Sex worker’s plight
TODAY we bring light to the stories of homeless sex workers like Mary (not her real name), who find themselves living in the shadows of Suva’s dimly lit alleys.
Standing at five feet two inches, Mary, a petite 24-year-old, shares how she ended up as a sex worker on the streets.
Her story is unique but almost like the dozens of girls on the streets, scrawny, bruised and huddled around a small light of hope.
She emerged from the wreckage of her family to fend for herself on the streets.
At the tender age of 14, Mary began exploiting her body in return for money.
“I grew up with only my mom, we lived together but too often I found myself begging for her attention,” Mary says.
“She treated me differently, she cared more for her partners than she did for me.
“I felt like everything I did was wrong, and I experienced physical and mental abuse at home.”
At her young age, Mary could not have known any better. She began taking to the streets in search of the love she couldn’t receive at home.
To her, sex was an act of love and a means of survival. Indulging in the nightlife, scared and alone, it was the only way she knew she could survive.
Looking at her, one would assume Mary was an innocent young girl, but her looks belie the fact that she has been a sex worker for sometime and for her, business was at its peak.
She claimed she was always busy with clients; her clients surely must know she is young despite the odd coloured lipstick she wears and her tiny glittery dress. But to them, it is pleasure before consciousness, excitement over dignity, lust over human decency.
Through it all, she tried her best to stay away from drugs until her inner demons took over.
“Some of us take ice before we start our business, we don’t feel anything, we are numb to the experience,” she says.
The drugs would addle with her mind, she wouldn’t know what she was doing or what was being done to her.
After 10 years on the streets, Mary has been exposed to all kinds of people and all kinds of treatment. Brutality, accusations, the look of judgement from other people, hate, but very seldom love and care.
“I’ve had experiences where clients would beat me up after I’ve finished with my services.
“They wouldn’t pay me as if using me wasn’t enough, they proceeded to hurt me and at times I got thrown out of the car.
“People judge me, they call me names like kalavo and bajaru and so forth. Restaurants often ask us to leave even when we wish to buy.”
Mary also claims to have escorted clients in positions of power and with status in our very own communities.
She began to evolve when she quickly realised that she needed to be tough if she wanted to survive on the streets. Now, she’s barely recognisable from the little girl she once was.
“I had to be rough, an eye for an eye. There were clients who would treat me badly, I made sure to give them a taste of their own medicine.
“If they swore at me, I would swear back. If they hit me, I would hit them back, but thank God I have the body and the legs to run away from those who overpower me.”
Business for her now isn’t as demanding as it was, she earns $50-$80 per day but on some days, nothing.
“I get about $50-$80 during the weekdays, on weekends it’s on, full swing.”
During the interview, she mentioned she hadn’t slept since the night before as she was still looking for a customer.
“I haven’t slept since last night; business has been slow recently.
“If I do sleep, I must go somewhere safe. We go in groups. Life on the streets for a girl is difficult, we are subjected to ill treatment, to inappropriate touching and non-consensual intercourse.
“Sometimes we are forced to give up what we earn by our own people, it’s either fighting or giving it up. Usually, it’s the latter.”
Hungry, drained and desperate, Mary’s light hazel eyes tell her tales. Rocking back and forth with bruises all over her body, Mary is still hopeful for a better tomorrow.
“I will not be like this forever; I will get a job and live a decent life,” she says.
She and her friends burst in to laughter when she said she wanted to be a model.
Wearing a skimpy polka dots dress over a tiny striped top paired with worn out sneakers, she defies the rules of fashion that stripes and dots don’t go together.
For people like Mary, it is the hope for a better tomorrow that enables them to hold on. The stigma that comes with being a prostitute is inevitable.
She feels she has lost all human rights and dignity just because of her human instinct to survive.