Drugged, Kidnapped & (almost) Sold into Slavery
Part 2: The Brothel
1991, Saigon. This is Part 2 of a three-part series: Drugged, Kidnapped & (almost) Sold into Slavery. Read Part 1: 24 and Alone.
Part 2: The Brothel
The next day, I wandered back to my old hotel to catch a cyclo to go meet my mom’s manicurist’s friends and family. I went back to my fancy hotel for 2 reasons:
To find out what I should bring to my guests as a gift (M&Ms and whiskey, as it turns out)
To use the doorman to hail a cyclo for me, that way someone would know where I was going
The cyclo driver and I had a great conversation. The funny thing about Vietnamese taxi drivers at the time (again, this is early 1990s), is that they all spoke English because during the war they fought in the South Vietnamese Army. As a consequence, they couldn’t get a job afterwards, so they ended up as cyclo drivers.
I showed my driver the address on the letters of introduction. On the drive, I tried to pay attention to where we were going, noting landmarks so I could find my way back—Hanzel and Gretel-like. After about 5 minutes, I was horribly lost (and I didn’t have a map (of course) and so I just settled in for the ride.
Thirty minutes on, we pulled up to a large apartment block. I paid the driver, he pointed me to a door, and then he drove off, leaving me there. To his credit, he asked me several times if he should wait. But, no, I thought I could handle this.
I went up to the door, gifts in hand, and knocked. It was the middle of the afternoon, but luckily, someone was home. In fact, a lot of someones were home. I was greeted by a bunch of women. It looked like they had been sleeping. and I had woken them up.
Even though I had come unannounced, they were very gracious and invited me in. We all sat around in a circle in the living room and smiled at each other. They spoke no English, and I spoke no Vietnamese, so we just sat there. Then they all lit up cigarettes. Uh oh.
Soon, word got out that a foreigner was visiting, and more and more people came to the apartment. I showed them all the letters and naturally assumed I was at the right address and they were the people I was supposed to meet. As it turns out, I was at the right address. But these were not the right people. But how was I to know?
My new friends decided to welcome me by throwing a BBQ in my honor. I found it so funny how they knew the word “BBQ,” and they kept repeating it. The party (BBQ) was so I could be introduced to my mom’s manicurist’s clan (or so I thought).
The plan was for me to come again the next night. Cool, I thought, safety in numbers. Lots of people. A party even! I promised to return the next night, and then one of the women and a guy with a moped, who spoke a bit of English, volunteered to take me back to my hotel. I waved goodbye to my new friends, and the 3 of us sped off on the scooter.
As we arrived at the hotel, my two escorts invited me to go out with them that night. I didn’t particularly like the idea, but didn’t want to be rude. So we set a time for me to be picked up later that evening at 9:00 pm.
When they arrived that evening to pick me up, they were clearly disappointed with my outfit. (I had purposely dressed down for the “night out.”) But never mind, the 3 of us went out into the night on the scooter, destination nightclub.
Once we arrived, I was surprised that the club was quite fancy. It had neon flashing, an elevated dance floor, lots of mirrors, and was very crowded.
Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized I was surrounded by Asian men in booths with women lined up against the wall. The women were all wearing little numbered tags.
Ohhhhh…. It took me a moment to realize that I was in a brothel. I know I should’ve left immediately, but I was stunned and a little curious. I had never been to a brothel before.
Soon, the 3 of us were joined by more people, and we hung out drinking and dancing at the disco. I stuck to drinking soda and only danced once or twice. Again, my hosts were pretty disappointed in my lack of enthusiasm.
Although my nonchalance didn’t stop some dude sitting on my left from telling me how much he loved me. Over and over again. Honestly, I didn’t take him too seriously. I was pretty sure those were the only English words that he knew.
The night ended early, without incident, and my friends took me back to my ragtag hotel. We said goodnight, and they said that they would return the next night to take me to the BBQ.
This is Part 2 of a three-part series: Drugged, Kidnapped & (almost) Sold into Slavery. Read Part 1: 24 and Alone.
Author note: I’m keenly aware that while I had a brush with sex trafficking, I was not sold into slavery like the women I saw in the brothel. Their faces and situation continue to haunt me.
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Christened “Wander Woman” by National Geographic, Erin Michelson is a professional speaker and author of the Nomad Life™ series of curated trips and travel guides, including the #1-ranked “Explore the World with Nomads.”
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Whoa! That is super scary!
Oh my god, Erin! I just finished parts 1 and 2, and I’m shocked by what you went through. It sounds absolutely terrifying, and I’m so relieved you were able to get out safely. I’m looking forward to reading part 3.