Ladies of the Night

What would conversations with a Malagasy prostitute look like? For one thing I think its unfair to phrase such a general question. after a handful of chats with these so-called ladies of the night during my vacation in Diego-Suarez, I've come to learn that there are a myriad of reasons why one would choose such a profession, if you can call it a choice. I asked many of them why they do this. Though the answers all had variation some of the common themes were because they needed to send money to their families living in the countryside, or because they prefer vazaha (foreign) men, or maybe they were just making their own.

Many of these lady's clients were foreign men in their upper forties, fifties, and sixties as I observed in Diego and Nosy Be at least. As disturbing as I found some of the elderly French men being escorted by beautiful young Malagasy women, old enough to be their grandaughters, I respected that these women for the main part choose this over abject poverty. It's hard for me to judge these women when I see what the alternative for them is. I've lived in rural Madagacar, and I can sympathize.

Many of them told me that they prefer foreign men even if they have families in their home countries over many of the Malagasy boyfriends they've had because, "at least their nice to me". Many of these ladies appreciate that they aren't beaten by their foreign patrons. I'm not saying that all Malagasy men are abusive towards their spouses or girlfriends or that domestic abusive doesn't occur in the States. However I feel that it evokes a less visceral reaction here when mentioned in public. People seem to blink twice, sigh, and perhaps say, "fa magnanio" "its just like that" or "Mijali Malagasy" "Poor Malagasy".

I woke up on emorning and as I walked outside to the balcony of the Peace Corps transit house I heard a man beating a woman who I assumed was his wife next door. She was screaming, wailing and begging for her life. I heard thudding and intermittent slaps and punches. All I could muster myself to do was lean against the rails and cry as if in some sort of hopeless solidarity with her. So instead of putting prostitutes in jail why don't we ask why they do this and go from there? Then maybe then there wouldn't be so many to use as scapegoats for our societies faults.

By the way stay tuned to my future post about the same topic. I would like to return up North in order to investigate deeper into this serious sociological issue. Also, I really just want to hang out with some of these ladies who have a charm, wit, and sense of humor I find so refreshing.