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They are warmly greeted and within seconds make their selection from the women sprawling across the sofas as Julia and I watch from a distance on the patio.Fluffy towels are drawn from a closet and the men are escorted to the rooms for the business of the night.“I married at a young age and was never allowed to work. It’s close to 11pm and the night is in full swing as I rejoin Julia on the patio. I just wish society would stop judging us.” Julia encourages regulation of the sex industry and welcomes Ramaphosa’s new plan.

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Thirty minutes later, they emerge, satisfied smiles etched across their faces as they make their payment, wave their goodbyes and disappear into the night.

The women engage in ordinary banter, occasionally interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone.

And, as it is a call made to the business, Julia still gets a cut from the R3 500 quoted to the client for a few hours.

I get a quiet moment with Sophie before she leaves. And, like many other prostitutes I’ve interviewed, has eyes which reflect a cold emptiness that not even her warm smile can disguise.

It’s the same ritual - women are selected before accompanying the men to the rooms leading out of the lounge, and business is concluded 30 minutes later.

It’s a fascinating insight into the oldest profession in the world - controlled and carried out by women.Now in her sixties, Julia is not clad in leather or the killer red stilettos one often imagines female brothel keepers to wear. Instead, she is a friendly, ordinary looking woman. The young women working in her home as prostitutes clearly adore and respect her. I don’t interfere with their business, I don’t dictate the rates they charge, usually around R450 for 30 minutes. If they want to get out of the business, I support and even encourage them to do so if that’s what they want. Some even work at an office by day and come here on weekends or at night without any family knowing. They are intelligent young women at the mercy of their financial circumstances, so who is society to judge their choices without knowing anything about their lives,?Someone I would imagine baking cupcakes for a school event. ” Julia asks, as she shouts intermittent instructions to the women - from answering the phone to opening the gates for waiting clients.Sophie is a single Indian mother who grew up in Durban’s Chatsworth suburb. I make his lunch for school, prepare him for nursery, kiss him goodbye and drop him off before I come to work.Recently divorced with a 4-year-old son, she says it's financial desperation which pushed her into the sex trade. That’s why it becomes hard to talk about - it reminds you of what you are doing. “Working as a sex worker is not what I chose to do - nobody chooses this. I just don’t want people to judge me or treat me inhumanely,” Sophie explains candidly as she touches up her make-up. I wish her luck and tell her to be safe as she heads out the door to her client. We can think, we can read, we are not stupid people.She chuckles at this comparison and tells me she’s been in the sex trade for more than 40 years, having started as a prostitute herself. It’s around 10pm before the first group of clients walk in. Local Chinese residents - well dressed, quite muscular, in their mid-thirties.

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