06/03/2026
The Girls Durban Pretends Not to See
Last night I went on outExpose HOPE with Expose HOPE. For those who are new here, Expose Hope works with the s*x workers of Durban.
What most people see of Durban is the beautiful side. The beaches. The nightlife. Restaurants along Davenport. Florida Road buzzing with music and laughter. The bright hotel lights along the coastline.
But behind all of that beauty is something else.
Last night was messy. Crazy. Emotional. And deeply, deeply sad.
Because behind those lights are young girls selling something far more precious than anything that should ever have a price.
Not vetkoek. Not lashes. Not braided hairstyles.
Their bodies.
Men roll up in cars with tinted windows asking the girls their price. Then they drive a little further down the road and wait, waiting for desperation to set in so the girls will lower their price.
Human bargaining.
We first went to Lazarus House to check on one of our girls. She has been in the industry for a long time. Drugs have wrapped their fingers around her life, but she wants out. She truly wants out.
She had been clean for almost a week.
We were planning to take her to Ixopo, where she could be safe. Away from the streets. Away from the pimps. Away from the drugs. A place where she could rest, restore herself, get healthy and learn new skills so she could rebuild her life.
But change is terrifying.
The unknown is terrifying.
And sometimes the life that is killing you still feels safer than the life you don’t know yet.
Fear pulled her back. Back into the choking hands of s*x, drugs and men.
Now she is hiding. Too ashamed to face us. Too scared we will stop loving her. Because the world has taught her that when you fail, people leave.
But the truth is we love her. And when she is ready again, we will be there. Hopefully one day we will still make that trip to Ixopo together.
The night was still young so we continued our outreach.
We handed out food and sanitary pads. Small things that mean the world when you have nothing. We spoke to the girls, listened to their stories and looked them in the eyes so they know someone actually sees them.
We were also looking for another girl we had not seen for months.
She was around 14 years old when she entered the s*x industry. She is 18 now.
For four years men have been ra**ng her and getting away with it.
One of Durban’s forgotten children.
No social worker willing to help. No Department of Social Development stepping in. No safe house willing to take her because she is on drugs.
Not drugs she chose for fun.
Drugs she needed just to survive. To numb what was happening to her.
Out here girls disappear for months. Sometimes they run. Sometimes they hide. Sometimes they come back.
We asked around at the brothels. Many girls said they had not seen her.
Then we pulled up at one brothel that was on lockdown. No girls going in. No girls coming out.
Something had happened.
But nobody was talking.
That kind of silence sits heavy in the air. The kind of silence that tells you something terrible has taken place.
A young girl, I don’t think even 18 years old, walked up to us.
She was wearing shorts and holding her shirt over her chest to cover her still developing breasts.
She is just a child, someone’s daughter.
But life threw her to the wolves.
Her tiny, exhausted body had not rested for days. The only thing she asked for was something to eat.
When we asked if she had seen the missing girl, the silence that followed was deafening.
Our missing girl had been murdered.
Cut into pieces.
And left in a park to rot.
The fear in the girls’ eyes changed instantly. Because every single one of them knew it could have been them.
Vashti, the founder of Expose Hope, broke down. These girls are her children and in that moment she felt like she had failed to protect one of them.
Not long after that terrible news, another young girl came running toward us. She was panicking.
Her friend was missing.
She was scared.
We promised to keep our eyes open.
Then another girl, hardly 18, approached us. When I asked her if she was okay, she answered quietly, but with tears in her eyes “For now.”
Her face was filled with fear.
She told me she wants to leave this life but she can’t. She is too scared. She has no one. No family. No safety net.
Before I could even say anything else she disappeared down a dark alley.
And at that moment I was thinking about my own teenage girl at home.
Earlier that day she had given me a big mouth and I was frustrated with her teenage attitude. The eye rolls. The hormones. The arguments.
But in that moment I felt nothing but gratitude.
Because my girl is safe.
She has someone who loves her fiercely. Someone who will protect her and fight for her.
These girls have none of that.
I love them like a mother and I tell them that.
I’m sure they don’t believe me.
But I will keep telling them anyway.
The streets last night felt different. Fear was lingering and police were patrolling.
One girl told me that the other night the police sprayed them with pepper spray, not only in their faces but also on their private parts.
She described the pain, something I can only imagine.
And this is where the system becomes cruel.
Because these girls cannot report r**e. They cannot report abuse. They cannot always access medical care.
Why?
Because they are s*x workers.
S*x work is illegal.
So if they report something they risk being fined.
And to pay that fine they have to go back to the streets and sell themselves again.
The Department of Social Development often refuses to take these girls in because they are addicted to drugs.
So there is nowhere for them to go, no safe space, no way out.
So the cycle continues, spinning faster and faster.
Durban looks beautiful from the outside.
But behind the beaches, the music and the skyline are girls fighting to survive another night.
And far too many of them will never make it out.
I got in my Uber to go home last night to a house filled with warmth, safety and love.
But the girls stayed behind.
Still standing under street lights.
Still getting into cars with men whose names they will never know.
Still fighting to survive another night.
Someone’s daughters.
Someone’s little girls once.
Except somewhere along the way the world decided they were no longer worth saving.
And that, breaks my heart over and over again.
I share this because it is something we also do. We get babies in that came into this world because of the s*x industry. Our work is not pretty or perfect. It’s messy and hard, and being a safe space out there, we might safe a baby or even better mom and baby.
