This is my friend, Pastor Shaukat Gill, with the Sadique family, a few weeks before their freedom. The Roshan brick kiln was on his and his wife, Rehana’s heart. All five daughters of this bonded labor ( slave) family were born in the brick yard. Here where they toiled as a family, locked in bondage, working under the hot Pakistan sun, forming 1,500 bricks a day, six and a half 12 hour days a week. They were led into thinking that they were working off a nominal loan, but in reality, it would never have been paid down. These beautiful girls would have grown old making bricks. I know, because I’ve visited a dozen more brick yards during the second half of August, 2020, in Pakistan, interviewing several much older daughters , who were once like Sadique’s younger daughters, but now old; Brick Yard Old. No one ever knows what’s in the brick master’s black accounting books. For the Sadique family, a $200 loan twenty eight years ago, sinisterly crept up to 198,158 Pakistani rupees ( $1,239 US ). This is interest from hell.
Shokat and Rihanna are the real reason Sadique’s family is now free. The brick master, although he was wrestling with letting the rest of 13 families go, spoke of how he watched Shokat and Rihanna, come over twenty times to minister to the Christian families in his brick yard.
I had the easy part, hopping on a plane with three socks filled with cash. In total, we paid the ransom of 13 families. Four were freed prior to my coming. I sent money to shokat every fifteen days, to free one family at a time. Once Shokat asked if we were going to buy the freedom of the three Muslim families in the Roshan Brick yard. There wasn’t any question in my mind. Jesus came to free all. For the first time, now that I’m back in the USA, several freedom loving people have sent over funds to keep freeing human beings locked in debt bondage. I’m very grateful, for I have a goal to empty a second and third brick yard on Christmas Eve, and Christmas, and then a third one at Easter. ( possibly three on Easter) I was given honor everywhere I was led. And massaged over most of my head and body everywhere I went, wether I wanted it or not. One night, we were in a courtyard, and a couple guys and a couple gals were massaging me, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man from the brick yards sitting on the cot next to us and watching. I had him lay down, I excused myself from the others, and massaged him. He needed it much more than I, for he had been hunched over, working 10 hours that day, making bricks.
Oh God, who sees all, knows all, and hears all, Let this joint freedom cry strike force, provoke those who have the power here to enforce the law (never enforced) against this bonded labor. Pakistan is an amazing and beautiful country. The people love much. They give much of the little they have. The hospitality I’ve received I can’t describe, because I would cry. I have been massaged enough for ten life times by all the sons and daughters and security men of my hosts. The brick yards would not have to be disbanded. I really wouldn’t even mind working in one, if I lived here, and knew I’d get the minimum wage of $6 a day, and not a buck for a thousand bricks a day, and never get to leave.
Freedom Cry 