Prostituted

Prostituted

I cannot help but to be affected. I cannot help but to meddle. I cannot help but to feel hatred in things I wish I do not hear, but the source is just too near. The conversation is not that loud, but its contents are shouting. Her voice is firm, but is begging for mercy.

My fellow expatriate’s bed is next to mine. Each morning she would call her family back in her country and with the tone that each daily conversation is being carried through, I knew that each conversation is just forced. It seems to me that the entire family just feels obligated to talk to her. One morning she called and I got awaken by her voice...

“I will send you money to buy Chinese noodles for our daughter’s birthday.”

“It is not enough? But it is the only money I have now.”

“Where is our daughter now? What you don’t know? She went for a school rehearsal and you did not bother to check her up? You just believed what she said?

“Why don’t I go home and be the one to run after our children?!.....”

The husband turned off the mobile on her face. Minutes after that I heard a series of sobs, sobs of restrained pain and anger.

She asked me once if I could give her a date. I knew it was not a joke, for there are nights that she would just disappear in the middle of the night or not go home anymore and go straight to the money transfer upon returning the next day to send whatever money she earned that night. There are times that she would receive calls and would try her best to speak Arabic, “Ana irid pataka fil telefon.” (I need credit for my mobile).

My heart bleeds for her. How many prostituted mothers are there because of irresponsible husbands who don’t have balls to provide for their family? How many prostituted mothers are there because of capricious, selfish children who are only thinking about what latest gadget they should have that another classmate is possessing?

They say expatriates or overseas workers are the world’s modern day heroes. But let us all go back to basics.  Before hailing us heroes appreciate us as your wife and mother first.

Tomorrow morning, just before my alarm wakes me up, I would wake up to the sound of the firm voice once again. Surely minutes after that, I cannot help but to listen to the restrained sobs of the prostituted mother in the bed next to mine.