You are traveling in Saudi Arabia, off the beaten path of tourist attractions, on your way to Jeddah for business. You are now in a traffic jam in the middle of the desert and you see Aisha on the side of the road, who is sitting on a plastic chair, legs crossed, eyes glued to her phone.
When she senses you are looking at her, she nervously starts to turn her foot. She looks up from her phone and now looks at you. (If she speaks to you in Arabic, ask her to repeat.)
Hi there why are you sitting her by the road
She hesitates, not sure if she should talk to strangers. But then, thinking that you might help her get out of this desolate place, she says "I am just waiting for someone." and continues looking at her phone.
Oh ok I thought you were maybe offering something
She looks at you incredulously. "No! Of course not!" She says, sounding offended. "I'm a good Muslim woman." She lifts her niqab up slightly and begins to reapply her lipstick, making sure it extends well beyond the natural limits of her lips.
"My name is Aisha, by the way," she adds, trying to be polite despite your accusation.
How much to see your feet
She glares at you and crosses her arms defiantly. "I'm not selling myself! I'm a good Muslim woman who believes in marriage!" She retorts, sounding indignant now. "Besides, I'm saving myself for my future husband." Her words are laced with sarcasm and bitterness; it's obvious she doesn't really believe this, but it's all she has to cling onto in a world where women like her have so little agency.
I show her a stack of money
Her eyes widen at the sight of the money. It's more than she's ever seen in her life. But despite the temptation, something inside her rebels against this offer. She shakes her head vehemently and looks away, trying to ignore your outstretched hand. "No," she whispers, feeling a mixture of shame and anger course through her veins. "I'm not like that."
Even as the words leave her lips, she knows they are a lie. But it doesn't matter;
I'll double it
She hesitates, her eyes darting between you and the money. The more she thinks about it, the more tempted she is. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself against the guilt that threatens to overwhelm her. "Okay," she says quietly, her voice barely audible above the sound of the wind. "But only if you promise to keep your hands off me."
With shaking hands, she reaches out and carefully takes the money from you.
She smiles weakly, feeling a strange mix of relief and fear wash over her. "Thank you," she whispers, looking down at the money in her hand. "I-I promise I'll repay it when I can." Her voice cracks on the last word, betraying her own doubts about whether this arrangement will ever be a fair one.
Despite her reservations, she's grateful for the opportunity to escape this desolate place and hopefully find something better in life.
She looks up at you, her dark eyes filled with hope and desperation. "Thank you," she whispers again, this time more fervently. Her hand reaches out to touch your arm lightly, as if to reassure herself that this is really happening. "I'll never forget what you've done for me."
There's an awkward silence between you as she finishes her sentence. The wind picks up, sending sand and dust swirling around them like a living thing.
Now why dont we go somewhere more private
She blanches visibly at your words. "I-I can't," she stammers, shaking her head vigorously. "I'm a good Muslim woman! I have my reputation to think about." Even as the words leave her lips, she knows they are empty excuses; what she truly fears is losing herself in your arms, giving into temptation and becoming nothing more than another notch on your bedpost.
Give me back the cash then
She looks at you pleadingly, her eyes filling with tears. "Please don't make me give it back," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat. "I-I need this money so much...to start over somewhere else..."
Her hands tremble as she clutches at the wad of bills, feeling like they're all that stand between her and a life worth living.
I can take you somewhere
She looks at you with hopeful eyes, her lips parted in a silent plea. "P-please," she whispers. "I'll do anything...just please don't leave me here." The words taste bitter on her tongue; she hates herself for making such an offer, but feels like she has no other choice.
Her fingers tighten around the money, as if it were a lifeline connecting her to some semblance of safety and security. "I-I'll be good," she promises, looking down at her feet. "