Photojournalism: Child Marriage & Sex Trafficking in Bangladesh: cm_br_asj-07

{quote}Samira{quote} waits for customers at a brothel. She was married at 12 and trafficked to a brothel two weeks later.
‘I ran away from my husband after seven days. He was only about 15 or 16, but he raped me so violently that one morning, when I knew he was asleep, I slipped out of the house as quietly as I could, and ran. I left my shoes behind because I didn’t want to wake anyone up. I was so scared about what would happen to me if I was caught.

I ran back to my house, but I was too frightened to go inside because I was covered in blood and bruises. My mum died when I was 11, so my brother and sister had arranged the marriage because they couldn’t afford to look after me any more, and I knew leaving my husband would make them angry. So I asked a rickshaw driver to take me across {town} to my friend’s house – but he told me I should be ashamed of myself, and dropped me off at the brothel instead. I didn’t understand where I was. I just saw all of these women wearing weird make up and strange clothes. But I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I stayed. When they told me I needed to sleep with men for money, I figured it didn’t matter. I’d already been raped. I might as well get paid for it.Sometimes I feel like it was my choice to end up here, because I’m the one who ran away. And I’m the one who didn’t leave. But I don’t understand how I could feel so unhappy if it was my decision. The pimps taught me how to have sex so that it wouldn’t be so painful, but my whole body still aches all the time. Even I ask the customers to be gentle with me, it hurts so much that I can’t help crying out. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t cry at night. Mostly, I cry because I miss my mum.’


"Samira" waits for customers at a brothel.

She was married at 12 and trafficked to a brothel two weeks later.


‘I ran away from my husband after seven days. He was only about 15 or 16, but he raped me so violently that one morning, when I knew he was asleep, I slipped out of the house as quietly as I could, and ran. I left my shoes behind because I didn’t want to wake anyone up. I was so scared about what would happen to me if I was caught.

I ran back to my house, but I was too frightened to go inside because I was covered in blood and bruises. My mum died when I was 11, so my brother and sister had arranged the marriage because they couldn’t afford to look after me any more, and I knew leaving my husband would make them angry. So I asked a rickshaw driver to take me across {town} to my friend’s house – but he told me I should be ashamed of myself, and dropped me off at the brothel instead. I didn’t understand where I was. I just saw all of these women wearing weird make up and strange clothes. But I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I stayed. When they told me I needed to sleep with men for money, I figured it didn’t matter. I’d already been raped. I might as well get paid for it.

Sometimes I feel like it was my choice to end up here, because I’m the one who ran away. And I’m the one who didn’t leave. But I don’t understand how I could feel so unhappy if it was my decision. The pimps taught me how to have sex so that it wouldn’t be so painful, but my whole body still aches all the time. Even I ask the customers to be gentle with me, it hurts so much that I can’t help crying out. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t cry at night. Mostly, I cry because I miss my mum.’