Prostitution

I knew I would inevitably reach this topic sooner or later. What made it sooner though, is that I was shocked to notice that prostitution in Egypt is on the rise, as contrary to the current ethical and religious cover the country wears nowaday. Never has been a time that corruption was a matter of daily life, something that you have to live with and take as a fact, as we are witnessing nowadays!
Now, you might have preconceptions about what I'm about to say here. Believe me this is different. The Cairian district of Mohandesseen has been a NO ZONE for me during summer. I simply decided not to hang out there (from July to September), for a number of reasons. But under great pressure from my friends I gave in for once, thinking it may serve as a reminder to stick to my resolution, which I've been sticking to for almost a decade. Anyway, there I was in the middle of all the chaos, noise, ugly sights, and crowdedness. I became so depressed that I was unable to join any conversations and I started looking through the glass front of the coffee shop we chose. I never saw a prostitute at work before. Heard about them, may be seen a few who got the reputation, but never actually witnessed one of them making a business deal. I was so amazed! And I found myself so intrgued that I actually thought about walking out there and talking to them. Like a TV interview, and ask all the questions that movies never attempted to give answers for.

The girl looked like a gathered car from the junk yard! She looked too young for what she's doing. She wore pretty expensive clothes but looked like a total mess in them. Her hair was half blond half brunette. Her make up made her even look messier. You'd say nothing in her fit the other. But she was so self-confident. She would stare the guy in the face and make an eye-contact that I bet was never thought achievable by communication trainers. She stood there as firm and as seriously as a business owner at a meeting. It then occured to me. Well, it's pretty much the same. She owns her body, that's her goods, and she's making a deal for selling it. But the scene looked nothing like what we see in the movies. She didn't exhibit her sexuality, she didn't laugh, she didn't look friendly at all. She was clearly and seriously stating her rules, her conditions, her price. Seems, they got a rough point during their negotiations, but reached an agreement in the end. She was victorious in imposing her conditions, I suppose. She then walked would him, as if they were long term friends. She never looked around. It never occured to her, that maybe someone like me is watching the whole thing. Never thought that there's someone out there who knows about her business deal. Or maybe she didn't care. And that's what I thought to be the case most probably. Why would she care? What did I or anyone else do for her? Did we care enough about how she ended up now, that she would care about us? What if she's labelled a prostitute in today's world where everybody has his/her own way? Why would anybody care about her anyway?

She wasn't the only prostitute I saw that night. I saw a couple of others. But I spent the whole night thinking about this girl. A million questions would run into my mind. At first I was full of pity. I was thinking about what could have been the reasons that drove her down this road. I said she is most probably a victim of poverty, bad life conditions, absence of parents, social negligence, you name it. Yet, as I thought about it more and more, I just said "Hey, she's in good health, she could work and earn a decent living." Yes, even if she never received any education, she can work. She just wouldn't be able to buy the expensive clothes which don't fit her anyway. But she wouldn't have to sleep with strangers. Isn't that enough?

Then another different scenario occured to me: A girl from the countryside, she gets married at the age of 15. Her husband disappears after a while and she's pregnant. She has a baby to take care of besides her family who sold her off to the rich man to solve their own problems. Instead of providing for her, she now has to provide for them and her baby. The man who got her the first groom offers another one on the condition that she gets a piece of the pie. One marriage after another, the girl discovers that she's actually a prostitute and that the man shares her profits. She decides to own her own business. She's now free. She puts the terms. She decides when, where, and for how much. She can dye her hair blonde, she can wear expensive clothes (even if she may look funny in our eyes, she feels happy and satisfied) , she can provide for herself and her baby. She can put him in a private school and pay its fees, he can have a future that is far better than what she had. Who cares if she's a prostitute? Does anybody know her? Even those in the shops who probably know about her business, would they refuse selling their goods to her if she has the price? What if she is the most honourable woman in the world but didn't have the money? Would they welcome her in their shop? Nobody cares. I repeat, NOBODY CARES.

She's free. She owns her body at last. The body that she always hid in shame. The body that received the beatings of her father. The body that was raped by a husband or whatever is the name. The body that everybody disgraces. It's hers at last. Nobody has a say over it, except herself. She chooses when and to whom to give it and for what price. She's no longer a victim. She has nothing to be ashamed of. She got the price for everything. That's what matters.

The real victims are the men who disgrace her by day and pay to sleep with her at night. The real victims are the cockoldmen who think that it is perfectly fine for them to have sexual freedom and refuse to see that it takes two to perform the act. The real victims are those men who go about looking for pleasure everywhere while they lock up their women at home. The real victims are those who live by this girl's money and still call for ethics and veiling women.

Prostitution is a dirty job, but whose hands are clean?