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The Road of Lost Innocence: The Story of a Cambodian Heroine

The Road of Lost Innocence: The Story of a Cambodian Heroine

4.5 22
by Somaly Mam

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A riveting and beautiful memoir of tragedy and hope–by a woman named to Time magazine’s list of the 100 most influential people in the world

Born in a village deep in the Cambodian forest, Somaly Mam was sold into sexual slavery by her grandfather when she was twelve years old. For the next decade she was shuttled through the brothels that make up


A riveting and beautiful memoir of tragedy and hope–by a woman named to Time magazine’s list of the 100 most influential people in the world

Born in a village deep in the Cambodian forest, Somaly Mam was sold into sexual slavery by her grandfather when she was twelve years old. For the next decade she was shuttled through the brothels that make up the sprawling sex trade of Southeast Asia. She suffered unspeakable acts of brutality and witnessed horrors that would haunt her for the rest of her life–until, in her early twenties, she managed to escape. Unable to forget the girls she left behind, Mam became a tenacious and brave leader in the fight against human trafficking, rescuing sex workers–some as young as five and six–offering them shelter, rehabilitation, healing, and love and leading them into new life.

Written in exquisite, spare, unflinching prose, The Road of Lost Innocence is a memoir that will leave you awestruck by the courage and strength of this extraordinary woman and will renew your faith in the power of an individual to bring about change.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
The Road of Lost Innocence is unputdownable, and you read it with a lump in your throat. Somaly Mam’s story is an account of how humanity can sink to the lowest levels of depravity, but it is also a testimony of resistance and hope. She lifted herself out of a well of terror and found the determination and the resilience to save others. Somaly Mam is my candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize.”—Ayaan Hirsi Ali, author of Infidel

“An inspiring story from the front lines of a global tragedy. Somaly Mam’s courageous fight to save women and children reminds us that one person can stand up and change the fate of others for good.”
—Mariane Pearl, author of A Mighty Heart

“A powerful autobiography that I highly recommend.”—New York Times


“Haunting . . . Mam explains trafficking from a girl’s perspective in a fresh, often poetic voice. . . . This is an important book to read.”—Seattle Times

Jane Ciabattari
In The Road of Lost Innocence, [Mam] writes of corrupt government officials and police who allow the illegal businesses to thrive. Her account inspires outrage.
—The Washington Post
Publishers Weekly

The horror and violence perpetrated on young girls to feed the sex trade industry in southeast Asia is personalized in this graphic story. Of "mixed race," Khmer and Phnong, Mam is living on her own in the forest in northern Cambodia around 1980 when a 55-year-old stranger claims he will take her to her missing family. "Grandfather" beats and abuses the nine-year-old Mam and sells her virginity to a Chinese merchant to cover a gambling debt. She is subsequently sold into a brothel in Phnom Penh, and the daily suffering and humiliation she endures is almost impossible to imagine or absorb ("I was dead. I had no affection for anyone"). She recounts recalcitrant girls being tortured and killed, and police collusion and government involvement in the sex trade; she manages to break the cycle only when she discovers the advantages of ferengi(foreign) clients and eventually marries a Frenchman. She comes back to Cambodia from France, now unafraid, and with her husband, Pierre; sets up a charity, AFESIP, "action for women in distressing circumstances"; and fearlessly devotes herself to helping prostitutes and exploited children. The statistics are shocking: one in every 40 Cambodian girls (some as young as five) will be sold into sex slavery. Mam brings to the fore the AIDS crisis, the belief that sex with a virgin will cure the disease and the Khmer tradition of women's obedience and servitude. This moving, disturbing tale is not one of redemption but a cry for justice and support for women's plight everywhere. (Sept.)

Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Kirkus Reviews
Candid memoir of a woman trapped in the sex-slave trade, who is now an activist against it. "You shouldn't try and discover the past," Mam recalls her adoptive father telling her. "You shouldn't hurt yourself." Born in 1970 or 1971 and torn from her ethnic Phnong family during Cambodia's genocidal civil war, Mam suffered as a child in a Khmer village whose people saw her as "fatherless, black, and ugly," possibly even a cannibal. Her pederast grandfather sold her virginity to a Chinese merchant to whom he owed money, a prize in a culture where raping a virgin was believed to cure AIDS. He then sold her to a soldier who "beat me often, sometimes with the butt of his rifle on my back and sometimes with his hands." From there it was a short path to what Mam calls "ordinary prostitution," working for a madam who was quick to hit and slow to feed. In time, after a series of indignities that she recounts in painful detail, Mam extricated herself to live with a French humanitarian-aid worker. Married, she moved with him to France, where she discovered that "French people could be racist, just like the Khmers." Burdened with an unpleasant mother-in-law, she welcomed the chance to return to Cambodia, working in a Doctors Without Borders clinic and turning her home into a kind of halfway house for abused, drug-addicted and ill prostitutes, most of whom were very young. Mam recounts her battles against government officials, pimps, brothel keepers and other foes in a campaign that brought death threats against her, but that slowly gathered force as it gained funding from UNICEF and several European governments. That campaign is ongoing, and Mam concludes that there's plenty left to do, since Cambodiais "in a state of chaos where the only rule is every man for himself."An urgent, though depressing, document, worthy of a place alongside Ishmael Beah's A Long Way Gone, Rigoberto Menchu's autobiography and other accounts of overcoming Third World hardship. Agent: Susanna Lea/Susanna Lea Associates

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Random House Publishing Group
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5.10(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.58(d)

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

The Forest

My name is Somaly. At least that's the name I have now. Like everyone in Cambodia, I've had several. Names are the result of temporary choices. You change them the way you'd change lives. As a small child, I was called Ya, and sometimes just Non—"Little One." When I was taken away from the forest by the old man, I was called Aya, and once, at a border crossing, he told the guard my name was Viriya—I don't really know why. I got used to people calling me all sorts of names, mostly insults. Then, years later, a kind man who said he was my uncle gave me the name Somaly: "The Necklace of Flowers Lost in the Virgin Forest." I liked it; it seemed to fit the idea of who I felt I really was. When I finally had the choice, I decided to keep that name as my own.

I will never know what my parents called me. But then I have nothing from them, no memories at all. My adoptive father once gave me this typically Khmer advice: "You shouldn't try to discover the past. You shouldn't hurt yourself." I suspect he knows what really happened, but he has never talked to me about it. The little I do know I've had to piece together with vague recollections and some help from history.

I spent my earliest years in the rolling countryside of northeastern Cambodia, surrounded by savanna and forests, not far from the high plains of Vietnam. Even today, when I have the chance to go into the forest, I feel at home. I recognize smells. I recognize plants. I instinctively know what's good to eat and what's poisonous. I remember the waterfalls. The sound of them is still in my ears. We children would bathe naked under the cascading water and play at holding our breath. I remember the smell of the virgin forest. I have a buried memory of this place.

The people of Bou Sra, the village where I was born, are Phnong. They are an old tribe of mountain people, quite unlike the Khmer who dominate the lowlands of Cambodia. I have inherited the typical Phnong dark skin from my mother. Cambodians see it as black and ugly. In Khmer, the word "Phnong" means "savage." Throughout Southeast Asia, people are very sensitive about skin color. The paler you are, the closer to "moon color," the more highly you are prized. A plump woman with white skin is the supreme object of beauty and desire. I was dark and thin and very unattractive.

I was born sometime around 1970 or 1971, when the Troubles began in Cambodia. My parents left me with my maternal grandmother when I was still a small child. Perhaps they were seeking a better life, or perhaps they were forced to leave. Before I turned five, the country had been carpet-bombed by the Americans. Then it was seized by the murderous regime of Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge. The four years of Khmer Rouge rule, from 1975 to 1979, were responsible for the deaths of about one in five people in Cambodia through execution, starvation, or forced labor. In the storm of events, countless others were simply swept away from their villages and families without leaving a trace. People were displaced to work camps, where they toiled as slaves, or were forced to fight for the regime. There are many reasons why my parents might have left the forest.

The story I like to tell myself is that my parents and grandmother always had my best interests at heart. Among the Phnong, the mother's lineage determines ethnicity. So despite my father being Khmer, when my parents left, my place was with the Phnong in Mondulkiri Province. Not long thereafter my grandmother would also disappear, much too soon for me to have any lasting memory of her. Mountain people up and leave for any old reason, as soon as anything displeases them. No one expected an explanation, especially not during those troubled years. So when my grandmother left the forest, no one knew where she went. I don't think I was abandoned—she probably thought I'd be safest in the village. There was no way she could have known that the forest would not be my home for long.

Our village was nothing more than a dozen round huts clustered in a forest clearing. The huts were made of plaited bamboo, their straw roofs low to the ground. Most families shared a single large hut with no partition between the communal sleeping platform and the cooking area. Other families kept themselves separate. With no parents or other family in the village, I would sleep on my own in a hammock. I lived like a little savage. I slept here or there, and ate where I could. I was at home everywhere and nowhere. I don't remember any other children who slept alone among the trees, as I did. Perhaps I wasn't taken in by anyone because I was of mixed race—part Phnong and part Khmer. Or perhaps I just made a decision to be by myself. Being an orphan in Cambodia is no rare condition. It is frighteningly ordinary.

I wasn't generally unhappy, but I remember feeling cold all the time. On particularly bitter or rainy nights, a kind man, Taman, would make space for me in his home. He was a Cham, a Muslim Khmer, but his wife was Phnong. I can't remember her name, but I thought she was beautiful with her long black hair tied behind her head with a bamboo stick, her high cheekbones, and a necklace made of shiny black wood and animal teeth. She was nice to me. Sometimes she would try to wash my long hair, rubbing the ash of a special herb into it to clean it, and then oiling it with pig fat and combing it with her fingers while she sang. She wore an intricately woven black and red cloth around her waist. Some women would leave their breasts bare, but Taman's wife covered hers.

Taman, like the other men, wore a loincloth that left his buttocks bare. The men wore strings of beads and bows strapped to their backs and had thick cylinders of wood pierced through their earlobes.

We children would be naked most of the time. We would play or help make clothes together out of thick, flat leaves wrapped with vines. Taman's wife would weave for hours on end, sitting on the floor with her legs stretched out in front of her and the bamboo loom tied to her feet.

Her teeth were filed into sharp points. Phnong girls file and blacken their teeth when they become women, but I left the village long before the time for filing teeth.

I was always looking for a mother so that I could be held in her arms, kissed, and stroked, like Taman's wife held her children. I was very unhappy not to have a mother like everyone else. My only confidants were the trees. I talked to them and told them about my sorrow. They listened, understood, and made discreet signs in my direction. They were my only true friends, along with the moon. When things got unbearable, I confessed my secrets to the waterfalls, because the water couldn't reverse its flow and betray me. Even today, I sometimes talk to trees. Other than that, I almost never spoke as a child. There wouldn't have been much point—nobody would have listened.

I found my own food. I would roam the forest and eat what I could find: fruit, wild vegetables, and honey. There were also plenty of insects, such as grasshoppers and ants, to eat. I particularly loved the ants. I still know where to look to find fruits and berries, and I still know that there are bees you can follow to find their honey. And I still know that you should look down because there are mushrooms on the ground, but also snakes.

If I caught an animal I would take it to Taman's wife to cook. She cooked meat under a layer of ash, because ash is naturally salty. Sometimes she dried the little pieces of meat in buffalo dung, mixed them with bitter herbs and rice, and cooked them over the fire. The first time I returned to the village as an adult, almost twenty-five years later, I discovered that dish again and I ate so much I made myself sick.

The mountain land in the Mondulkiri region was ill suited for growing rice, so the entire village had to work together to grow our food. The forest had to be burned to create rice paddies. Every few years, the forest had to be burned so we could grow rice, and we would be forced to go farther and farther afield in search of good soil. The distances were vast, especially for my little legs, and sometimes we'd have to walk for several days. We had no carts or work animals like the Khmer had in their flooded rice paddies. Everything we brought back to the village we had to carry ourselves.

When the rice was harvested, several villages would gather around a fire to celebrate. We would sacrifice a buffalo to the spirits who lived in the forest and dance to the beat of the metal gongs. There'd be endless banqueting and lots of rice wine. I remember the earthenware jars being enormous, almost as tall as I was. We'd drink it straight from the jar, one by one, sipping through a bamboo straw. Even children were allowed to join in. I remember a great deal of kindness toward the children on these occasions. The Phnong people are good to children—not like the Khmer.
Our hills were so remote that probably no doctor or nurse had ever set foot in them. There were certainly no schools. I never saw a Buddhist or Christian preacher. And although my childhood coincided with the Khmer Rouge regime, I also have no recollection of ever seeing soldiers.

The Khmer Rouge had decreed that mountain people like the Phnong were "core people." We were examples for others to follow, because we had no contact with Western habits and lived collectively. Our forest and hills protected us from the suffering that engulfed the rest of Cambodia while I was a small child.

Pol Pot had abolished money throughout the entire country of Cambodia, along with school diplomas, motor vehicles, eyeglasses, books, and any other sign of modern life. But I don't think that's why we had no currency. The Phnong never needed money. If the grown-ups wanted something we couldn't make or grow or hunt, they traded for it. If we wanted a cabbage, we went to ask a neighbor who had planted some. He would give us cabbage without asking for anything in return. Now it's different: the people from Phnom Penh arrive on weekends or during the holidays in their big 4_4s with their pockets full of bills.

One day when I was about nine or ten, Taman called me into his hut and introduced me to a stranger. This man, like Taman, was a Cham Muslim. He was very tall and strongly built, with a thin nose like Taman and pale skin. I suppose he might have been about fifty-five, which is very old in Cambodia. Taman told me that this man was from the same place as my father. He used the word "grandfather" to refer to him, as all Cambodians do to show respect to the elderly. He told me that if I went with this grandfather, he would take me to my father's province and I would find my family.

Perhaps Taman really believed that this grandfather would take care of me. Perhaps he truly thought this old Cham man would help me find my father's relatives. Perhaps he was convinced that I would be better off living in the lowlands, with an adult to look after me. Or perhaps he sold me to this man, knowing full well that, at best, I would become his indentured servant.

I have tried many times to find Taman, to understand his reasoning, but I've since learned it's never possible to know what really motivates people.

At first I really liked this grandfather and was happy to leave with him. In my short life, not many people had offered to look after me. I thought this man was my real grandfather, someone who would adopt and love me. I thought he knew where my parents were. I put together a bundle with a tunic that Taman's wife had made for me, along with a wooden necklace and a short black and red cloth with green embroidery.

We began walking. We walked for a long time, along paths that took us farther and farther from the places I knew. He wasn't talkative, but neither was I. He spoke very little Phnong, and we were forced to communicate through rudimentary gestures.

We came to a place where people were swarming around a giant logging truck. It was the largest, most frightening thing I had ever seen. There was no way I was going to climb on the logs like everyone else—the truck terrified me. I had never even seen a bicycle before, let alone a motorized vehicle.

I backed away, but Grandfather glared at me and raised his hand menacingly. I didn't understand this gesture—I had never been hit—but I saw that his face had changed, that it was rough and angry, and it frightened me even more than the truck did. Then his hand struck me with a hard blow that knocked me to the ground. With my cheek bleeding, he pulled me up and onto the truck.

I knew then that I had made the wrong choice, that this bad man was not my grandfather and would never love me. But it was too late to go back.

Chapter Two

The Village

When the logging truck dropped us off, we moved onto some kind of military truck that was carrying soldiers. After that, sometimes we rode in horse-drawn carts. There were people everywhere. A momentous change had dragged practically everyone in Cambodia back onto the road. A year or so earlier, in 1979, after four years of Khmer Rouge border attacks, the Communist government of Vietnam had invaded Cambodia. After the Vietnamese defeated the Khmer Rouge, they set up a new government, and starved, terrified people from every corner of the country began moving back to their home villages. When my journey took place, the country was still teeming with movement.
I knew none of this at the time, of course, but I was mesmerized by the crowds. The roads. The motorcycles. All the noise. The people looked beautiful, their skin so pale and their clothes exquisite. There were markets, with forks, bottles, string, shoes, matches, cigarettes, medicine, cosmetics, radios, and guns—all things I had never seen. There was so much metal, and so much color.

We were traveling southeast, across the border into Vietnam, though the concept of "Vietnam"—or even "Cambodia"—meant nothing at all to me then. Grandfather was delivering a load of sandalwood from the forest to a trader in Da Lat, in the high plains of southern Vietnam, and I helped him carry it. After Da Lat we traveled south, toward Saigon, and then began circling back.

Meet the Author

Somaly Mam is the cofounder of AFESIP (Acting for Women in Distressing Situations) in Europe and The Somaly Mam Foundation in the United States, whose goal is to save and socially reintegrate victims of sexual slavery in Southeast Asia. She was named Glamour's Woman of theYear in 2006. She lives in Cambodia and France.

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The Road of Lost Innocence: The Story of a Cambodian Heroine 4.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 22 reviews.
Tellthetruth1 More than 1 year ago
If you believe this book - You were FOOLED AND SCAMMED !! This book was NOT fact checked !! It is amazing how many people still don't know that Somaly Mam resigned from her foundation on May 28, 2014 because of lies she told about her life story and her fake "victims" Look up "Somaly Mam resignation" on the internet if you don't believe me. Somaly Mam is a fraud, cheat, liar, scam artist. She was NEVER a sex trafficking victim. She lived a normal life. Her own foundation SMF doesn't want anything to do with her and in fact "fired her" she not only lied about herself, but forced girls to lie to the cameras to scam money from donors and government officials. Somaly Mam abused the girls in her care and forced them to lie, and live in bad conditions. Somaly Mam committed human trafficking herself by forcing girls to commit fraud and holding them in centers against their will. Somaly Mam is a BAD person NOT a good person. She does not help anyone but herself.  Somaly Mam, the celebrated Cambodian anti-sex-trafficking activist who, according to a recent Newsweek expose, http://www.newsweek.com/2014/05/30/somaly-mam-holy-saint-and-sinner-sex-trafficking-251642.html fabricated her entire life story and those of the alleged victims she advocated for. The revelations have disillusioned many of Mam’s loyal supporters and left the press looking gullible. Just as importantly, they’ve highlighted the public’s seemingly insatiable desire for heroic narratives—and the willingness of many in the media to trick the public and provide them even if they are fake. News reports: http://www.cnn.com/2014/05/30/world/asia/cambodia-sex-slavery-foundation-hero-resign/ http://www.newsweek.com/2014/05/30/somaly-mam-holy-saint-and-sinner-sex-trafficking-251642.html Not only had Somaly Mam not been an orphaned trafficking victim – she grew up with both parents and graduated from high school – but she also forced, encouraged, coached and paid girls to lie as well. One of these girls was Long Pross, who, actually lost her eye to a tumor and was sent to Afesip for vocational training. The same was reportedly true of Meas Ratha, a teenager allegedly coached by Mam to say she had been trafficked when in fact she was sent to Afesip by an impoverished farming family. These two girls were never prostitutes and never forced sex trafficking victims! -Neither was Somaly Mam. DON'T BE FOOLED !! Here are some good websites about this: http://bebopper76.wordpress.com/ http://humantraffickingstatistics.wordpress.com/ http://www.lauraagustin.com/ http://www.policeprostitutionandpolitics.com/ http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2014/06/somaly-mam-scandal-victims-can-lie/372188/ http://www.newsweek.com/2014/05/30/somaly-mam-holy-saint-and-sinner-sex-trafficking-251642.html 
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dlcwoody More than 1 year ago
How sad the circumstances of which some people have to live. Or is it really living? Coming from a born and bread American it is hard to believe there are such sad circumstances that young woman have to live through, if they live through it. To have a human life have such a small importance in a civilized world is frightening. It is difficult to wrap your head around the fact that a grown man would use young woman (as young as 6-8) for personal satisfaction is apalling. Although, the information shared in the book was alarming in the least people every where need to be educated in what goes on in other parts of the world. Somaly Mam should be prayed for in the least and if we could all leave are safe worlds to help we would be getting on planes daily to help out. Icredibly moving read. I wish her continued help, support and prayers to follow through on helping other woman.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Human trafficking is currently a more profitable industry than the drug trade. Surprised? So was I. This book is the true, candid story of a resilient survivor. Somaly Mam is a visionary and my candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize. This autobiography chronicles her heartbreaking beginnings, as a sex-slave in the brothels of Cambodia, her emergence from this darkness, and her development into a global visionary and rescuer to over 6,000 girls. I recommend this book to anyone interested in global affairs, international issues, or sheerly just the power of the human spirit to overcome unthinkable pain and suffering. For more information on Somaly's amazing work, after reading her book, visit somaly.org
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Vermillion_Bear More than 1 year ago
I just happened to pass by this book after browsing the aisles at Barnes and Noble. I have an interest in human rights issues and trafficking, but Somaly really gives informative details about how child trafficking and prostitution are allowed to flourish in places like Cambodia. It was sad to hear about the government and police corruption, especially to learn many police officers ran some of the brothels. I am glad there were a few police officers willing to help her to free these girls and catch the perpetrators. She also points out how the media can put these girls through another terrible ordeal when they just focus on the sexual aspects of the crime, instead of focusing on how these crimes can be prevented and who allows these things to go on. Somaly is a brave woman, risking her life everyday to try and free these children. I hope her cause gets more attention and those trafficking and pimping these children are punished. This is a great book to read and gives information on Somaly's organization. How it started and how it is working to end trafficking in Cambodia.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
An impossible book to put down, although, there are passages when you will feel the need to do so to recuperate from the horrors you have just read. This is a non-fiction/auto biography that gets right down to your gut. I have highly recommended this to all of my friends. It's in my library to stay!!
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Lulu-NY More than 1 year ago
Human trafficking is a huge issue that affects the world right now and The Road Of Lost Innocence is where Somaly Mam shares her story of being sold into sexual slavery as well as her escape. The work she now does, as described in her book, is amazing. Reading this book gives those of us who have not seen or experienced first hand this modern day slave trade a glimpse of the gross injustices of the world. Somaly is a true hero and her work with the girls she rescues is amazing. Also, a portion of the proceeds from purchasing this book go to The Somaly Mam Foundation which rescues and rehabilitates victims of sexual slavery so while you are receiving an education on the subject, you are also doing something to help.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Ronniegirl19 More than 1 year ago
The Road of Lost Innocence by Somaly Mam is a true story of her journey through the vicious, cruel and abusive brutality she suffered in Cambodia. This is genuinely a heartbreaking book. At times, hard to read and digest. Listening to her pain, bravery, courage and tale of survival is something I will never forget. To know, in today’s world these atrocities against babies, young girls, and women are a daily occurrence sickens me. She is a hero among us all.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book is written by Somaly Mam who is a Cambodian activist against sexual slavery. She was abandoned as a baby and taken into care of a man who claimed to be her “grandfather”, but he treated her no better than a servant. She was raped at 12 years old by a Chinese man who her “grandfather” had not paid a debt to, and she was forced to marry a man she didn’t know when she was 15. Shortly after that when her husband did not return from fighting for the Khmer Rouge she was sold to a brothel. The first part of this book is about her own terrible life as an adolescent growing up and the second half is about her work with the organization she founded to rescue girls who were sold into prostitution. In Cambodia because of the Khmer Rouge regime people started to only care about themselves. They don’t help each other because they don’t trust each other. Families who got themselves into debt sold their daughters to brothels to pay off their debts, granting they could leave when they paid the whole debt off, but usually families got even deeper into debts and the girls could never leave the brothels. The conditions in the brothels were terrible; they were filthy, the rooms where the girls were forced to have sex with men had no privacy, no clean water, just buckets of dirty water for the girls to clean themselves, and it was all in the same room where they cooked and were raped and beaten at night. This book really opened my mind to the helplessness of some situations. Girls young as 12 are forced to sleep with multiple men every night… it was extremely sad to read. I would recommend this to anyone who can take feeling like they are going to cry for a majority of your read…
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I read this book months ago and still find myself thinking back to this incredible story. Of course I knew what human trafficing was but had no idea the depth of the problem. Somaly Mam has an incredible story that touched me deeply. It is probably in my "top 10" of books that have had a great impact on my life. I highly encourage you to read - especially if you enjoy biographies of people who have endured circumstances you can't even imagine!
irenecasanova More than 1 year ago
My college actually had the honor of receiving Somaly Mam at our Women's Studies Commission Human Trafficking Awareness Conference. Her story is very captivating and it touches your heart and soul. Her experiences have molded her into an amazing human being who is willing to risk her life to save other children who are going through the same situation she went through. I read this book before attending the conference and reading every single word she put in that book have kept me aware of the horrible events small children, especially little girls, are going through due to poverty in certain areas of the world. No other book has made me reflect so much on life as this book has. I recommend this book to ANYONE who wants to open their eyes to real happenings that take place in our world. This book affected me so much that now I log on to her page and donate money every time I can to help these children have a new beginning and a brighter future.
PhDrSeuss More than 1 year ago
samaly mam, the author, has gone thru alot in her life. her childhood is one that is of sorrow but she later becomes a brave woman. she tells the story of what she went thru as a child up until today. as a child she isnt sure as to who her original parents were cause shes had so many people that she looked up to as her family. as the story continues she is young and sold by her parents (the ones she accepted as her true family) who are unaware of that she has really been sold into traffickin (sex traffickin). she goes through so much torture as a child that i feel such a hatred to those who mistreated her. but she is a brave young lady who later escapes to freedom. she is later married & recalls all that she has gone thru and decides 2 do what she can 2 save those who r in need of bein rescued and cared for (especially from sex traffickin). somaly mam is the president and co-founder of AFESIP (Acting For Women in Distressing). its great knowin that there is someone out there who cares about those in need of help and can be rescued.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
When one reads books like this one, one realizes that there is a lot of ugliness in this world but that there are also incredible people who work towards making it a better place. Somaly's story is sad but at the same time hopeful, since she is helping thousands of girls who are being abused and sold into prostitution around the world. Her struggle is no easy task and one feels overwhelmed by all the obstacles she has to face on a day to day basis. But I guess every time she saves a girl she gets strenght to carry on.
Shannon1TC More than 1 year ago
Knowing that this book is a personal account and not just research done by an individual makes the book even more compelling. You can't discount the events that are portrayed in the book and you can't back away from the implications. But perhaps, most importantly, you begin to understand the environment that allows such situations to happen. While it's difficult to understand how parents can sell their children into that lifestyle or how authorities could willingly participate, knowing this enables you to understand how people can get trapped in those situations. You can understand how people would lose hope and begin to view themselves as the others around them do. You get just a glimmer of the impact that hopelessness has on the human psyche. The life of Somaly Mam also provides hope by demonstrating the strength and resiliency that resides in each one of us and by recounting the impact that just one person fully dedicated to the cause can have. Somaly confronts danger after danger as she fights for the rights of these victims. Her fight teaches us to see past the exterior of the victim and see the heart. This book forces you to confront an issue that most would rather pretend does not exist. You cannot help but swell with compassion on this unseen and forgotten underclass. You're left with the question, "what can I do" to make a difference. It's impossible to read this book without feeling motivated to take some type of action.