In a corridor filled with women slumped from boredom, the temperature settles at 35°C. The stifling heat presses down on their bodies. Among them are the newcomers, slim and thin; those familiar with all the staff; and those sweating with round bellies. All are carrying a child, but not their child, as per the contract they signed with this clinic in downtown Tbilisi, specializing in surrogacy. Every two weeks, they must wait for their fetal check-up. A door opens. “Next.”
There are 25 such clinics in Georgia, one of the few countries where surrogacy is legal. A combination of permissive laws and “unbeatable” prices — starting at $55,000, which is three times less than in the United States — has created a surge in demand over the past two years.
Until Russia’s large-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, Ukraine was the second-largest surrogacy market, behind the United States. Since then, most clients have turned to Georgia, a country with one-tenth of Ukraine’s population. Some clinics have seen their operations double overnight.
From Central Asia to Georgia
In the sweltering corridor, the only sound is the “tap-tap” of fake nails on phone screens. Half-reclined, Aigerim*, a 25-year-old Kazakh woman, is five months pregnant with her first child and is under contract with a Chinese couple. The pains are beginning. On this front, Aigerim can’t ask a grandmother for advice—her family thinks she went to Georgia to manage surrogate mothers, not become one herself.
Her husband doesn’t know either. “If he calls me on video, I only show my face,” she says, framing her face with her hands up to her chest. “When I get bigger, I’ll tell him I’ve been eating too many sweets.” She’s already experimenting with how slimming her dark eye shadow makeup looks.
Aigerim’s “American” dream is to buy an apartment in Atyrau, her hometown in western Kazakhstan. She wants her own set of keys and to leave the man she didn’t choose. The marriage was arranged between families. In Kazakhstan, women who divorce from such forced arrangements often end up without a home.
Four to six births on average
Nino Museridze, an embryologist with 15 years of experience, sees surrogacy as “an opportunity” for these women. Most of her patients contact one of the recruitment agencies, some more ethical than others, to pay for medical treatments for a sick child. Others, like Aigerim, do it to escape a violent or unwanted marriage. None of them have steady jobs.
Museridze’s Botox-smoothed face breaks into a smile: “It’s a job! They get a monthly salary. Most of them come back for four to six births on average. Some have done as many as ten. That shows they trust us, doesn’t it?”
The clinic director, Giorgi Archvadze, a trained lawyer, is a shrewd businessman. Aside from a small icon of the Virgin Mary, his office walls are covered in trophies. The name of his clinic, opened four years ago, is the “Georgian-German Reproductive Center (GGRC).” “We offer German quality at Georgian prices,” he explained. It’s all marketing.
Speaking about the number of babies born there (15 per month), he calls them “deliveries.” Deliveries, as he puts it, increase by 40% yearly, with his revenue growing at the same pace.
The demand has been so high since 2022 that the Georgian market has hit capacity, leading to a shortage of surrogate mothers. Archvadze has found a solution: outsourcing to women from Central Asia, who are cheaper and “don’t cause problems.” “In Georgia, agencies and their surrogates take the check and then secretly abort, often several times. Kazakhs are easier to manage,” he says, blowing smoke rings from his e-cigarette.
Around $22,000
Several women in the corridor wear Muslim veils, like Assem, a 20-year-old devout believer. “As long as no one in my country knows, I think I’m not violating my faith.” She’s not entirely sure about that, but she is sure that the money will help her raise her own children. The numbers are kept confidential, but surrogate mothers earn around $22,000 in total, a third of what clients pay.
Most Georgians believe these women are part of the landscape. Surrogacy is advertised on highway billboards and is seen as a matter for wealthy foreigners, causing little outrage. In 2023, however, the ruling Georgian Dream Party proposed a bill to ban international clients from using surrogacy in the country. The law, pushed by the conservative Georgian Orthodox Church, which is aligned with Moscow, has yet to pass. According to several sources in Tbilisi, clinics have successfully persuaded the government of the financial benefits this industry brings.
Indeed, demand continues to grow. According to U.S. firm Global Market Insights, the surrogacy industry is projected to be worth $130 billion by 2032. As surrogacy laws rapidly change worldwide, it creates temporary openings and legal peculiarities. If Georgia bans foreigners from accessing surrogacy, Armenia might take over. Giorgi Archvadze is already opening a second clinic there in September, “just in case.”
For Aigerim, it wouldn’t make much difference. She taps the word “Armenia” into her phone. “What’s it like over there? Maybe it’s cooler?”
(*Name has been changed.)