell casings (some half as tall and as big around as I), and bullets. War, as much as it traumatized the nation, was being exploited as a tourist attraction. I felt a surge of conflicting opinions/emotions:

1. It is good the country has harnessed something lucrative – war, death, violence, and destruction in the form of knick knacks.

2. It is horrifying that this grotesque tourist fascination is lucrative in the first place. Yikes, it’s even more horrifying that I was equally as fascinated as your average fanny-packed daytripper.

Like I said, conflicting opinions/emotions. We also came upon a number of fascinating Tshirts for sale - the heroic faces of Che and Tito were emblazoned on several, another boldly stated: "f*** the country that is not Bosnia" (every country that is not Bosnia, that is...I asked for clarification), and another was particularly hilarious: "I'm Muslim, don't panic." My companion of Iranian heritage bargained the shopkeeper down to $4 and plans to wear the shirt as much as possible around the states.

The time finally came for our long-dreaded bus ride to Serbia – we scoped out the “best” seats somewhat near one another, staking out our territory for the next 13+ hours. I soon came to realize I was the only woman aboard, and that my territory didn’t really mean much. I wasn’t able to lean back my seat – with every nudge, a remarkably tall, bulky man behind me would grunt with disapproval. He’d wedged himself into an impossibly fetal position for someone his size; his rear end was firmly shoved against my seat. Well, if you can’t beat them, join them? I curled up into something relatively comfortable, but sleep was virtually impossible – and I found myself counting down the clock to Belgrade.

We arrived at the god-awful hour of six thirty a.m. Nothing was open, no one spoke English, and the city was a hideous, sprawling, terrifying metropolis. I was lucky to find a train to sofia leaving a mere two and a half hours later – I spent the down time holed up in a nearby hostel chatting with a loony Australian and friendly Serbian.

The 9 hour train was mildly comfortable. I was overwhelmed to find my six-person compartment filled with five large, middle-aged men and an empty seat in the corner for me. They were polite enough to stop smoking within the compartment upon my arrival (I was completely amazed!), though none of them bothered to acknowledge me much beyond that.

In the last two hours of the trip, only one man and I remained. Just before the Bulgarian border, a flamboyant middle-aged Serbian with a scrunchie and white patent-leather shoes burst into the compartment. He placed his numerous bags in any space not occupied by humans and shoved the compartment curtains closed. Though my compartment partner and I had not yet spoken a word to one another, we exchanged the universal “what the hell?” brow furrowing in our confusion. I’d been nervous about Bulgarian border control – most sources I consulted remarked that the officers are usually less-than-virtuous and particularly keen on extorting bribes from American tourists. I was alone, female, ignorant of the language, and American. I cleverly deduced that to be an unfortunate combination.

When the border control officers shoved open the compartment, they took a long look at my passport, eyed me up and down, and then turned their attention to the scrunchied Serbian. In a bout of screaming on both sides, his bags were ripped open to reveal scores of cigarette cartons….certainly more than the legal amount allowed to cross the border. I was amused by the scene – the officers began to rip the air vents from the floor and ceiling, the lighting fixtures were detached, the protests of the Serbian competed with those of the officers, photos were taken of the smuggled goods….and then, just as suddenly as it all began, it was over. The smuggler sat down in a huff, ineffectively complaining to me in Serbian, and the officers moved on. No confiscation, no citation, no bribes, no arrests…nothing! They just disappeared and it was over. The smuggler re-zipped all his bags and pouted in the corner. His peace was short-lived as he was provoked once more just minutes later – as a group of juvenile football players burst into the compartment and stole some of the much-coveted “goods”. He went hauling after them and then stomped off to another – perhaps more peaceful – part of the train. My compartment buddy and I once again exchanged the universal “what the hell?” brow-furrow. Bizarre.

We were at the border for a bit more than an hour and a half – during which my passport was checked/stamped two more times. I was certainly relieved to find that the border control was more concerned about cigarettes than my money, gender, and/or political convictions. After two days of travel, I finally arrived in Sofia. Phew...adventure.

So, in my rush to sort out my life and my journey to Bulgaria, I forgot to include a bit of commentary on culture and politics in Croatia.

Observations:
1. Don’t talk about the war….unless you have a great deal of time and patience. We had brief discussions with a couple of our homestay hosts at one point, but their comments were fairly limited and the memories appeared painful. Our Dubrovnik host remarked – “we tell the tourists not to go into the hills because there are many snakes. There are not snakes.”
There are landmines. He described how the Serbs had attacked from that hill, blowing the neighborhood to bits while some 90 people huddled in his basement. He was very distant and a bit standoffish, so we ended the conversation. Later, while walking in the street in Croatia, I noticed a hub-bub nearby and I asked a nearby police officer about the commotion. He answered cordially that some VIPs were attending a concert. A middle-aged bystander chimed in: ‘not for tourists!’’

He was a little curt about it, which I didn’t appreciate, so I responded, “well of course…I was only curious.” I don’t remember how this conversation transformed into a confrontational discussion about limited western involvement in the war, but I do remember having eyes the size of dinner plates and flaming pink cheeks. Croatians are very, very bitter. He accused us of ignoring the atrocities committed, because we believe (apparently) that Croatia doesn’t matter to us or to the rest of Europe. I replied, “well, I am sorry, but I was only about six years old.”

His tone softened a little – only a little – and I used my irresistible wit and charm (ha) to wear him into affability. I remarked that I certainly would have done something if I were not in primary school – to which he was a bit skeptical – and that I was hoping to work against such atrocities in the future. In the end, he seemed convinced and we even had him smiling and shaking our hands.

I let out a tremendous sigh of relief as we walked away. Don’t talk about the war…unless you have a great deal of time and patience! We should have ignored him, but I was just too damn determined to break through that bitterness. Mission accomplished? Well, for now. I suppose it must be frustrating to see the droves of indifferent Western tourists stomping all over your city.

2. There are no Dalmatian dogs in Dalmatia. At least, I didn’t see any. Many people had dogs of every other persuasion, and they enjoyed flaunting them in public. Leash laws are seemingly non-existent.

3. Park anywhere, please. On the sidewalks, on the medians, in the grass. In fact, be sure to block in everyone else as you wedge your vehicle into the last remaining three inches of space.

4. If you’re just married, you’ll join your friends and family in a long, loudly honking car procession through town. If you’re having a really good time, your friends and family will hang out the window, perhaps waving bottles of champagne. If you’re dead, on the other hand, your picture and short biography will be plastered all over town, so that everyone may know you’ve passed.

5. Pizza…pasta…pasta…pizza…*sigh.* The gastronomic options can be tiring. The seafood, on the other hand, is quite delicious…though sometimes surprisingly expensive.

6. Fruit and vegetables do taste better without scientific tinkering and pesticides!

7. Croatians appear to be avid gardeners. Virtually every home boasted flourishing rose bushes, fruit trees and grape vines. Having the blackest thumb known to man, I was very impressed by the seemingly effortless cultivation of even the smallest plots of land. I kill plants just by looking at them.

I look forward to returning someday to explore several of the more remote towns and villages. It will be fascinating to observe the drastic changes Croatia experiences in the next ten years – though I hope it never loses its irresistible charm and breathtaking natural beauty.