The Reality of Child Sex Trafficking: A Story of Kani and a World Racer – Part I

Imagine a mountainside full of lush green flora with bananas, mangos and rows of ripe vegetables cascading down little hills. In between the trees and gardens are little square and rectangle homes high up on stilts with walls built out of bamboo, wood and thatch. Children run under the homes, through the gardens and around little shops and stalls selling produce, baskets, and daily necessities. Little pigs squeal as a little girl catches and scoops it up, holding it close to her. A chicken and her chicks meander through the streets pecking at anything that fell from the trucks that carry fruits and vegetables in to the nearest town. Cats bask in the sun as the dogs follow their noses to the closest source of food. Life is good.

Imagine the girl who was holding the pig close walks back home to find her home empty. Her mother is gone and no one is there to take care of her. Her grandmother is not able to support the girl and is already in debt from taking care of her other children’s kids. The girl spends the night alone, walking through the dark village calling out for her mom. She returns home hungry, empty of tears and exhaustedly collapses onto the wooden floor of her home. 

Morning comes. The girl, Kani, wakes to muffled sounds. The door to her home opens with the light of the morning sun blinding her. “Mama?” Her grandmother’s voice whispers something to a gentleman who grabs the 7 year old girl and picks her up kicking and screaming. She leaves in the back of a pick up truck which should be carrying the day’s produce to the market, but instead takes a trip to a darker and more costly market that you could ever imagine.

We had just finished our time working and having dinner at a children’s home and were craving a pit stop at 7 Eleven before we got home for the night. Next to the 7 Eleven were food stalls that sold everything from salads to rice and meat. Tonight we found a stall selling the most delectable desert you may ever have called “rotee”. Some of my team had decided to line up and buy some. You could get it plain, drenched in sweet milk, butter and sugar, or you could get it with bananas and any chocolate bar you wanted mixed in. It was like a funnel cake or as we described it, “heaven”. I opted out and followed my team back to the truck. The night felt great. This town was beautiful and, while pagan, the temple that illuminated the hill that overlooked the shops and homes was enchanting. Wow. Thailand. I can not believe I am here.

With full bellies, laughter and smiles that could make the grumpiest person crack a grin, we climbed into the back of the truck. I pushed myself far back into the bed and watched as the rest of the team stuffed ourselves in. We were all giddy over how good the snacks and rotee were. We reminisced of home and air conditioning and the ability to run to Chick-Fil-A whenever. Oh, Chick-Fil-A! Laughing I turned my head and looked back across the street towards the stalls. There, next to a light post was a young woman, maybe still a teenager. I tried to look away but for some reason my eyes stayed focused on her. Something was different. I realized her shoulders were dropped and her head tilted down and partially staring at the ground and then around to see if someone was looking. I then noticed her clothes. She was wearing only a nightgown that extended down to her kneecaps and slippers to keep her feet from being dirty. With a furrowed brow and pursed lips my mind was trying to process what I was seeing. I looked up and saw her looking at me. Her eyes were full of sorrow and emptiness. She was selling herself. She was stuck in sex trafficking. 

Pt. II: Click to Read

Image Sources
Girl: http://www.flickr.com/photos/16146765@N08/6256746447/
7 Eleven http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7455/9114244024_5e3be05daf_m.jpg