Cape Verde: A Story of a Transgender Prostitute. [Part 2]

This post is one in a Series. A list of all of the posts in this Series can be accessed here.

He passes me the computer he has been typing on. He’s working on a CV. Says I should go through it. Point out modifications which could be made.

I think I might be influencing him somehow.

A few hours ago when we met, he explained that he used to study Informatico (what I think is the Cape Verdean/Portuguese term for general Computer/Information sciences. He was a student at a pretty prominent university on a different island- the capital. Now he’s entirely dependent on his boyfriend for upkeep. Well not entirely dependent; he side-hustles as a prostitute.

That was a few hours ago. And he seemed pretty fine with the state of things.

Now he’s telling me to help with his Curriculum Vitae.

I’m not quite sure how to feel about this though:

I myself am not particularly positively disposed towards CVs. Towards tertiary institutions of education, and resumes and CVs and all that stuff. The idea that textually presenting this pretty formulaic depiction of yourself with the intention of only plugging into already-existing value-creating structures, is the non-negotiably singular way to find some sort of a place for yourself in life.

And that anyone who isn’t doing that, doesn’t quite know what they’re doing with their life.

It gets me so annoyed- that way of thinking.

This existential disagreement is one of the reasons I’m on a gap year from college in the US in the first place. And I’m seriously considering not going back.

I go through the CV. It’s in Portuguese, but I try to give some helpful perspective regardless. He seems grateful.

No problem, no problem.

We are at the place of a trans-woman friend of the initial trans-woman I’ve been interacting with for the past few hours. I keep hanging out in their living room, just looking around and trying to make sense of the bewildering number of toothbrushes I saw in the bathroom.

At some point he signals to me that it’s time to leave. I respond to his signal and get up from the chair. I’m not sure what he’s going to end up doing with the CV.

We’re outside the apartment. He says he’d like to go back to the restaurant. Some European tourists were eyeing him while we were there.

I nod in understanding. I know what he means. The European guys at the restaurant want him to fuck their ass.


I mention that I’d be heading elsewhere. He asks if I have some money to spare for another drink. I make him aware that that is not exactly the case.

We exchange pleasantries and part ways.

Part 2.

Image Credits: (Person in image is completely uninvolved with the story)