Lebanon’s Economic Crisis Pushes the Most Vulnerable Into the Sex Trade

BEIRUT — As the sun sets over Bourj Hammoud, one of Beirut’s most populous districts, the streets that usually buzz with markets and cafes slowly empty and give way to shady alleyways — a consequence of Lebanon’s endemic power outages. On one corner stands 27-year-old Lily,* waiting for prospective clients.

A migrant from Ghana, Lily has been living in Lebanon for over three years, entering the sex trade in September 2022

“These people are animals,” she says, gesturing toward a group of men on motorbikes. After refusing them as would-be clients for not having enough money, they’re now goading her with taunts and insults. “I want to stop working here but I can’t,” she says. She’s a single mother of four, all of whom are still in Ghana with their grandmother, and she sends her earnings home to support them.

Since the beginning of the economic crisis in 2019 — and the country’s debt default in 2020 — social workers in Beirut say that migrants and Lebanese alike have turned to the sex trade to cope with the increased costs of living. Year-on-year inflation is over 220 percent, and the Lebanese pound has lost over 98 percent of its value against the US dollar. The World Bank classified it as one of the world’s worst economic crises since 1850.

Like many other migrant workers from Africa and Asia in Lebanon, Lily emigrated in search of economic opportunities. In Ghana, decades of corruption and economic inequality have left many of its citizens with few opportunities to find economic prosperity.

When she arrived in Beirut in 2021, she started as a domestic worker, but it didn’t take long before she was exposed to the cruel realities of the labor market for migrant workers.

“Life as a domestic worker is not good,’’ she says, smoking in a local shisha bar. “The woman’s husband wanted to sleep with me. He gave me the option of sleeping with him or leaving, so I left.”

Lebanon employs the kafala system of sponsorship in which any foreign worker’s visa is tied to employment from a private citizen. Kafala, which is widely used in Lebanon, Jordan, and Arab Gulf countries like Saudi Arabia or the United Arab Emirates, allows their rapidly-growing economies access to an easy and cheap labor force — usually drawn from deprived countries whose populations are desperate for better economic opportunities — and, by design, leaves the door wide open for exploitation.

But despite the precariousness of the kafala system, or the plummeting economy, the average salary of a worker in Lebanon is more than double that of someone’s in Ghana or its neighboring countries. Back home, Lily worked at a grocer, where she barely earned enough for her children, she says.

Lebanon hosts more than 250,000 migrants through the kafala program; Lily was once among them, but she lost her legal right to stay in the country when she left her employer, significantly hampering her ability to find legal work.

In the sex trade, Lily works with five to six clients (earning around USD $50) per day, most of which goes to her children’s education, she says. “I have to fight so [my children] don’t live the life that I live.”

Dar Al Amal, a civil society organization that works with vulnerable women and children, says that while there are many different factors pushing people into the trade, such as childhood abuse or drug addiction, the economic crisis has emerged as a leading factor.

“Financial problems [have been] important in the last five years,” says the nonprofit. “The women we work with have no education or [work] experience. They could be domestic workers, but the conditions are bad.”

Mariam*, an 18-year-old Lebanese transwoman, used to work as a cleaner in a restaurant, earning around $5 a day, but her relationship with her employer was unhealthy. “The owner was mistreating me and I got fired,” she says. “That created a huge fight with my father at home, so he took all my money and kicked me out.”

Discrimination against the trans community has left her with few employment options. Now, she works as an escort in Bourj Hammoud.

“There are no jobs in Lebanon, and I need to pay for a house where I can feel safe,” she says. “I didn’t choose this job.”

Despite the lack of official data and studies, social workers say that they’ve noticed more members of the LGBTQ+ community entering the trade.

Predictably, discrimination is widespread for those employed in the sex trade, who cannot engage with the rest of society on even the most mundane occasions, like grocery shopping or going for a stroll in their neighborhood, without risking physical or verbal harassment. Often, sources say, landlords are unwilling to rent to them — or, if they are, will ask for higher rates or even sexual favors.

Discrimination and threats of violence are worse for transpeople, who are hyperexposed anywhere in public.

Violence is ever present in their daily lives.

Last August, Mariam was on a night out with her friends when a street fight broke out outside a nightclub frequented by escorts. She tried to intervene and was shot in the leg.

Had Mariam been working that night, she would not have been less endangered. There are inherent risks that come with the trade: Lily was once assaulted by a client, who repeatedly struck her on the head with an ashtray after refusing to pay. Now, she says, “I cannot move the left side of the body properly. The doctors said it would take years to fully recover.” A year and a half later, she cannot fully form a fist with her left hand.

Violence often happens at home, too, as Mariam says she suffered regular physical abuse from her father. “He was thinking that by beating me up I would be a boy.”

While prostitution in Lebanon is legalized, the Lebanese government hasn’t granted any licenses to sex workers since the ’70s. At no point are Lily and Myriam safe to seek help from the authorities.

Many women in the trade end up arrested and imprisoned in inhumane conditions due to lack of government resources, according to Dar Al Amal. “They have 20 inmates in rooms designed for seven, and the infrastructure is collapsing.”

“Some police officers are my clients,” says Mariam. “I have a lot of clients who are publicly against us but under the table, they come and try to have sex with us. This is disturbing for me. At least I dare to show who I am and my identity.”

Lebanese Internal Security Forces, also known as the ISF, did not respond to requests for comment.

Despite the threats to their income, safety, and security, Lily and Mariam see the sex trade as a worthwhile — and temporary — means to an end. Both would like to save enough money to open businesses one day: For Lily, a bar for the migrant community, and Mariam wants to become a makeup artist.

“I am very proud of who I am and what I’ve been through,” says Mariam. “I would like to create my own brand to inspire people [to accept their sexuality].”

But until she has enough money, Lily stays in the trade for her children back home. “I don’t look here, I look there,” she says. “Even if I die here, my children will be okay.”

* Names have been changed for privacy and safety concerns.