Some people view prostitution as demeaning to women as well as a negative vice.“All women are prostitutes” I hear people say, growing up. Whenever I try to find out why, I get this answer ‘ask your mum, how many men she slept with before meeting your dad?’
Women from all walks of lives have suffered the ‘ashawo’ name calling syndrome. Some men upon having quarrels with women result to calling them an ‘ashawo’. Let a man fail to woo a girl because he is not in the same league with the girl in question or she tries to be hard and she will be tagged as ‘ashawo’.
‘Ashawo’ in English means ‘prostitute’. It is a term given to any woman considered to be loose. In other words, it is used to define a woman who offers sex in exchange for money or material things.
There is this woman in my hood who is constantly called ‘Ashawo’ because of her sense of fashion. Indeed, certain ways some women dress earn them the name in our part of the world.
Most women’s fashion sense is below the belt, they dress to show their body curves (though I enjoy looking at them! Laughs). Some things I believe should be reserved for the bedroom.
You’d think men are exempted from this. No! There are men who offer sex on commercial basis. They are called gigolos, in other words “Ashawo”.
I have heard people say lots of things about Wednesdays! As a Wednesday born I feel so proud about this day. I always treat myself to something special on every Wednesday. “I love Wednesdays”, I have always said to myself.
A friend once retorted “so what is so special about Wednesday and being a Wednesday born?”.
Lots of things make Wednesday a special day for me. The people I admire, cherish and love the most in my life were all born on Wednesdays. Talk of my grandmum, my mum and of course my girlfriend.
Not forgetting my father and even my step mum were all Wednesday born. I know you will doubt me if I said, over half of the ladies I have dated are all born on Wednesday.
Hope I have convinced you enough why I’m so much in love with Wednesdays. I said previously that I always treat myself to something special on Wednesdays. Treating me to something different is not too big a statement. It’s something I do to appreciate the special day.
It was Wednesday and I was planning to go to town when my phone rang. I checked and it was a friend calling me to meet her for some “business discussions”. Though the money involved is nothing to write home about, I decided to give it a shot, so I went to see this friend.
I managed to make it to the venue right on time after enduring the usual heavy traffic in Accra. After about 30 minutes of discussions, I was set to return home to get ready to go to the beach for my treat since it was a Wednesday.
Considering the traffic, I knew there was no way I could sail through on time. After few minutes of waiting, a taxi stopped in front of where I was standing and luckily for me, one passenger alighted, so without any option I hopped in the taxi and off we went.
I sat close to this fair looking lady who without any doubt showed signs of being a prostitute. Indeed I didn’t need to be told she is one. I could see for myself. Next to this lady is another man who alighted midway through our journey.
Seated in the front seat was another dark looking lady who is the definition of a talkative. She made me regret being in the same taxi with her. But do I have any option?
People were still grappling to come into terms with the new petroleum increases and some taxi drivers have taken it upon themselves to exploit passengers.
Most passengers were also at their wits end to fight back the drivers. The interesting scene in my taxi took my mind back to when prices of petroleum products were increased some years back, where a trotro mate fought passengers for the little increment in the transport fares. It was interesting watching mates and passengers fight over as low as 5 pesewas.
From the look on the face of my driver, it was clear that a passenger had offended or annoyed him earlier on. His demeanor said it all and he sounded like someone who had either guzzled glasses of the local wine ‘akepeteshie’ or had suffered some punches like Joshua Clottey did in the hands of Manny Pacquiao.
He had this wild looking face and he kept sweating profusely. Eventually we skimmed through the traffic to Danquah Circle.
Nina, the fair looking lady signaled the driver that she had reached her destination. She handed a GHC1 note to the driver who in return gave her 40 pesewas. “Driver, what is this? I gave you GHC1 and you have given me 40 instead of 60 pesewas”, she angrily said in Twi.
The driver retorted in Ga, “Don’t you know that fuel prices has been increased?” For about five minutes, the driver exchanged words with Nina for a difference of 20 pesewas.
How did I get to know her name? Someone perceived to be her friend shouted her name from across the street when the taxi got to Danquah Circle, to which she responded with a wave.
Watching them, I observed that Nina’s Twi wasn’t that good but she managed to make her point to the driver whose Twi was also a mess. But they both managed to get their messages to each other amidst wild gestures.
“Driver if you don’t give me the 20 pesewas, I won’t get out of this car today, tomorrow or forever”, Nina threatened after several exchanges. All this while, I was quietly enjoying the show but the other passenger started to get impatient with the driver for the unnecessary delay.
So with pressure mounting from the two women, the driver sensing defeat threw the 20 pesewas to Nina but not without adding, “Get out of my car, is it not ‘ashawo’ you are doing to do?
Get out ‘ashawo’ ‘tuu tuu’. Get out of my car, ashawo woman”. The rest of the insults cannot be typed. I started laughing and shouted “Eii, driver, have you enjoyed her services before?”
He just looked at me and chuckled. But Nina would not let him go free like that. She fought back. Her tone as she said these words to the driver made me like her gut “Kwasia driver, so you will give it to me? Cheat like you, next time you will know who to cheat”.
Nina left after the drama and the driver drove off in a heated mood. “Which driver wouldn’t be angry if defeated in this manner by someone he had labeled as a prostitute?” I thought.
Suddenly, I remembered listening to a discussion on the radio one hot afternoon about a man who was going through a counseling session with his soon-to-be-wife after the woman confessed to him that, she was once a commercial sex worker (prostitute). So he brought up the issue on air for listeners to call and advise him on whether to go ahead and marry her or not.
“This man is just crazy, what is he waiting for? He should just go ahead and marry this woman without wasting any more time”, I soliloquized. Interestingly, majority of the callers advised that he shun the woman and move on.
This, I found quite strange. But in actual fact, what is wrong with marrying a self-confessed former prostitute? Hmm! But come to think of it, what’s the difference between a prostitute and a regular girl next-door? They all have sex; one gets paid and the other does it for free.
The so-called good home ladies are the ones we refer to as our ‘girlfriends’. We keep them as girlfriends, yet all or some of our male friends know exactly what kind of panties they wear or used to wear. We deceive ourselves thinking, they are clean yet they can tell the sizes of our male friend’s penises. They say they love you yet their bodies are gladly offered to various sugar daddies in how-much-you-can-pay-fashion.
As I sat there in the taxi thinking about this, I couldn’t help asking myself; who really is a prostitute? The street ashawo’ or ‘house ashawo’? The taxi finally got to Papaye and I got down to get some food. As I watched the taxi move away, I said to myself; are they all not the same? Like the Ghana cedi, the value is the same.
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