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So how do you spot one? Just spotting a woman driving here is the equivalent of catching Ronald Mcdonald riding a pink elephant down your local high street. Not surprisingly there are no happy hookers swinging their patent leather handbags round the back of Kabul Bus Station touting for business.
No, the sex trade is one of those supreme examples of the parallel universes that exist out here. Kabul is unlike any other city in the country. It has a high proportion of young men who are now connected to the outside world via progressive TV stations, the internet and smart phone technology. They feel it in their fingers, they feel it in their toes and sex is all around them and so the feeling grows.
In the ancient power struggle of sex versus religion, the mullahs seem to have the upper hand. But enter stage left — Prostitution — the oldest profession in the world. Highly illegal but as most Afghan men will testify, pretty common. Even during the Taliban times there were apparently a number of brothels here.
Even though many ex-pats believe they can shape-shift into an Afghan male by simply growing a beard and throwing on a shalwar kameez, the world of local whore-mongering remains completely taboo for the kharajee foreigner. Just like Kings Cross but without the chewing gum.
Westerners, it seems, have to make do with Chinese and Russian imports. I had no time to warn my guards about visitors and hardly any time to tidy up. The walk of shame into my compound was palpable. Even though both of them were wearing matching burqas their profession seemed obvious. Maybe I was projecting but I felt the whole street was silently tutting. Husband killed by Taliban whilst working for the Americans. No money, no job, no hope. She finally got a job at an international NGO but it came with offers of paid sex from Afghan staff.