“From the Heart”

The Monetary and Nonmonetary Dimensions of Sexual Labors

Scholars have pointed out that the exchange of money for sex is often embedded in traditional courtship and dating practices (Clement 2006; Peiss 1986; Pheterson 1996), where compensation comes as dinner, tickets to a movie, payment for school, taxi rides, or more elaborate gifts (Meekers and Calves 1997; Webb 1997; Wojcicki 2002). Recently, scholars of Africa refer to “transactional sex relations,” denoting “noncommercial, non-marital sexual relationships involving the exchange of money and gifts” (Mojola 2014, 34). Well documented in sub-Saharan Africa (Luke and Kurz 2002; Moore, Biddlecom, and Zulu 2007), girls and women embark on these relations in “pursuit of modernity” (Leclerc-Madlala 2002, 2003), using ties with older, employed men to secure consumer goods (Mojola 2014; Posel 2011). In South Africa, gift giving belongs to courtship among young people, a symbol of expected or imminent sex (Kaufman and Stavrou 2004; Ssewakiryanga 2005). In West Africa, girlfriends, mistresses, and wives expect men to provide financial support as signs of appreciation, respect, and love (Chernoff 2003, 65). As Swidler and Watkins (2007) point out, these practices are not new, but rooted deep in culture: A social obligation to support the needy and to develop patron–client ties make sex-for-money exchanges just one of many forms of interdependence. I draw on these insights, particularly those regarding the interconnections between sex, money, and heterosexual courtship in sub-Saharan Africa, to examine how young gay men in Dakar reframe their short-term sex-for-money exchanges as something decidedly different from prostitution.

Some feminist scholarship hints at this by examining how women can feel empowered by selling sex, motivated by the chance to relieve pent-up sexual frustration, to experience sexual agency, to combine business and pleasure, and to feel she owns her body and knows its value (Brooks 1997; Campbell 1997; Delacoste and Alexander 1987; Fabian 1997; Hartley 1997; Queen 1997). Middle-class women may pursue an “ethic of sexual experimentation and freedom” through sex work (Bernstein 2007a, 477; 2007b). Sex work can also provide an opportunity to expand social networks and accumulate social capital (Hoang 2015), and even to subvert and parody patriarchy (Tamale 2011; Wardlow 2004). In the past, researchers treated male sex workers as deviant and economically depraved, men plagued by mental illness, antisocial behavior, and low social status (Caukins and Coombs 1976; Freyan 1947; Ginsberg 1967; Janus, Burgess, and McCormack 1987; MacNamara 1965; Reiss 1961; Widom and Kuhns 1996). Scholarship eventually shifted the image of the male sex worker from heterosexual social outcast to gay-identified rational actor in search of legitimate economic opportunity (Kaye 2014; Koken and Bimbi 2014). By the 1990s, AIDS dominated discussions about male sexual labors (Aggleton and Parker 2015).

Newer research has sought to move beyond the epidemiological and behavioral frame (see Aggleton and Parker 2015), and what has become clear is that sex, money, and emotional intimacy commingle just as frequently in homosexual relations as in heterosexual ones, especially in cash economies (Altman 1999). Some assert the “new spirit of gay liberation” re-articulated “prostitution” as “affirming [of] one’s sexual identity,” representing a defiant public expression of gay sex (Kaye 2014, 47). Sexual labors now could encompass desire for adventure, companionship, and security (Brennan 2004; Hall 2007; Kempadoo 2004; Luckenbill 1985). Money boys in China enter the practice in search of “sexual pleasure, flexibility, freedom, higher self-esteem, and self improvement” (Kong 2014, 336). India’s “park boys” seek not only food and shelter, but also love and affection (Khan 1999). Prieur (1998) illustrates how young men turn to sex for money exchanges to gain experience and feel attractive. Transgender communities even find the sexual marketplace one of the few places where they are praised and admired (Aldous and Sereemongkonpol 2008; Kulick 1998; Reddy 2005). This literature, however, neglects the conditions of possibility for these positive benefits, tending to see male sex workers as uncoupled from the deeper, oftentimes antithetical, culture around them. How does the dominant culture shape the interpretation of sexual labors by practitioners themselves?

To begin, I challenge the assertion that men engage in sexual labors simply to earn money, an explanation frequently applied to men in the Global South (Phillips 2002). As my findings reveal, sexual labors bring symbolic rewards including status and belonging in a community, a sense of personal value and self-worth, and validation of a homoerotic desire in a highly stigmatizing, heteronormative context. I draw on Agustin’s (2005, 2007) cultural approach to move beyond the sex-worker–client dyad to “explore how the meaning of buying and selling sex changes according to the social, cultural and historical processes in which transactions are situated” (2007, 403). Expanding research on the affective, extramonetary dimensions of selling sex, I highlight the role that culture, even a deeply heteronormative one, plays in creating the conditions of possibility for positive effects. Specifically, I argue that against the highly gendered, heteronormative cultural backdrop of Senegal, wherein money and gift giving are often written synonymously with a man’s admiration for a woman, man-to-man sexual labors allow the sellers of sex to experience a validation of their self-worth and homoerotic attraction. What’s more, the extent to which they derive a sense of appreciation and attention, regard and recognition from sexual labors not only subverts the heteronormative gender paradigm but also is paradoxically conditioned by it. Like Özbay (2010), I am concerned with how these sexual laborers produce social meaning. I distinguish my argument from overly agentic stories of men willfully, consciously, boldly claiming agency and independence through sexual labors (e.g., Allen 2007); rather, I emphasize how, within specific cultural constraints, these practices come to mean what they do to these men. Culture or cultural constraint refers to the highly gendered, heteronormative social institutions embodied in the sex/gender system with particular courtship and marriage practices.

Gender, Culture, and Sexuality in Senegal

In Senegal, a former French colony and majority-Muslim nation, normative ideas about gender and sexuality structure sociocultural, legal, and economic institutions (McNee 2000, 63). Family, property, and inheritance law delineates sharply roles between husband and wife, recognizing men as sole heads of household, with each man’s value deriving from the size of his house, his ability to provide for his family, and his material support of in-laws (Gellar 2005, 11 and 155). Women remain financially dependent on men (McNee 2000; Wills 1995). Among the Wolof, Senegal’s dominant ethnic group, more than 95% of marriages include a bride price (Platteau and Gaspart 2007). ¹ Still, Senegalese women enjoy independence and more freedom compared with their West African and Muslim counterparts in terms of education, representation in government, and freedom of movement and dress.

Unlike in the West, kinship structures in Senegal are more expansive. Blood ties are not the only demarcation of familial bonds. Considered kin are individuals who share social experiences and obligations (Bass and Sow 2006; Sow 1985). This expanded kinship is important for understanding the kinship ties that develop among gay men at Dakar’s La Place de L’Indépendance (La Place).

A strong link between money and gift giving, on the one hand, and male admiration, on the other, has long existed in Senegal. This link is the context we will need to make sense of the extramonetary benefits gay men draw from involvement in sexual labors. Far more than mere investments in familial and friendship networks (Foley 2007), money and gifts figure prominently in male courtship. The bride price, far from representing a purchase, indicates a husband’s respect for his wife and her kin, as well as his ability to be a good provider (Mutunda 2007, 94). But whereas men once competed to marry women by offering extravagant gifts, including silver and gold, to their families (Diop 2010), increasingly male largess is going directly to courted women (Hannaford and Foley 2015). Currently, money and gift giving have become the norm in most dating relationships (Ostergaard and Samuelsen 2004), as men are expected to be “generous,” attending to their girlfriends’ material well-being (Eerdewijk 2007). But how do young couples reconcile the centrality of money with modern notions of ideal love, where moneyed interests ought to have no place? Eerdewijk (2006, 55) suggests that couples interpret material support as a demonstration of romantic love, “an expression of his care and attention to her rather than a sign of her materialistic interests.” Any withholding of material support, then, signals a lack of appreciation and attention, love and admiration (Hannaford and Foley 2015, 209). Entanglements of male admiration, money, and gift giving within heterosexual relationships in Senegal provide the backdrop against which I explore the affective dimension of sexual labors for a community of Senegalese gay men.

Homosexuality is illegal in Senegal, criminalized in 1965, shortly after independence from France. ² Nevertheless, Senegal’s major urban centers, such as Saint Louis and Dakar, have long boasted dynamic gay subcultures. In his piece from roughly a half a century ago, “A 1958 Visit to a Dakar Brothel,” Davidson (1998), privy to a secret Dakar nightlife where young men camped about dressed in women’s clothing in a boy brothel, refers to it as the “gay city of West Africa” and “The Paris of Africa.” Davidson notes the most striking feature of the boy brothels—only Senegalese, and not western, “lovers of boys” frequented these establishments. Gamble (1957, 80) contends that “homosexuality, practically ‘unknown’ in rural [Senegalese] society, has become established in large towns.” The centrality of urban public spaces to male sex work in particular, and the social and erotic life of gay men in general, is a persistent theme in the literature on homosexuality (Chauncey 1994; Fink and Press 1999; Green 1999). As early as the 1950s, La Place served as a meeting point for homosexual men “waiting to be picked up” (Crowder 1959, 68). By the 1990s, same-sex sexual labors were practiced in several major venues in Dakar—along the Corniche beach, in popular nightclubs, and “in the middle of the main square in the city, ‘La Place de L’Indépendance’” (Teunis 2001, 176).

Yet how has homosexuality been understood historically in Senegal? In African Dances, social anthropologist Geoffrey Gorer (1935) provides an early account of a gender-transgressing figure in Senegalese society called goor-jigeen, literally “man-woman.” According to anthropologist Cheikh Niang, goor-jigeen were once accepted and often played an important role in society. In major urban centers, such as Saint Louis and Dakar, they assisted in traditional ceremonies, played female roles in traditional Senegalese dance troops, and served as close associates to women’s political groups (Niang 2004). Until the 1980s, goor-jigeen lived with tacit tolerance in relative obscurity. In the 1980s, the tides began to turn; by the early 2000s, the persecution and prosecution of those perceived as part of this group increased. In addition, two other indigenous terms denote homosexuality—oubis and yoos. Oubi comes from the word “oubil,” “to open,” and defines the “receptive” sexual partners. The term yoos refers to the “masculine” or “penetrating” partner. Within the Wolof tradition, older gay men adhere strictly to these rules governing sexual acts between oubis and yoos (Murray and Roscoe 1998). Today, terms like gay, homo, and branchés have gained popularity among the younger generation.

Despite this historical and contemporary diversity, Senegalese gender and family relations privilege heterosexuality. As in many parts of contemporary West and southern Africa, heteronormativity—the beliefs and practices that privilege, naturalize, and make “compulsory” heterosexuality—functions through two important discourses, which help explain the presence of homophobia (Pincheon 2000). First is the denial of homosexuality’s existence in Africa. Second is the delegitimation of man-to-man desire, defining it as “survival sex” rather than having to do with identity, community, or love.

Methods

Over a 16-month period, I conducted one extensive ethnographic and two semistructured interviews with follow-ups with a group of 25 young men between the ages of 16 and 34 who regularly visited La Place to sell sex. Following a chain referral selection procedure, the criteria for participation in this study was network and venue driven (i.e., a participant had to be a proven member of the La Place cohort and be involved in sexual labors). My findings, however, are not generalizable to the population of men involved in sexual labors; moreover, those individuals with more social contacts and connections will be overrepresented (Weiss 1994, 29). In addition, this study only concentrates on men who identify with the gay community. Not represented is the involvement of heterosexual men. In the first interview phase, I gathered narratives of experience from gay-identified men involved in sexual labors. Interviewees were asked very general and descriptive questions about their life experiences relating to their sexuality and sexual labors, such as, “Tell me about your childhood, family, and sexual experiences with men.” The second and third set of interviews were semi-structured: fixed questions with open-ended responses. This provided a chance to further explore the themes that emerged during the first round of interviews, and to ask more structural and contrasting questions to understand how respondents conceptually organized and categorized their involvement in sexual labors and the culture they built around it. I also conducted more than 200 hours of participant observations at public health association meetings targeting men who have sex with men (MSMs), small social gatherings, large parties, a clandestine gay wedding ceremony, and most importantly, with the men at La Place, watching them practice and listening to them discuss their trade. I analyzed field notes and interview transcripts inductively, looking for emergent themes in the data. A young man who worked for one of the public health associations facilitated my entry into this community. As a Black American, my access came from a shared racial identity, similar features, and a similar complexion. This played a key role in researching. My informants were wary of being seen outdoors with white Westerners, for fear of raising suspicions of prostitution of passersby.

In general, my informants had low levels of economic and cultural capital. None held steady employment or had a profession. Many had only a primary school education, though education levels varied from no schooling to university, and one attended a Koranic school. Most had a solid knowledge of French, particularly those who had occasion to communicate with Westerners. The majority considered themselves practicing Muslims, with only a few rejecting their Muslim upbringing. Most lived on the outskirts of Dakar in large extended families. None of the men were married or had children. I identify them only by first initial to preserve their privacy. In the next two sections, I lay out several defining features of the La Place community and then discuss the interview data.

Beyond Economics: Extramonetary Dimensions of Selling Sex

Conclusions

Extant literature on homosexuality in West Africa is sparse (see Gaudio 1995, 2009; Gueboguo 2006; Murray and Roscoe 1998; Teunis 2001), and researchers have mostly neglected the topic of same-sex sexual labors (see Niang et al. 2002). Today, much of what we know about man-to-man sexual labors in this part of Africa originates from anecdotal evidence generated as by-products from studies focused primarily on sexually transmitted infections. These studies refer to sex work and prostitution in purely economic terms, highlighting the severe poverty afflicting young men as the main motivating force behind their participation. While economic arguments are important to understanding the widespread practice of sexual labors among these youth, alone they are insufficient. The prevailing literature fails to take into account the subcultural significance of these labors, and therefore misses an important aspect of what motivates these men to sell sex. Thus, my aim in this article is to move the discussion by situating sexual labors within a larger cultural framework. Other scholars have argued for the affective, extramonetary dimension of sexual labors, such as, out of a desire to heal, to entertain, to cultivate sexual awareness and agency, to find love and affection, or to create ties of interdependence. I add to this literature by emphasizing that to understand the positive (and negative) effects of these labors, we must attend to the culture in which they are embedded, a culture, in this case, that is deeply homophobic and heteronormative. Sexual labors, as the appellation suggests, are productive acts. The sense of personal validation many of these young men derive from receiving money through sex hints at how intertwined sexual labors are with a homosexual identity in a highly repressive society. Although sexual labors are complicated to disentangle, what is clear is that the money and gifts lavished upon these young men by mostly older Senegalese men and Westerners alike serves as a kind of proxy for appreciation, attention, and a sense of validation and sexual worth that they do not receive elsewhere. The gay men I discovered at La Place were not engaging in homosexual practices simply to make money. More importantly, the exchange of sex for money itself is far more complex than the “greed for easy money” referred to by the Jamra organization. This study points to two policy implications. First, as HIV programming begins targeting male sexual laborers, this article suggests we pay attention to more than just the economic factors and recognize the affective import of these labors. Second, programming should take into account that these labors are not limited to the sex laborer-client dyad—there is a vibrant community built up around the exchange.

Yet today, when I sweep through La Place, these men have become harder to find. State repression of homosexuality has increased—according to the U.S. State Department, approximately ten arrests occur per year. Social anxiety too is on the rise. The site of men holding hands in public, a once frequent nonsexualized practice, is rare. Increased societal awareness about homosexuality has raised suspicions among family, friends, and neighbors alike, pushing gay-identified men out of public spaces and onto the Internet, where opportunities for sexual labors take on new dimensions. As Grov and Smith (2014) point out, “the internet changes everything” in sex-for-money exchanges, providing a safe, anonymous, and relatively risk-free environment. This means that men less open about their sexuality have an opportunity to become involved, but without the community of support around them. Because the Internet requires some technological knowledge and a basic level of literacy, the population involved in these labors could possibly shift from less to more educated participants. On a final note, I have portrayed the men in this study neither as victims nor as ardent resisters. My intent was only to step back and shed light on the complex situation in which their actions are embedded and through which their actions must be understood.