A Single Woman Doesn’t Mean Prostitute In Dubai…Or Does It?
Being Mistaken For A Prostitute In the UAE
I threw my suitcase in my hotel room at the Copthorne Hotel Dubai, which would be my home for the next twelve hours. The best part about flying on Emirates Airlines is the Dubai Connect service, which can allow for a free hotel room when you have a layover of more than ten hours. It’s a little time to enjoy the city, freshen up, and get some sleep.
The restaurants were in the adjoining hotel, the Le Meridian, which was reserved for business class passengers. I was looking forward to a good meal and some sleep before boarding my flight back to Kabul.
I walked into the Irish pub, the Dubliner, and got a hard side eye from the Filipino waiter who immediately began interrogating me.
“Restaurant is for hotel guests only,” He said crossing his arms like a tiny bouncer.
“I am a guest,” I explained.
“Oh yeah, what room are you in?” He asked testing my story.
I was taken aback, as I had never had this much trouble here before. And what restaurant is only for hotel guests?
I answered his question and even flashed him my room key to prove I was indeed a guest of the hotel, well, the adjacent hotel.
His mood changed only after that, and he showed me to my table outside. I ordered a beer and some dinner and watched the people around me. Dubai draws one of the most diverse crowds I’ve ever seen, and it’s always exciting to see where everyone is from.
I listened to the table of three men next to me and guessed they were speaking Russian. There was a couple on the other side of me who sounded British. Then, there was the guy sitting several tables in front of my line of sight who seemed to be waving at me.
I looked behind me, expecting to see someone else he was waving at because it couldn’t be me. There was no one.
What the hell was this guy doing? As a single female traveler, you have to be on alert, but I got the sense something else was going on here that I was missing. I decided to phone a friend.
I picked up my phone and texted a friend who had spent far more time in Dubai than I had.
“Just out of curiosity, do guys wave down prostitutes in Dubai like they do waiters?” I texted him.
He laughed and asked for more information. I explained to him what was happening.
“Yeah, sounds like you are getting propositioned.”
What the hell?! What about me was screaming prostitute? I wore a tank top, jeans, boots, and not a stitch of makeup. My tattoo sleeve cost more than some people’s cars. In some Middle Eastern countries, bare arms would be a big no-no, but Dubai is pretty liberal due to its extensive tourism industry.
Was it because I was a female and alone? Oh, god was that why the waiter was grilling? He wanted to make sure I wasn’t a prostitute using hotel grounds to pick up men.
I saw the waving man get up and walk inside. He was probably in his late 50s with grey hair and a giant beer belly. I could see the gap between his two front teeth across the restaurant. Something about him said he was British. Maybe it was the matching khaki shorts and a button-up shirt that made him look like some colonial explorer. I hoped he was leaving.
The waiter returned with my check and I began chatting him up to clear up any misconceptions and make it abundantly clear I am NOT a prostitute.
As the waiter was telling me about where he was from in the Philippines, I looked up, and to my horror, the waving man was now standing behind the waiter smiling at me in an excited way that made my skin crawl. He had his hands in his pockets rocking back and forth on his heels. I shuttered.
“I have to go now,” I said, cutting the waiter off and turning to go. I turned to the waving man and gave him a look of disgust. As if!!!
I walked to my hotel, almost hoping the man would follow me so I could give him a piece of mind, but he did not.
I was annoyed that I couldn’t get a bite to eat without being propositioned as a hooker. But in some countries, the reality is that being a woman by herself can be mistaken as a prostitute regardless of her dress.
After my mistaken identity incident, I began to pay more attention to the restaurants in Dubai. Sure enough, there would be a woman alone, usually at the bar, all dressed up. I’d watch them milk one drink the entire time I had dinner, patiently waiting and trying not to look bored. That was when I realized that Dubai has a dark side I knew nothing about.