It's been nine years since I left that world behind. I often bump into men that paid me for my body.
Between the ages of 18 to 23 I was prostituted
in over 40 nightclubs all across Spain. But what makes a prostitute?
I was born in Galati in Romania into a traditional, middle-class family. I was the oldest of two sisters. I never lacked food, shelter and education. In those days my aspirations were to work and start a family, but at the age of 13 everything was ruined when they raped me. I knew that I would never be a 'good' woman again, and they blamed me for what happened: "What was she even doing there dressed like that, all on her own?” they said.
I was born in Galati in Romania into a traditional, middle-class family. I was the oldest of two sisters. I never lacked food, shelter and education. In those days my aspirations were to work and start a family, but at the age of 13 everything was ruined when they raped me. I knew that I would never be a 'good' woman again, and they blamed me for what happened: "What was she even doing there dressed like that, all on her own?” they said.
The rapes continued and, as I was nothing
more than a whore, my "no"
was worthless. If it had been worthless before, now it was worth less than
nothing. I learned that it was worse to resist and better to keep quiet and not
answer back. One day I thought: “That's just the way things are, and it's
already done now anyway. And that's how I want it to be". I empowered
myself through sex and that made everything easier to deal with, psychologically.
From that moment on my attackers and I started to act like colleagues.
When I was 17 and a half I would have sex
with any man that crossed my path. The model that we 'bad women' were shown and
had to follow, and that still exists in Romania, was of the prostitute empowered
by money and possessions. So when a man offered to introduce me to a pimp who
could help get me to Spain to work as a prostitute, I accepted. After looking
me up and down, the pimp decided to "give me a chance" and paid the man
300 euros. He sold me.
I stayed in an apartment for six months
until I turned 18. Refusing sex with the men that passed through that apartment
meant we weren't good enough whores to be
worth the opportunity to leave the country, so we had sex with them all.
As soon as I turned 18 they got me a
passport and I travelled to Spain. We arrived at a town called Guardamar del
Segura in Alicante, where they were renting an apartment. Every afternoon a
taxi would take us to a small roadside club 6 km away, and bring us back at
daybreak. My first night was horrific. I had slept with a lot of men before, but
this was different. We had two minutes to compete between us and win over a
client. We each tried to be the best puta
of them all to gain privileges and recognition.
I cried a lot on that first night. The
clients didn't care much; at times I thought they were even enjoying it. My
pimp reminded me that as soon as I started to earn money, I would have to pay off
the contracted debt, starting with 50% of my earnings. That wasn't fair.
One
day he got a call to warn him that the police were planning a raid that night,
so he had to give us back our passports to avoid raising suspicion. In the taxi my
heart started to thump as I thought: "you have to escape! When will you
ever have your passport in your hand again?" I asked three clients for
help and one of them agreed to take me to Torrevieja...to another club in
Alicante. There, I kept on crying. I watched myself fall apart, without the will, reason or strength to bear it all.
Everything changed one day when I called a
friend in Romania, who told me he wanted to come to Spain to work, have a good
life and start a family. That gave me lots of encouragement. I told him I was
going to rent an apartment, pay for his ticket and save up some money so we
could live a decent life while we both looked for work. Every step took me closer and closer to my dream of freedom. I rented an apartment near Burgos, I made
the house look nice, did the shopping and prepared the food. It looked like a
home! I was very, very happy because I'd made it. Without another thought I
threw away all the clothes that I wore as a prostitute.
He came to Spain, became my boyfriend and
everything was perfect. Until I realised that I couldn’t get any work, money
was running out, and he was making no effort to look for a job. My dream was
coming to an end. My lover boy (as these types of pimps are known) used to say
that it wasn’t fair, that he also suffered a lot, but there was nothing for it:
I had to go back to the clubs. "At
least you have that opportunity to
earn money" he said.
So that's how I returned to the clubs, in
despair. My mind, body and soul were in pain, but there was no other option. I
started to get used to suffering and violence. I stopped thinking so that I could
not feel.
Thousands of men
go to these clubs to drink and exchange for money for sex. Most of them are
married or in a relationship. Although they are of all ages, the young people tend
to go in groups to celebrate something. They are not good clients; they demand
hard sex like in the porn movies, but for a low price.
Then there are
the men between 35 and 55 years old who usually go alone, or with a couple of
others. They can be divided into two categories: firstly, the ones that want to
show their manliness and their sexual potency in front of the other guys. They get
worried and need to believe that paying to fuck a stranger is an act of
humanity, so they can go home in peace. I learned to how to put on an act, to
lie and say whatever they wanted to hear. Because what they all had in common,
every last one of them, was that they didn't want to see the person behind the puta.
Then there were the solitary weirdos who
usually paid a lot of money to leave the club and go to their house or hotel.
They are the men that hate women, and the only place where they can go to
channel their hatred is the world of prostitution. I tried my best to avoid
them but more than once, with the money as the only motivation, I agreed to go
with them. On those occasions I was very scared and I saw my own death before
me. At least two girls didn't come back from one of these visits. Sometimes I
think about them and wonder what happened to them. What if they had been
murdered, and nobody found them or their killers? A woman's life is not worth as
much as a man’s, but a prostitute’s life is worth even less. We are just 'anyone'
and 'no one', so it doesn't matter.
One day, tired of everything and seeing
that my loverboy wasn't going to keep his promise, I told him I was leaving
prostitution for good. He pressured me for two weeks to change my mind, but
when that didn’t work he came to the club, dumped two big black rubbish bags
full of my clothes and things, and he left.
Later I saw an opportunity and I took it. I
asked a young client to take me to his house for a few days to rest and look
for a job, and he accepted. It was good for him because he got free sex. After two
days I found an advert in the paper for a waitressing job. I called, went to
the interview and started the next day. I was very scared. Everything seemed strange.
The daylight, the people, the voices, the laughter. I had to readapt to normal
life after five years of living under the red-light. Things went very badly
with the man who took me in, and he ended up with a restraining order for
stalking and threatening me with death. However, I realised that being a victim
of your partner in a couple is even worse than being a victim of a sex buyer.
After that I began to change into a new person.
It’s been nine years since I left the world
of prostitution, and I was very lucky to find a job, in a town very close to
the last club where I worked. My emotional wounds are very deep, but little by
little I have made progress and begun to heal. Feminism has a lot to do with it
– and especially my soulmate Graciela Atencio, director of Feminicidio.net ,an organisation I have participated in. When I understood that what had happened to me
was more than just a personal story, but the story of women, I was finally free of all the shame, blame and stigma that
weighed me down, and I could start to recover.
Now I see the clients from the outside, as
they go about their everyday lives. I often bump into men who paid to have my
body back then. But the other women only see men, friends, brothers,
neighbours, sons...they never see sex buyers; they create a hidden reality.
They feel very safe and legitimised in what they do; happy to enjoy their
privileges and the women at their disposal. Private and public women.
Two years after leaving prostitution, I met
the man who would become my husband, and with him I learned how to have an equal,
respectful and non-violent relationship. Today I consider myself to be recovered,
although sometimes I have nightmares and have to sleep with the light on,
because waking up in the dark gives me panic attacks and anxiety – I don’t know where
I am. In the darkness I don't know if I'm being raped, or in that roadside
club, facing death, when you know your only escape is to keep quiet.
Translation by Ben Riddick
Original article in Spanish:
http://verne.elpais.com/verne/2016/06/29/articulo/1467190903_598354.html
Translation by Ben Riddick
Original article in Spanish:
http://verne.elpais.com/verne/2016/06/29/articulo/1467190903_598354.html
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ReplyDeleteThis is a marvelous achievement!I feel an immense sense of gratitude for such inspirational people. Lots of love! Thank you for your courageous, though provoking article!
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