The Harlot

Mir Mahboob Ali

We got friendly with this lady, by chance, in a hotel while attending a conference in Guayaquil, Ecuador. Guayaquil is a small town, interestingly, situated on the estuary of a river that shrinks and expands, vastly, during low and high tide. Standing on the bank, while the water was receding fast, I missed my motherland. Though, the river is not as wide as the Meghna is at its estuary, the receding muddy water body had a striking semblance. Sylvia appeared in my thoughts. Was there a similarity of her with the river? “Otherwise, why had she replaced the river?” I wondered. The lady, Sylvia Enrique, is a gynaecologist by profession attending the conference as a local participant. When I first saw her in the corridor of the conference hall talking to my colleague who was attending the conference with me, I thought, she was one of those girls loitering around and was looking for casual relationships. I saw my colleague, a very complex character but shy, looking mysterious in the half dark corridor of the conference hall, talking to a woman clad in a red dress. As I know him, he is not very comfortable mixing with women. However, the way he was conducting himself with this lady, he did not seem to lack in skill of dealing with the opposite sex. Perhaps, he was feigning shyness all the time back in Bangladesh. I was not very sure that he was feeling very comfortable, as I could not see his face clearly because of the shade. The next time I saw her passing by, in her tightly fitted dress, I called her quite rudely, “Hey you, come here.” She obliged. I was irritated that she was pestering my friend who was on his maiden journey outside Bangladesh. I thought she must have chosen him as an easy target bypassing me. I was a bit jealous as well, perhaps! I continued, “So, you have come to the conference as a participant,” with a tint of disbelief in my voice. “Yes, I am a local participant.” So, “you are,” I said, still not convinced totally. My friend quickly intervened, and introduced her as Sylvia and a participant. I was still not fully convinced for there were other beautiful women who were leisurely reclining on sofas showing off their barely covered beautiful legs, clearly but subtly aiming us. They were much more attractive and looked respectable. But, nonetheless, I decided to be polite with Sylvia.

A civil conversation followed and I was delighted to find out that she was a physician, much later she protested my rude behaviour and by that time, we were quite friendly. Brown complexioned, dark haired, slim and tall, she is quite attractive. She has a five years old daughter, from a relationship in USA, and currently is living with her old parents. She went there in search of a better life, her medical education still incomplete. In the USA, she got into a relationship while working illegally, eagerly hoping to improve her lot by earning legal status and completing her education. When inadvertently she gets pregnant, she for days considers many alternatives to deal with the pregnancy and abortion is one of them. Anyway, finally deciding to go ahead with the pregnancy, she tells her boyfriend and expresses her willingness to keep the child. Casually, as if it is not a big deal, he suggests abortion, as he is not yet prepared for fatherhood in any form. The matter is so trivial to him that he does not stop to think even for a moment; neither there is any expression of any emotion, happy or sad, excitement or disappointment. The man does not even think for a moment before suggesting abortion, for he is not thinking and does not realize the seriousness with which Sylvia is considering the matter. It is beyond his dreams that Sylvia could think of having a child just now. A very emotional Sylvia, unable to discern any change in his boyfriend and his very casual suggestion as if the pregnancy is a routine matter, is maddeningly enraged. Seething with blinding rage, she leaves her boyfriend. After staying with a lady colleague for a few days, she moves in with another man, an old friend from Ecuador who she met a few months ago anew in the USA after a break of a few years, quite by chance. Sylvia takes photographs of her pregnancy chronologically in very scanty cloths and even without and meticulously pastes those in an album labelling it ‘Sylvia’s Motherhood’. After the baby is born, repentant the baby’s father comes back and proposes marriage. Instantly without giving any serious thought, she refuses the proposal, as her new boyfriend, the man from Ecuador and she has already planned to return to Ecuador and marry. It was not to be, Sylvia was destined to become a physician. Back home her Ecuadorian boyfriend already has a wife. So, after the revelation dejected, and heartbroken, she goes back to medical school and struggles through a year of studies to complete her graduation. Leaving her child with her parents, she takes an advanced degree to become a gynaecologist. While, we are visiting her parents, enthusiastically, she brings the ‘motherhood’ album for us to go through. We are hurrying through the album but she does not let us. With great care, she begins explaining each of the shots mentioning months and days and the circumstances, and her mental state etc. at the cost of great discomfort to us. We blush through the album painstakingly. Does she notice? Perhaps, in her enthusiasm, she does not. Otherwise, she would not have subjected us to such discomfort!

Sylvia is employed in a government hospital as a consultant Gynaecologist. Her salary is barely enough to support her family and therefore, is forced to work in a non-government organization in the evening far off from her residence. When we visit her house, which she has built on her father’s property in a middleclass neighbourhood, we find her living in austerity. “Even the furniture in the house is unbecoming of a physician”, I think. She is not too happy working under a British Nurse married to a local physician, but circumstances compel her to. Sylvia is very candid about her disliking of the project chief. Though, the lady has been very courteous to us, we have not been able to form a pleasant picture of her. We are completely under the influence of Sylvia’s animated description. Such is the power of manipulative influence. With the limited time we have we do not have any chance of listening to or observing the other side of a story.

Taking upon herself the duty of showing us around, she takes us to different places. We visit the hospital she is working in. When we come to her ward, nurses surround us and begin to talk and whisper incessantly, punctuated by giggles. Even their giggles are in Spanish, we could not understand a bit. Sylvia becomes the official interpreter. She says, “These nurses are very happy to see you with me. They like you very much. If one of you becomes my friend they will be very happy.” Later, she tells me, “They liked him (my colleague) much more than they liked you.” Deep within I am not happy to know that. I instantly think, “I hate those nurses. Bitches, witches, pigs … how would they recognize a handsome man,” silently, I comforted myself.” We also visit the project she is working in at the outskirts of the town. In an area of about a square mile there are rectangular one-roomed houses housing the destitute. The houses are built on platforms at about a height of a metre from the ground. It is so, because, in the rainy season sea comes into the creeks and fills the land. Otherwise, the creeks stink filled with litters and brackish blackened water.

On one of the staircases of three or four flights a woman is sitting, holding her baby on her lap, crying silently, and tears rolling down her cheeks. She is crying incessantly oblivious of our presence ignoring our queries. Two other children are inside the room crying. After her husband abandoned her with the children without any provision, she takes to prostitution, finding no other way to survive. In fact, she takes up the oldest profession that humankind knows just to keep her children alive. She is the ‘eternal mother’! On our arrival in the evening workers of another organization that provides houses for these poor people come to the spot. They inquire about the cause of her loathsome condition. Spanish being the mode of communication Sylvia the interpreter comes into play. She seems to enjoy her new role very much. In fact, she is very happy to be able to use her wonderful English. We are at a loss to comprehend if people around her are admiring her beauty or her fluency in English. Anyway, to me both her beauty and fluency are equally captivating. I would not vouch for my colleague but I am mesmerized. Sylvia tells us that the woman is still hungry with her children. She has absolute nothing to feed herself and the children. Moreover, her clients that stayed the whole night with her left her in the morning without paying. These merciless hoodlums have also beaten her, as she demanded her wages. There was nobody to protect her. Sylvia also tells us that that is the case with many of the women sheltered there and that it happens almost on a regular basis. The goons are protected by political parties or by the law enforcing authorities we guess, though we are not told so, very clearly. The woman is a black Ecuadorian unlike Sylvia who is of Caucasian origin, about thirty years old, well built and good looking. Wearing an emaciated look from last night’s starvation and torture and unlimited worries for the children, she silently keeps on shedding tears unmindful of the surrounding. O God, I prayed, “Have mercy on the mother who is forced to choose prostitution just to keep her children alive and let the inhuman bastards those cheated her burn in hell forever!” Tears filled our eyes, unknowingly, though we are accustomed to such incidents in our country “Golden Bengal”! I believe in such a distant country the similarity of human nature, perhaps, surprised us. It should not have! Sylvia’s organization is there to look after their health not to provide them food or shelter. The health project chief arrives and orders food and provisions, which is beyond the mandate of the organization. We pondered, 'why was she left uncared for till the evening!' Besides being responsible just for health, Sylvia’s organization has a perfect excuse in not being in the field before four in the evening.

Since there is no organization to arrange for their livelihood, they are free to choose their livelihood. Freedom, dear freedom …! So, these free people chose their own profession and they are responsible for their livelihoods. Protecting them from hoodlums is the duty of the government. Government as is the case with poor countries seem to lack resources, both financial and moral. Talking of governments, we enthusiastically start inquiring about the form of government that is in power and its activities regarding alleviation of such stark poverty as we are witnessing now. We are hushed into silence and are told that it is not safe criticizing or talking about the shortcomings of the government openly. With impending election in Ecuador, as reported, people should have been able to discuss the performance of the incumbent government. That is not the case. The situation is much worse than ours is. However, unfortunately, we have no way to ascertain the truth and we are depended on information provided by the locals that we have met. It, therefore, should not be taken as the whole truth. In any case, we have not forgotten that Ecuador is financially a much, much better off country than ours is. Nevertheless, the poor are very much like ours. This black Latino harlot’s children, perhaps, will never know who their father is. All three are girls and they would most probably follow their mother’s footsteps. I wished, “O God, let them have a normal life! Send the tyrants to hell immediately so that they might not continue torturing the poor and the week.” I am totally at a loss to understand why back in my country I am not shaken by the sufferings of the have-nots, as I am in a foreign land. I am dejected, shaken and visibly saddened.

Various projects dealing with different aspects of problems of the poor assure us that these children would never be allowed to fall in the vicious circle that their mother is in. Their polished and calculated details of plans to extricate these unfortunate people from the curse of poverty do not convince us, though we have no reason to disbelieve them. I hope they were truthful and they had kept their words. I intensely pray and wish that of all the people in the world these three girls get proper education and have a normal life.

Immediately on removing the curtain from the huge windowpane, covering one side of our suite and looking below a swimming pool comes into view. Next morning, looking down through our window, I see a lady swimming in the pool. In the early morning under soft bright sunlight in her bikini, she looks wonderful, cavorting in water. It is an exquisite sight to behold. Suddenly it dawns upon me that before this day I did not know that a human body could look so beautiful and immensely attractive. Reflecting sunlight on the crystal clear water of the swimming pool enhanced the mystery of beauty in its pristine form. Venus had descended on earth and I was watching her from heaven. I am absorbed in relishing the sight and am startled by the sleepy voice of my colleague. He says, “What are you doing there, don’t you remember Sylvia is coming to take us on a tour.” I hated being disturbed thus. I said in rude voice, “I do remember but you have forgotten and you are still in the bed!” He said that he was sick and requested me to accompany Sylvia. He also requested me to tell her that he was sorry he could not go.

Sylvia clearly is independent to choose her partners unlike the harlot. Obviously, she has no inhibition at fulfilling her desire if she so desires. I am apprehensive when she offers to take my colleague alone on a tour of the town. She does not say that in so many words but simply hints at her preference. My colleague sends me down to the hotel lobby to accompany Sylvia instead of him claiming sickness. His sickness is very sudden. I am not at all convinced. Nevertheless, to be alone with a lady and that also with an uninhibited beautiful lady is a pleasing proposition. So, gladly leaving him in our seventh floor suite, I come down to the lobby and wait for two hours for Sylvia. She is nowhere. I wonder if the ‘sickness’ is a shrewd ploy to keep me off. I then think, “No, my colleague would not do that.” About Sylvia, I am not so sure. I do not feel like going up to find out the truth! I go on to loiter around and foray into a bazaar at a distance of a mile from Hotel Oro Verde. There in the bazaar red Indians, the aborigines of the continents of America are vending their goods that include vegetable, fish, meat, herbs, and shrubs, clothe and condiments etc. much like our New Market, only it is in an open space. It is, probably, a weekly market and fortunately, it coincides with my tour. I have no way to know, as I have no guide. Sylvia must be busy somewhere else. Where, who cares! I find myself murmuring, “Whore, harlot, harlot …”