An Indian prostitute asked me today if I eat rice. Yes I do, I tell her. I have been taken for a stroll through one of India’s largest and oldest red-light districts – Sonagacchi – and it’s definitely not a place to wander alone. The women line the street in their brightly coloured saris and they all want to know my name. A local elder is accompanying me and she holds my hand the whole time. She puts herself between me and the men who are walking past. I’m shell-shocked. This street is where thousands of women end up after they’ve been sold and trafficked against their free will. They are tricked and put to work at the ages of 10, 11, 12 and 13. There is a huge link here between poverty and trafficking, I’m told. It’s so awful and I can’t believe this happens on a day-to-day basis and the world just keeps on spinning. Local madams control the girls – they own about 5 or 6 – and they share a bed. While one girl is with a client, the rest will line the street touting for work.
We stop for a cup of chai tea in tiny clay cups and when we’re done we just throw the cups on the ground. I can’t believe it! Why not wash them and reuse them?
On the bright side – I’m writing a story about a local business in this district run by Kiwis who are working to free women from the sex trade. I’ll post a link to the story on Facebook in due course.
Sorry no photos with this update – it was too dangerous to carry a bag around in Sonagacchi, let alone a camera.
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