Greenlights

by Matthew McConaughey

One night, after an afternoon of racing camels in the Sahara, Issa, two of his well-educated friends, Ali (not Farka Touré) and Amadou, and I were finishing dinner on the veranda of the hotel restaurant when a pretty young lady about twenty-five years of age came strolling through, having a solicitous look at each table full of males. It was obvious she was a lady of the night and was trolling for business. “Oh, this is, this is not good,” said Ali. “This is a Muslim woman, and this is not the Muslim way. You do not go and sell your body, this is a disgrace, she should not be doing this.” “Well,” Amadou countered, “it is not for any of us to judge what someone should or should not be doing. We do not know her particular circumstances, what she does or does not is not for us to say.” The two men went back and forth in this conversation, which grew increasingly animated, passionate, and loud. In what appeared to me to be an argument, I interjected at the first pause in their discussion. “I agree with Ali. It is not what she should be doing. She is young and has her health, she should be putting out more effort to have a respectable job rather than choosing prostitution at her young and able age. I believe Ali is right, I think—” Just then, Ali, the guy whose side I was agreeing with, snapped at me, “It is not about right or wrong. It is ‘Do you understand?!’” Slightly stunned, I leaned back in my chair sheepishly as Ali stared at me with sobering vengeance. At last, Amadou, ...