Service Learning at the Waikiki Health Center

by Emiko Ching



entry #1

March 12, 1997

From the second I walked into Kimberley Gallant's office, I knew I would enjoy volunteering at the Waikiki Health Center. I stood there for a second, taking it all in. Pictures, knick knack's, toys, books, tons of posters (my favorite is the one with the New Guinea proverb "He who conceals his disease cannot expect to be cured"), papers strewn everywhere-- truly the office of a social worker. Oh yeah, there were condoms. Lots of condoms. What really caught my eye was a huge white poster board with a crude drawing of an angel and short scribbled notes from various people on it. It wasn't until after I was alone in her office and had time to actually read it that I realized it was a tribute to a dead prostitute. Tears filled my eyes as I read all the touching sentiments written by her friends on the "track", and I couldn't help but wonder if she was killed or if she had taken her own life. The fact that she may have died from a disease only occurred to me just now.

I spent most of my three hours of service time that day stuffing newsletters in envelopes and reading articles about prostitution. Though I didn't feel I was providing the community much of a service, I did learn a lot. I must admit, I was rather ignorant about prostitution. I knew it was a far cry from "Pretty Woman", but I had no idea of the desperate lifestyle these ladies lead. Stories of incest, rape, torture, and mental abuse almost made me forget I was reading about real people. I couldn't even begin to fathom what a day in the lives of these girls is like. It seemed to me that a sexually transmitted disease, though possibly fatal, would be the least of their worries; a mere inconvenience compared to being raped and beaten on a daily basis. I was embarrassed to think about some of the trivial things that keep me awake at night. I went home that day with the realization that although my life isn't exactly ideal right now, it's far from the stress-filled drama I sometimes make it out to be.

That night, for the first time since I was in ninth grade, I thought about becoming something other than a nurse. I considered becoming a social worker instead. I thought a lot about my mom who was also a social worker. What a fulfilling, and at the same time, disheartening job it must be to try to heal a person's mind and spirit.

My second day at the Waikiki Health Center was a little more microbiology related. I spent most of the three hour period sitting in the STD/HIV hotline room reading pamphlets and listening in on calls. They got four calls (all from the same person) the whole time I was there. This constituted a busy day for them. The calls were from a man who believed he contracted a sexually transmitted disease from being in a hot tub. His only symptom was a swollen left testicle. After flipping through the massive binder of STD information, Trish, the hotline operator, urged him to either come down to the clinic or see his regular physician as she could not find any STD's with such a symptom. She did this all four times. I am not looking forward to working that hotline.

That night we planned to go out onto Kalakaua Avenue, or "the track", as they refer to it. My job was to distribute the latest issue of the WHC's bimonthly newsletter and meet the ladies at the same time. Kim had me print up a little flyer to enclose in the newsletter as a way of introducing myself. I wrote it in the form of a personal ad including my likes and dislikes, and excluding my age and marital status. It had a cool shamrock border, too. I was pretty excited about going out on the track. I had no idea what to expect from the prostitutes.

The night before I went out, I explained to my dad that I would be going out to Waikiki late at night to pass out condoms as part of my service learning project for school. My dad being a man of very few words just told me to be careful. Having lived in the same house since I was born, I have become rather close with my neighbors, so of course I had to tell them where I was going. They all had a good laugh and were genuinely concerned about my safety. Also, they wanted me to bring them some condoms.

That night as I walked from Ala Wai Boulevard where my car was parked, to Kalakaua Avenue, I wondered what the women would be like. Of course I had seen a hooker before, but like many other people, I had just written them off as trashy women who subscribed to a lifestyle I neither agreed with, nor cared to learn about. I was never more aware of my surroundings as during those five minutes it took me to get to the track. I finally reached Kalakaua Avenue and met up with Kim and Paul, or "The Condom Lady" and 'Dickhead" as they are known on the street. Equipped with newsletters, condoms, lollipops, and other various snacks, we headed down toward Jack in the Box to begin our evening.

As soon as we were spotted, girls were running up to Kim and Paul with outstretched arms ready to greet them with a hug. Clearly, Kim and Paul provided these women with much more than just condoms and STD information. They gave their love and friendship free of judgment. There were a few women who came up to us just long enough to grab some condoms, but the majority of them stayed to talk for ten or twenty minutes. For lack of a better word, they were just normal people. We were all surprised at how open and accepting of me they were. Most of the ladies laughed and joked and conversed with me as if we were hanging out at a party. I really enjoyed the whole experience. That is not to say that I didn't feel despair for these women or anger at the men who put them there. I felt especially sad when I met a prostitute who was only fourteen years old. With the heavy make-up and fancy clothes she looked older, but she still behaved like a child. And why shouldn't she? She still is one. Kim mentioned something about the young girl and one of the older women responded, "If that were my daughter, I'd kick her ass." I found her comment both touching and sad. It was touching to think that she recognized this job as a despicable way to live and would do anything within her power to keep her daughter off the streets. However, it made me sad to wonder why someone hadn't cared enough to do the same for her fifteen years ago.

Though I did not speak to any of the women about sexually transmitted diseases that night, I believe I did something even more important. I began to earn their trust as someone who is here to help. Perhaps in our future meetings they will feel comfortable enough to ask me questions concerning their health.




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