HETAUDA, Nepal — Along a dimly lit highway in central Nepal, transgender sex workers gather every night in the shadows. For years, aid workers came to this same spot to offer them free HIV testing and counseling. Now, some of those very same aid workers have joined them — not as health professionals, but as sex workers themselves.
These former aid workers are part of a global wave of roughly 280,000 people who lost their livelihoods after the United States dramatically reduced its foreign aid budget last year. The majority of those affected live outside the U.S., in impoverished regions or conflict zones where alternative employment is hard to come by.
In Nepal, where deeply conservative social norms leave openly transgender individuals with very limited legal employment options, the consequences have been especially devastating. Facing hunger and desperation, approximately 100 LGBTQ+ aid workers left without income after the funding cuts have resorted to sex work simply to survive — now standing on the same streets where they once worked to protect others.
The situation carries serious public health consequences. The U.S. funding cuts also eliminated access to HIV prevention medication throughout Nepal, and health experts are warning that a surge in HIV cases could follow, particularly among sex workers and members of the LGBTQ+ community.
The Associated Press spoke with 15 former aid workers in Nepal and found that nearly all had experienced violence since turning to sex work, including gang rape. Most spent months searching for other employment, only to be turned away as soon as prospective employers discovered they were transgender. Many have been forced into unprotected sexual encounters with clients.
Police raids occur regularly, but rather than providing protection, they often leave workers feeling more vulnerable. Many report being harassed and physically assaulted by the very officers conducting those raids.
On a recent Friday night, Princy Tamang stood in the darkness near the highway, trying to attract a client. Tamang had previously worked as an HIV outreach counselor for the aid organization Friends Hetauda before losing her job due to the funding cuts. She eventually secured a client, climbing onto the back of his motorbike before disappearing into the night. She returned roughly 15 minutes later, waiting for the next.
Tamang feels the weight of what she has lost. At home, a collection of professional certificates and training credentials sit untouched. She longs for her former role, where she was valued and treated with respect. The contrast between then and now is stark.
