Above the Law, or Outside It.

There’s a group of people who hang out in the hospital parking lot (and the grocery store lot, and plenty of other lots) all day long. The locals call them “Vu Cumpra.’” They’re immigrants from Africa who can’t [or haven’t been able to] find legitimate employ. Their label – Vu Cumpra – is a phonetic mimic of the phrase they used to say before they learned to speak Italian. It was their attempt at “vuoi comprare,” which means “do you want to buy?”

These are people who left their homes for whatever reason with the hope of finding a better life in Italy and are making their living by selling things – illegally – to whoever will buy them. They sell lighters, pirated CDs, fake Rolex watches, pens and similar cheap items. They’re friendly and ever-present in the parking lots. My thinking is that if they’re there, there’s probably not much need for a security guard - these fellows are watching everything all the time and they see every single person who walks into, or out of, the parking lot. Should you be interested in some bargain shopping - and it might sound insensitive for me to put it this way - all you have to do is find a large area that sees a lot of foot traffic, and look for the guys who are African and holding shoeboxes instead of Italian and holding cell phones.

Today, one approached the three of us (I, my wife, her sister), and said to me [in Italian] “Hey Doctor – you’ve got two wives – good for you!” These are a cheerful bunch, and from what I’ve seen, manage a brisk business. Law enforcement isn’t particularly bothered by this industry. And, in my opinion, they shouldn't be. These aren't beggars. They're people who want to work and are willing to go outside the letter of law to create that priviledge for themselves. It's an honest living.

Law enforcement isn’t particularly bothered by illicit industries in general. They aren’t inclined to deal with those hawking cheap wares. They’re also not inclined to deal with young purveyors of the oldest profession.

After our day in the hospital, we made our way to the rents-by-the-week hotel residence place. It’s easy to find – just look for the biggest building in the area, with a scattering of scavenged cars out back. Because we like our car (actually, it's Mom-In-Law's car and we're intending for her to need it again) having its wheels, bumpers, headlamps and windows, we elected to pay for secure underground parking. The parking garage was a real eye opener for me. Now I know why I haven't seen any amazing vintage cars on the road. They're all stuffed inside underground parking garages, covered with dust. More on this phenom later, if I can sneak in there with a camera.

As we’ve been navigating the traffic these last couple days, I’ve realized that I’ve never seen such a high concentration of prostitutes (except the time I found myself in Amsterdam’s Red Light District quite by mistake, which is a whole different story. By mistake. Really.).

Some stand by the side of the road while others make themselves more comfortable by sitting in lawn chairs in the breakdown lanes. None look at the cars passing by nor call out to potential Johns. They don’t wave, they don’t wiggle, they don’t preen. Their only promotion is a combination of their presence and their dress, or lack of same. Probably because they’re generally not happy to be there and they’re likely more pleased to have a slow day without business than a busy day with.

It’s illegal yet law enforcement doesn’t focus on the workers themselves. What little is done is aimed at those higher up in the industry – and these middlemen are easily replaced by the lure of sex, money, and [the perception of] power. Many of the girls – I use this word to describe their general age and not as a sexist term – are imported under false pretenses (Plenty of good paying jobs for bright young receptionists in our offices in Western Europe! Sign up today! Free room and board!), or are outright kidnapped, brutalized, threatened, then made to work in the sex trade. Those who continue to show defiance despite the danger to themselves are told that if they don’t comply, their loved ones back home (or the friends they've made locally) will be harmed.

To be honest, I did see 6 or 8 that could have been over 20. They’re not all girls. But the other two or three dozen we typically see during our 8 or 10 mile drive looked closer to the early teen years than the late. Sometimes there are two or three within fifty feet of one another, with another pair or so across the street. Some stand on the fog line, which is the only thing between the cramped traffic and the guard rail. On the highway. Everything about this is dangerous.

Without going off on a rant, it’s clear to me (and you and everyone else throughout the entirety of human history) that this industry will always exist. Were it to exist in a way that it was a profession chosen by empowered participants rather than being forced upon unwilling victims – it seems that it could be run with regulation, a greater level of safety, health care, and by all means legitimate taxation – and the role played by the brutes who perpetrate this life on others would quickly become obsolete. (Granted, those brutes would find something else to do, but perhaps it wouldn’t involve the abuse of others.) What we’re seeing by the side of the road morning noon and night is genuinely sad. Accidentally – or intentionally – finding oneself in the Red Light District is much less so.

Buona notte,

Cameron