In a smoky karaoke room, she stood still amongst many other girls. She wore a make-up that was forcefully smeared onto her face. Her dress was short, tight and cheaply wrapped around her small waist. A fake gold necklace hung across her chest. She glanced back at the lustful eyes that yearn to place their bare hands onto her naked thighs. She was 15.
Her name is ‘number eleven’. If number eleven was needed for a quick shag, she will obediently walked upstairs and undressed herself. Sometimes, she is only needed for a blowjob. Once done, she will re-touched her make-up and came out for another rounds of work shifts. In a day, she could have up to 20 different men on her bed. Some took longer than others. Number eleven dutifully completed her chores just so that she could make $30-$50 per month.
Watching the documentary called Finding Home (by Rapha House) about sex trafficking really send chills down my spine. While I was under a warm blanket and flicking through ASOS for some off-shoulder dress, there are girls somewhere around the world being raped over and over again. They are like many other girls who left home to find a humble job in the city, just so that her brother could go to school and her father could buy more alcohol.
Some were stationed in a massage parlor, some behind a phone shop and sometimes, in a small filthy dim shed. They dressed overtly mature for their age with cigarettes in between their index and middle fingers. Occasionally, there are faint bruises across their faces -meticulously covered by wax of make-up. Within their rowdy loud voices, runs a very deep fear that sometimes, costs their lives.
In this world where demand has to be met by supply, these perpetrators seemed more and more fearless. With the presence of disgustingly corrupted officers, sex trafficking has become a lucrative business groomed purely by greed. They too, are a father, a brother, a son –who someday, might have a daughter of their own. Would they equally happy to allow their daughter’s dream to be soiled by dozens of foul penises, day in and day out? Some of which even carry HIV.
These girls are in fear. They are even too scared to breath. The choice of having any dreams was taken away from them and due to poverty, they have very little room to break free. They thought once they have done enough ‘service’ to redeem themselves, they will return to their families. Unfortunately, they will be sent back on the street because her dad has not been paying rent for the last 6 months. For them, it is like living in a very dark hole of no light in sight.
If you have a coffee spilled on your leather jacket and called it a bad day, think again. If you have too much to complaint about instead of being thankful, think again. If you are upset for not having many likes on your instagram, think again.
At least, you’re not number eleven.
P/S: Please visit raphahouse.org to learn more on how you could help ❤