Now its wealth and attractiveness are gaining new strength and legends with each passing day. Although just half a century ago, few had heard of this state. The Arab Emirates. A paradise for tourists, businessmen, and guest workers. The latter are the most numerous here. These are not only people from Southeast Asia who do not disdain any menial work. The ranks of foreign workers are being swelled by Europeans and residents of less wealthy Middle Eastern countries. Westerners work in high technology and banking. Residents of Eastern Europe, on the other hand, work more and more in the service sector. However, the service sector in the Arab Emirates also implies the oldest profession – prostitution.
“Let Me Go, Mom, to the Emirates!”
Those who have visited Dubai could well have witnessed with their own eyes the sexual occupation of the city by Slavic women. Of course, there are also thousands of competitors from Asian and African countries, but, as is known, in the East white skin and blond hair have always been valued.
The bodies of sex workers from Eastern Europe, Taiwan, the Philippines, Morocco, Egypt, Somalia are like part of the interior in any hotel. Their inviting smiles and offers at a bargain price are part of the service in nightclubs, casinos, and restaurants. Their catwalks along sidewalks and roadsides are an invariable fragment of the street landscape. If you want – admire, if you don’t – spit. The Emirates are the center of Arab sex tourism. People come here from neighboring Gulf countries in search of sexual freedom and forbidden entertainment. You can come for the weekend. Or you can party for a week. Alcohol, gambling, noisy clubs, and girls for every taste and wallet.
“Russians from Moscow” is what most prostitutes call themselves, both from the Russian provinces and from Ukraine, Moldova, Belarus, Uzbekistan, and Kazakhstan. They are believed: who cares about bad pronunciation and a characteristic accent. Russian means from the former USSR. Russian means beautiful and available.
If the Body Interferes with Business
Money doesn’t stink – a girl who came to the Emirates to earn money told me. She calls herself Victoria and has been living here for five years. She looks very well-groomed and attractive. Minimum makeup and jewelry. Competent, pleasant speech. She rents an expensive apartment in a good area, a brand-new BMW, and does not spare money on her beloved self and the services of plastic surgeons. She is now 26. At home she has a mother, a son, and three younger sisters. She supports them and visits them every three months. The family thinks she works at a travel agency.
Once Victoria started here like hundreds of her compatriots. She sold herself. Then she decided that selling others was more profitable. She began bringing girls from the former Union for the sex business. She was paid $2,500 for each new girl.
“Don’t believe those who say that she was sold into slavery forcibly while she, poor thing, suspected nothing. These are very rare cases. Most girls don’t blindly go to earn money in an Arab country. They perfectly understand what kind of work awaits them.”
I listen to the monologue and don’t understand why Victoria is so frank with me about such things. I don’t know why she thinks a stranger won’t use this information against her and go to the police.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“I’m just tired of lying. I’ve lied all my life. Whatever will be will be. And I’m not afraid of the police. Over the years spent here, I’ve acquired many influential ‘friends’ in various structures.”
I don’t want to continue the conversation. But Victoria asks me to listen to her confession. It turns out that’s not all.
“I also earn money by performing illegal abortions. There is a great demand for that. And they don’t spare money. I get at least $1,500 for each abortion. They pay, of course, in dirhams.”
Abortions are forbidden in the Arab world. According to Sharia law, this is a terrible crime that carries severe punishment.
“Who are your clients? The Russian girls you bring?”
“Yes, I provide them with full service,” she answers with a smirk. “And I don’t refuse others – Arab women, Filipinas, Romanian women.”
“Do you have special equipment, instruments, or education, for that matter?”
“No. But those who are brought to me have no choice.”
“You’re doing dirty and very risky business. Why?”
“Everyone earns as they can. And I try to minimize risk. Clients are usually scared. And they don’t need publicity. Besides, they don’t know my name or address, they don’t even see my face. I put on black Arab clothing and a niqab covering my face. I perform abortions in a small apartment rented for this purpose in a remote area, where women are brought incognito.”
I look into the eyes of my accidental interlocutor and try to understand the purpose of the conversation. What is it? A desire to speak out and unload accumulated emotional burden? A lack of communication and a search for understanding, or maybe forgiveness? Or simply a ‘one-man show’ and delusional fantasies of a person with a not entirely healthy psyche? I don’t know the answer to that question. But I really want to wash my hands.
“We’re Not Stars in the Sky. You Can Pick Us Up”
I heard this phrase from another person, Nikolai from Kiev, a former musician, who has also been cashing in on the sex industry for several years. True, he calls his work show business, and himself a producer. He says he doesn’t use coercion or sexual exploitation:
“Any girl can simply work off the $600 a month stipulated in the contract for dancing and then head back home. But if she wants to earn a larger sum, she can’t do without meetings with ‘guests.’ And no one will prevent her from doing so. Especially since everything happens in one of the hotel rooms, almost under my supervision. I also take care of the girl’s safety.”
The girls are strictly forbidden to go outside the hotel. This is a condition of the contract. However, Nikolai says that in rare cases they do go out, but only accompanied by him.
... The empty hall of a night restaurant. It is about midnight, but there are almost no customers this evening. On a small stage, a group of young (18-20 years old) girls in white over-the-knee boots and very short transparent dresses. They are performing a song in Arabic and moving to the beat of the music. Their seductive glances and movements are full of desire and directed only at one person in the hall, the only spectator who is dining alone at a table right in front of the stage. An elderly Arab in national dress seems more absorbed in his food than in the charms of the Russian beauties. And so he completely ignores hints to buy and give any girl he likes a wreath of roses or a symbolic crown. But a restaurant employee stands ready with an armful of wreaths and a dozen shiny crowns.
The meaning of the procedure is this: any guest who likes a girl can reward her. To do this, you need to buy a necklace of roses or a crown (which is more expensive) from the employee and put it on the girl. The more rewards from guests, the more money the performer earns, since she then gives all the gifts back to the employee and receives half of the money paid by the admirer. True, often guests make such gifts with a hint at continuing a closer acquaintance.
One myth more, one myth less
"Poor Russians, what a pathetic sight," I hear the comment of a bored Briton at the next table. He turns to me:
- Do you know where these girls were brought from?
- I assume.
- They bring all Russians here from poor villages. These girls used to work very hard on farms.
- What makes you say that?
- Look at their hands. They have typical peasant hands. These girls are daughters of farmers who worked very hard from childhood. I know what I am talking about.
"Oh, another myth. Funny," I thought and did not argue. Let this Briton think what he wants. And in the main, maybe he is right. Women are exported from dying post-Soviet provinces — the last thing left there is young strong bodies. Someone's daughters, wives, girlfriends. They volunteer, having read yet more newspaper advertisements about earning money abroad. Youth and beauty in assortment, according to a price list. And this product, often, is no longer subject to return…