The smells, sights, sounds, and sense of suspiciousness hit me in the face as soon as we pulled up. These innocent, gaunt children were merrily playing in the dirt while the head “Papa” looked over them. The children were filthy, covered in scars, boils, bald spots, and rashes on their bodies without any meat on their bones. I had just reached an orphanage on the outskirts of Najafgarh, India. I was used to the Indian culture and behaviorisms, but something was different about this place. I had previously learned that the “Papa” of this orphanage was and had sexually abused the teenager girls living in this orphanage. He had his “favorites” and his “helpers” who would act as his maids. After visiting the orphanage a few times and developing friendships with the orphans, some of the sweet, loving girls who were being abused would secretly reveal to us all of the evil that goes on when no one is around. The girls really were being hurt, the mentally challenged women were being beat, and babies were being “accidentally” harmed. The head “Papa” of the orphanage was the one running all of this. I felt anger and hatred toward this man that I didn’t even know. I wanted to bring worse harm to him than he was bringing to these girls just so he could feel their pain. After praying and constantly thinking about it for weeks, my mom and I derived a plan. I had to help bring these innocent girls justice. With the help of my mom and another American social worker living in India, I contacted people who knew police officers, head members of the Child Protection Program, and news reporters. We were telling the
The smells, sights, sounds, and sense of suspiciousness hit me in the face as soon as we pulled up. These innocent, gaunt children were merrily playing in the dirt while the head “Papa” looked over them. The children were filthy, covered in scars, boils, bald spots, and rashes on their bodies without any meat on their bones. I had just reached an orphanage on the outskirts of Najafgarh, India. I was used to the Indian culture and behaviorisms, but something was different about this place. I had previously learned that the “Papa” of this orphanage was and had sexually abused the teenager girls living in this orphanage. He had his “favorites” and his “helpers” who would act as his maids. After visiting the orphanage a few times and developing friendships with the orphans, some of the sweet, loving girls who were being abused would secretly reveal to us all of the evil that goes on when no one is around. The girls really were being hurt, the mentally challenged women were being beat, and babies were being “accidentally” harmed. The head “Papa” of the orphanage was the one running all of this. I felt anger and hatred toward this man that I didn’t even know. I wanted to bring worse harm to him than he was bringing to these girls just so he could feel their pain. After praying and constantly thinking about it for weeks, my mom and I derived a plan. I had to help bring these innocent girls justice. With the help of my mom and another American social worker living in India, I contacted people who knew police officers, head members of the Child Protection Program, and news reporters. We were telling the