She’s 10-years-old. She loves to sing about Jesus. She’s good at addition but struggles with subtraction. She smiles a lot and the younger children look up to her. Her dad could sell her into prostitution any day now. She is Human Trafficking.
He was orphaned at a young age. With no one to care for him, he was left on the streets only to be found by a pimp. Not only was he sold into prostitution, he was raised believing he is a woman. His identity was stolen. His innocence was stolen. He is Human Trafficking.
The two women work together in a bar on Bangla Road. One has only been there a few weeks; the other a few years. They cloak themselves in a facade, appearing to want to work in this business while actually dying inside every day. Their families depend on them to send money. To not provide would mean rejection and isolation. They are Human Trafficking.
Her mother was only 14-years-old when she was born. She was tossed between families, schools, affection, or lack-there-of, her entire childhood. By 17 she was forced to provide for herself. By 17 she was forced into prostitution. She is Human Trafficking.
Before I left on this four-month journey I’d read about the horrors of trafficking, sexual exploitation and prostitution. I’d seen movies and television shows. I’d prepared myself as much as possible about what seeing it all face-to-face would be like. I wasn’t prepared at all. Everything has become personal, because I now have faces and names instead of words and pictures. I held the 10-year-old girl. I spoke to the man. I laughed with the women at the bar. I hugged the woman who longed for a mother who was but a child. My eyes and mind will never forget these beautiful children and people who have changed my life in so many ways. Human Trafficking is no longer a phrase to me; it’s physical and emotional bondage thrust upon people I love.
