Recently, I spent an afternoon with the financially poor, waiting for food and clothes and a bus pass. Two weeks prior, the young girl with whom I sat had been relocated from another state, fleeing an abusive pimp. She had already found a job at a fast food restaurant, but lived with family friends in a derelict house with little food. From poverty she fled to the streets, found drugs and sold sex in Vegas before her “boyfriend” took over her body. Sold her. Beat her. Sold her. Beat her. But someone noticed. And knew. They called the FBI who labeled her abuse sex trafficking and got her out. But to poverty she returned.
Read the rest over at A Sista's Journey.