For those of you who haven’t read the last entries: I’m not in Iraq anymore, I’m in a country in the Middle East that cannot be named because of political sensitivities.
After moving from the military base to this hotel I indulged myself in a Japanese lunch, went swimming and made an appointment for a massage.
Although it was clearly stated that massage for men would be given by men, my masseuse turned out to be a Chinese lady. Her westernized name was Annie.
While working on me she said: “In two years I’ll be free, then I’ll go back to China.” “Why did you come here?” I asked.
“You know,” she said, “I was young and naïve.” "And why don’t you stay here?” I wanted to know.
“There is no future here,” she said. “People don’t know how to treat a lady here. Only five percent of the Arabs are good. All they know is lying and playing.” “Are there many Chinese here?” I asked.
“I’m the only Chinese working for this company,” she said. “All the other ones are from India or the Philippines.” Her last question was: “In your country, are there many Chinese restaurants? Is it a good business?”