The Ethiopian Woman

Unintentionally, I walked into a certain port city hotel in the Persian Gulf a few years ago. As I wandered to a table, the power of aggressive female sensuality bombarded me from every side while young women from all over the world propositioned me. There, the seduction game was reversed. Yes, the rawness of women selling their flesh under the pretence that their customers are irresistible is a game; but, I respected something about their objective detachment from my values, and was curious about their aggressive use of feminine sensuality - converting it into cash for their children and families back home. Uninvited, a beautiful Ethiopian woman with fine features, dressed to seduce, clad all over in gold bracelets and a scent that made me want to lick her all over, sat down at my table.1

In a joking way, I asked, "So are you here on business or pleasure." She laughed. I told her I am a Greek named Sultan, and I'd been on the road for months. I asked if she knew of any Ethiopian restaurants in town. Before she replied, I slipped her $200 under the table. She took my hand and led me outside to catch a cab. We went to some poor section of town, away from all the big hotels and glitter. She talked about her little brother, and how her widowed mother believed she was away working for a logistics company. She talked about a boy who she loved back home who was waiting for her to send for him. She told me about how she'd been caught in a scam with some other girls, who thought they were going to overseas for real jobs. They'd borrowed money from other families in their villages, to pay the con man a placement fee for their jobs and for their air tickets. Upon arrival, the jobs all fell through, and the man left them in debt and thousands of miles from home.2

Owing over $2000 each, these girls were introduced to 'the life' by other women who had fallen into the same trap. Room and board was costing about $50 per week. The tools of the trade, clothes, contraception & beauty supplies, were another major direct expense. An average night's net income, after taxis and club door fees, would be about $70. Some nights would bring in $200, but other nights are a loss. She had been in 'the life' for about 6 months, and had just about paid off her debt. She was planning on going home as soon as she was finished, unless she could find a real job. She said that once she got back to Ethiopia she would never talk about this part of her life again. It would be her secret forever. I told her to forget about it for that night; she wasn't in the life for now. She could go anytime she liked, and I was game for anything.3

Over dinner at the Ethiopian canteen, she talked about her plans to go to university and become a teacher. Her fiancé was working as a taxi driver - which I know is the doorway to all opportunity in Africa. In my work, I get my best market intelligence from taxi drivers. They are the ones who really know what's happening in any city. I pay them well, and they often become my managers. She told me about how her father died of cancer and how her mother had struggled over the past few years. Her older brother was away at school, and her little brother was home. She was paying his school fees, and she missed him very much. After dinner, she took me to an Ethiopian night club. The floor show was magical. She seemed to know most of the performers, who ranged from young boy dancers to female singers to male musicians. I saw her give them part of the money I'd slipped her.. I asked why; she said, "These are my brothers and sisters. They don't get paid except for tips."4

It was about midnight, and I wanted to get back to my hotel. I thanked her for showing me around and started heading for the door of the night club. She said, "Please wait for me." After saying something to someone who looked like the owner of the club, she met me at the door. She said, "I am so thankful for tonight. No one, since I came to this country has ever asked me about my family. Can I please see you again? Can I at least make you coffee tomorrow morning?" I lied, and told her that I was on my way to another country. She pulled my mobile phone off of my belt and saved her number in it. She said, "You don't know how much tonight has meant to me. Thank you Sultan." She kissed me on each side of my face, and I left her standing in the doorway.5

The next morning I couldn't stop thinking about this woman. I thought of the impossible deception she would attempt upon returning to Ethiopia. Her 'secret garden' would be full of 'the life'. On the outside, she'd be a primary school teacher. She'd be a wife and a mother. She would teach Sunday school in her local Orthodox congregation. She would lie wonderfully about her year abroad, for the sake of her husband and family. While making love to her husband, she'd struggle to minimize the memories of hundreds of men who had used her body as a depository for their semen. She'd discount that part of her life into a bad dream. She would honor her husband and the reputation of her family. I wanted to go to her for that 'cup of coffee'. I pulled out my cell phone and found the number that she'd saved. I closed my eyes, and pushed the delete button.