My body is torn, like my country: Prostitute

DAMASCUS: The road up to Sednaya in the Damascus countryside is well lit at night. However, they are not the lights of the municipality, streetlights or illuminated civic buildings.

They are the lights of cabarets and nightclubs, which stay open till late in the morning. They are teeming with prostitutes.

In the Al Carawan Cabaret, Layal, a 22-year-old Iraqi, speaks about how she had gradually joined the oldest profession in history. While she recounts her story, her tone is indifferent. As she puts it: "She has nothing to lose."

In spite of recent reports about hundreds of Iraqis returning to their country, Layal says she will not return to a country that "has no jobs."

"People there are concerned about surviving, not about pleasure," says Layal, who lives with her mother in the Barzeh quarter in western Damascus.

She adds, not without a sense of sorrow: "Prostitution exposed us to life in the underworld and also to life in the upper world."

Layal does not like Americans. She is fond of asking God to destroy them because they invaded her country. However, no sooner has she stopped cursing America, then she starts to remember the dark era of Saddam's tyranny. She finally curses all Arabs.

She would not hesitate to wear revealing clothing at home, even when she has guests, she says. But in the street, she is keen on putting a scarf to cover her hair and a long brown coat.

She justifies this by saying "people here care only about appearances. It's better like this."

Unable to speak about her profession in the presence of her mother, she asks her to go out shopping. After her mother is gone, she says, her profession brought her money "but also a headache." And again, she has "no choice".

How did she begin? A good question.

Her father was killed in the war in Iraq, leaving them penniless. Three years ago, she and her mother came to Damascus. They rented a small house in Jaraman, near Damascus, but they quickly ran out of money.

Her small salary in a workshop was enough only for food. The landlord raised the rent after six months.

They were about to be thrown out into the road, when the landlord hinted to her that she could stay if she slept with him. She did, but she was not happy about it.

She and her mother stayed for a year, until they moved to a better house in town. In order to pay the rent, she started to sleep with people for money.

The majority of prostitutes in Syria are non-Syrians because it is difficult for Syrian girls to be prostitutes in their own country, Layal says.

"They have to leave for other countries to do so," she explains. In Baghdad and before the war, Layal had different ambitions. She wanted to become a beautician.

"We became prostitutes," Layal says using the pronoun "we" to indicate herself, as is usual in Arabic.

"We became like any other monument in the country, which young sightseers visit when they come to Syria," she says ironically.

She continues that many Iraqi families have left to go back to their country because it is hard to have their residence visa renewed.

"And some simply got tired of living in a foreign country," she explained.

How do Iraqi girls hide their profession?

Some, Layal explains, claim they are artists while some pretend they are dancers; others prefer to say that they work in a restaurant. Prostitution has spread into many neighbourhoods of the city and to the countryside.

"Nowadays, the situation is getting more difficult, because of a sagging demand for Iraqi girls. Clients prefer Syrians if they can get them, or Lebanese and Moroccans," she said.

And what are the prices?

"They vary," she says.

The location of the house plays a role here, she explains. Those who live and work in good neighbourhoods can ask for higher prices. Layal lives in a good neighbourhood, and she asks for 80 dollars to 100 dollars per hour. Sometimes, she even asks for 200 dollars. If she goes to the client's place the price is even higher.

But life is not easy, she says, as pimps take most of the money she makes.

Still, Layal and "Mama" lead a reasonably prosperous life. However, she says, she cannot go back to Iraq because she has "lost herself." She means her chastity.

"Even if thousands of refugees return, I will stay," she says, because for those who do our job, their sweet home is where they find demand."

Layal does not want to get married or have a family. What does she wish for? Nothing, she says, I only want to tell people that Iraq is now a torn country, just like my body, and will never return to what it once was. "Mama, too, her heart has been torn," she adds.