Episode 32: The Female Client

Shortly after shifting to the Street I heard about Nyambura Mwanaume. (Loosely translated to Nyambura the man). This, according to the story, was a woman who dressed like a man, picked girls and took them to her house in South B. There, as per the legend, Nyambura would treat a girl the same way a man does, even in bed. It was said at times Nyambura could get violent and cause pain to a girl, but shower her with cash the following morning. Her generosity, just like her weird ways, was on everyone's lips.

Occasionally I heard so and so went with Nyambura Mwanaume, or a girl would say she had been with her the previous night. I wanted to be part of the legend and prayed everyday that she picks me, but it never happened. I started believing Nyambura Mwanaume was a myth created by a girl who fantasized about such stuff, and tried to merge it with reality. Actually I doubted there were any women who came to the Street to pick girls.

As I mentioned earlier the mechanisms and dynamics of female to female sex make the choice of a prostitute not the most appropriate. From my experience in college and after, girl on girl relationships are very sensual and intimate. One needs a partner  they can trust in terms of emotions, thought process and even such things as health and hygiene. A prostitute can favorably display such qualities, but these are attributes which can't  be skimmed from a late night, semi nude street pose.

It turned out that I was wrong, at least about women picking girls from the street. There are such women. The most common being  those who come accompanied by a man and are in need of a girl to join them for an orgy or party. But there are few others who come on their own seeking girls to service them. There are far and part, and the repeat ones very well known. At the peak of the Nyambura Mwanaume legend, girls were usually divided as to whether it was preferable to have a man over a woman as a client. This made me long to be picked by a woman, at least so that I could gauge 'attractiveness' of clients based on gender. Also I was tired of being silenced during the man woman arguments with such statements as " What are you talking about? You have never 'gone' with a woman, so shut up!"

I had to live with the reprimand until slightly after a year on the Street, when I met Agnes, my first and only female client. This is a story I have been reluctant to write about perhaps because I wanted to believe it was something special, the thing that remains covered as I undress and show my nakedness through my writing. But it was non other than Agnes who told me there was nothing special about it.

Towards the end of April I received an email. Nothing exceptional because I receive tens of emails every day. However this particular one had as its subject a unique nickname I rarely use. Well, it turned out to be Agnes. She is the only one of my present and former clients to know I am the author of this blog. I didn't deny it. Two or three emails later, some mind jogging and nostalgia, she encouraged me to write about whatever our affair was.

On the day I met Agnes a Honda passed along the Street, slowed down and then zoomed off . A few minutes later the same car came, slowed down and zoomed off . This usually happens when a potential customer is not sure who to pick or is a first timer and jittery.  But by the time the car passes a second time we are alert and if it slows down we rush to it. The Honda came a third a time and stopped. Three of us surrounded it calling out "honey" like we usually do. Then we realized it was a woman at the wheel and we fell silent...


(Continued from Monday…)

She raised her hands slightly from the steering wheel as if in amazement. We looked at her, and then Gracie, one of the newer girls, burst out laughing walking away. We girls know each others strengths. Thus if a man comes and says he wants a girl who will agree to anal sex we know who to call. Same for a man who may want a girl with whom to participate in group sex, or something out of the ordinary. However there are no girls I know of who specialize in women. The woman waved her hand at me. I got inside the car and we drove off. For a few minutes we said nothing to each other and I stole glances at her.  She looked in her late twenties and was prettier than me.


“Why were you surprised?" she asked at last. She spoke Swahili. I said I wasn’t. “Have you ever had a woman client?" "No". What do you expect?" I said nothing.

We drove to a house in secluded compound along Juja Road. She held my hand and led me inside. “Why did that girl laugh?" she asked. “I don't know"

“What if I told you I am a researcher only interested in asking you some few questions, and paying for it, how would you feel? ..."

:Okay”. She was getting to my nerves

“Do you speak English?"

“When I want to"

She removed a bottle of a spirit without a lable from a fridge, and poured some in glass, which she placed in front of me. Then her questions started; “How long have you been a prostitute? Why did you become a prostitute? What are the risks you face? Has a man ever refused to pay you? Has a client ever beaten you? What do you think the government should do about the likes of you? Do you plan to quit?”

Such questions are rhetorical and depending on who is asking, easy to answer with the obvious replies. That's what I did. But that is as far as the questions got, the next thing I knew she was next to me, within minutes we were naked, doing awkward things with her giving instructions. That became the trend. We would meet once or twice a week. She insisted on picking me from the street rather I going directly to her house.

The girls on the Street too need someone they can confide or candidly talk to. Talking helps ease the tensions that build up from varied experiences, pressure from family and society at large. It’s through talking that girls look for support in justifying any wrong decisions they may have made. Generally there is never an appropriate person to talk to. Colleagues are full of their own issues to listen with more than passing interest, while clients have a low opinion of us, and few want to be involved beyond sex. But I started talking and confiding to Agnes, something I had never done with anyone else. Many times I asked for her opinion and ‘guidance’.

The talking erased the prostitute - client relationship. She made it look like we were friends. Sometimes she refused to pay me the full amount agreed; sometimes she delayed the money for a week. But I still sucked to her, and she knew it. I was be available anytime she called me. At times when drunk she called me names, and reminded me I was a prostitute, only for her to apologize when sober. Despite all this I somehow liked her, maybe because she was the only person I could freely talk to about my work, and the many complexities that came with it.

Slowly I realized she now ‘owned’ me. She would call so many times during the day just to ask where I was. She wanted me to reserve all the weekends for her. This affected my income, but I still did it. Occasionally while in her house she told to me to 'assist' with house  work as she handled some other 'business'. I washed the clothes and cleaned the house. I never came to know exactly what she did for a living.

To cut a long story short, one late evening she took me out to a club in Parklands. As usual while drinking I did most of the talking. All she did was listen in a bossy way that implied her opinion was ultimate. As I got tipsy my predatory and street instincts sharpened. Across the table from was a man who kept stealing glances at me. He winked and I excused myself and walked towards him without hesitation. As I sat down I realized Agnes had followed me. She was blazing. She looked at the man and shouted something about messing with her daughter or sister. She pulled me out of the club. We didn’t talk until we were in house. “Aren’t you ashamed of talking to a man when with me?” she asked. I could not take it anymore. We ended up in a physical fight, which I dominated.

I walked out of the house, and that was the last time I heard of her until that week in April when she sent me an email. Of course she called and tried to apologize but I never went back. Immediately after I went into one of my trademark lows (Someone suggests its depression). I still don't know what to make of her or women clients in general.


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