Prostitution has long been illegal in Myanmar, although brothels exist in many townships of Yangon, often masquerading as karaoke or massage venues. Sex workers are also widely stigmatised as an affront to Myanmar culture and religion and endure routine discrimination.

The NGO worker, who did not wish to be named, said most sex workers are poorly educated and lack the resources to start a small business that would enable them to be financially independent. Many enter sex work after a divorce or the sudden death of a partner leaves them with few other options to support their children.

She said there had been a noticeable increase in the number of sex workers in Yangon since the coup. Sex workers can regularly be seen waiting for customers by roadsides in townships such as North and South Dagon, East and West Hlaing Tharyar, Thaketa and Insein, as well as parts of downtown Yangon. “Some are young, but some are aged over 60,” she said.

The increased number means there is more competition for customers, who appear to have decreased amid growing poverty. These factors have driven down rates for sex work and allowed customers to dictate terms. Three sex workers told Frontier that they were getting less than half their pre-coup minimum rate of K20,000 and could no longer choose the venue. “Now, they set the price and I can’t refuse what they offer. Otherwise, I’ll have nothing to eat,” said Kyi Pyar.

Increased competition often leaves sex workers with no income at all. “Even if I sit and wait all day, I may not have a customer; it’s not like it was before,” said Kyi Pyar, who still goes to Sule Pagoda Road every day.

Ma Khin Hnin*, who waits for customers in public places in South Dagon, told Frontier that she had not had a customer for nearly two weeks and worries about buying food and paying rent.

Khin Hnin and her husband divorced three years ago and she was left with three children. Her financial situation gradually deteriorated and she was advised by neighbours to become a sex worker.

She was able to support her family until the coup, when earning opportunities slumped. She has sent two of her children, aged seven and 10, to a monastery to live because she couldn’t afford to feed them. Her remaining child still lives at home, in the care of a neighbour.

“It’s getting harder and times are bad. In the old days, I was afraid of being caught by the police, but at least I had money,” Khin Hnin said.