It’s Friday. The night falls and Curepe comes alive…the din of traffic provides a noisy soundtrack to the night. Vendors, vagrants and ‘sprangers‘ all lend their flavor to what is Curepe. Across the Priority Bus Route, a mass of people await transport, on the other side still more people await their chance to ‘lime’ and fete.

Research for my first independent, documentary project on the lives of transvestites brings me to their watering hole. Back then, it used to be a nondescript, rundown little bar opposite the infamous Leadership pub, (it has been since demolished). It is here that the transvestites, males dressed as females, come to drink, hang out and pick up ‘clients’.

I strike up conversation with a dark, statuesque woman. It is not as difficult as I had imagined, I had been warned that these transvestites were dangerous and would stab you at the drop of a pin for no good reason! Bone straight layers of weave cascade around a narrow face. Pancake makeup almost does a good job of keeping the secret. But there are subtleties that cannot be ignored and the hard contours of the face, betrays the masculinity that lies beneath.

Clad in a red and black pleated micro mini and white baby tee, his bony legs do a precarious balancing act on a pair of six- inch heels. Porsche, as he prefers to be called, is a man who dresses as a woman and he is also a prostitute. Easy-going and talkative, he readily agrees to participate in my little project for a small fee and grants me a glimpse into his world.

At age 25, he has already had a lifetime of experiences. Originally from the Southland, Porsche fled an abusive father for the bright lights of ‘ Town ‘. It was here that he fell into prostitution through peer pressure, but he was no innocent victim. Caught up in the fast paced life of Curepe, which is probably why he chose the alias ‘ Porsche ‘, he quickly decided that “ this is for me “, when he saw the night life, fast cash and grimy glamour of the drag queens. Instead of being repulsed, for him, the bright lights beckoned even brighter. Porsche dismisses the idea that his abusive home may have contributed to his lifestyle, he says that it was his choice. Astonishingly, he also refutes the notion that he is a homosexual, instead he concedes to being just plain “ freaky “. Of his family, he says that his mother has unconditionally accepted him – her mother’s heart can do no less. His father on the other hand does not even acknowledge his existence. Porsche claims that he could care less about his Dad but beneath the streetwise bravado I suspect that many of his outrageous acts are a deliberate rebuke of his father.

I am soon introduced to the other ‘girls’. Their ‘ drag ‘ combined with their giggly, gossipy, effeminate personas make you forget for awhile that these are actually men – and that at any moment one can find oneself quite out of depth. The warmth of their personalities, however, detracts from the reality of what these men do for money. Theirs is a gritty, hard knock life. At night they gather to ‘ turn tricks ‘ whether in the smelly, damp confines of the bar’s toilet or along the dark, bumpy strip of Selliers Street, referred to as Hooker Street, by the hookers themselves. They share some of their ‘ drama ‘ with me. Some ‘ hoes ‘, as they unashamedly call themselves, are not on speaking terms with others. Porsche, a veteran, tells me that there is open hostility between the new ‘ hoes’ and the veterans, economics figure prominently in this war. It seems that the dastardly new ‘ hoes ‘ have been undercutting the veterans, thus causing a drop in the prices for their ‘ services ‘.

The transvestites affectionately refer to each other as “ hoes or gay boys “. Most are so theatrical and overdone in their production of their female personas that they can be quickly spotted and dismissed as an imitation. Others, however, look the part – quite believably so. Enter Carmen. Blessed with a flawless complexion and pouty lips, this curvy 23 year old is the most realistic of those that I met. How he decided upon his nom de guerre is unknown, but like the original Carmen Jones, the ‘60s on-screen femme fatale – his charms have been woven around many men. Carmen is a ‘ try-sexual ‘ he says that he will try anything once, he even continues to participate in sex with women, mostly lesbians. Carmen is a shrewd businessperson, he proudly shares his portfolio with me which includes massages, he has an ad in one of the dailies apparently, Queen shows, interior design and even movies. In a very business–like tone, Carmen turned down my project until he could complete his other engagements. It seems that he is the star of a ‘ blue movie ‘ being done by some foreign film crew. He cheerfully regaled me with tales of his sexy escapades and the grim street life. Transvestites can easily find themselves in the clutches of psychos who either refuse to pay them or want to hurt them just for the fun of it. The scars on the chest of one unfortunate ‘ trannie ’ bear witness. For this reason many of the girls are armed with icepicks and can ‘ out- cuss ‘ a Yankee sailor, hence their fearsome reputation! As we speak, a carload of men pass by shouting obscenities like “ batty man “ at Carmen, this does not faze him and with the slow bat of an eyelid, the world-weary Carmen announces that these are often his most eager customers. It seems that for many homophobia is just a smoke-screen, designed to conceal their true leanings.

Carmen is tiring of life on the street, he says that he does not want to be here forever. He plans to step up in life and go to London to have breast implants done! He is not alone Porsche too, longs for a change. Recently, he went on the ‘ moaning ground ‘ after this spiritual encounter he has decided to change his life. But he is cautious and likely afraid of what that change might mean, he says that it cannot be done all at once.

Though the lifestyle that these transvestite prostitutes lead can, at best be described as ‘ alternative ‘. I am reminded by their hopes, their fears, their smiles and their openness that they are just human beings. For better or for worse, just trying to stay alive. Previously, I had driven through the streets of Curepe gawking at the spectacle they presented just like everybody else. I never thought that I would ever come into such close contact with these transvestite prostitutes. And as I left them that night I realized that only God could judge them!


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