Episode 11: Of Coming Out Of The Closet

I will digress a little today and write about a thing or two that has happened since I started this blog about two weeks ago. I have received quite a number of emails from people who want to meet me both for personal, business and activism purposes. And other mail from people who wish to know whether I am for real. I find them all funny and interesting.

Well the reason some people doubt my existence on the streets is supposedly because I express myself in 'proper' English and show some sense of 'intelligence'. Quite some basis for the doubts. A prostitute is assumed to be a little daft. Just like the thief, she is the loser who opts to go for the shortcut rather than confront life's challenges head on, like decent people do. To some extent there is truth in this, the same way there is some hypocrisy in it, but that is a story for some other day. Of course there are some of us who are quite slow; Those who even shrub their own names;Calo instead of Carol. But there are others too, as those of you have interacted with us know, who will speak the 'proper' English, with even a twang and sparkling of french.

From my interaction most of us are educated at least up to form two. Then there are those who have reached form four but not gone to college. Then there are a few, by street standards, who are educated to college and perhaps university level. Unfortunately or fortunately on the streets the education level doesn't matter much; its your body that is key. Somehow we are all the same; those with primary certificates or degree certificates. Those who didn't clear their primary schools are not looked down upon by those who have been to campus. And vice versa. I mean irrespective of our education we are all doing the same thing.

Ability to show use 'proper' English and show some 'intelligence' is not a good authentic measure. And so is possession of 'deep thinking'. Most of us, educated or not, have developed some  personal philosophy; a view of the world unique only to our personal selves. Even for those of us who cant express ourselves in 'proper' English they can do so in their mother tongue, and since their thoughts are real and non conforming they would be said to be 'deep'. And yes we are tech savvy. We talk about Facebook and are addicted to Love Find Me.

I have toyed with the idea of coming out in the open. I actually want to meet some of those who hve asked to see me and I will. Other than for the girls I work with, and my clients, only one or two other people know what I actually do. My parents, who luckily moved to the village, have no idea and so does any of our family members.  I use some alibis. I even have some business cards, with my name, from the company at the airport where I work . I have been lucky none of my relatives have ever picked me from the streets, like it has happened to some.

I feel it will be a little awkward to come out in the open. Meeting someone from the 'decent' world and start talking about what I do. The sympathy, the hatred, the patronizing, being put on the defense and all other things that might come up. And what will I gain out of it? Perhaps more customers you know. I am waiting for that psychological leap to help me do it, and sure to get it  will happen very soon.

I also fear when I become brave enough to say to the decent people I am a prostitute, I will find myself telling my parents the truth. A truth that will imprison, rather set me free

Episode 10: The Spiritual Role Of A Prostitute

A female teacher in the mixed boarding school that I attended used to compare us girls to a tin of cocoa; you remember the one which had a foil inside. "The first time you let a man touch your breasts or private parts, then you have opened the lid. The moment you lose your virginity, the foil is gone. After that, every time you have sex , the cocoa gets depleted. If you are not careful the rightful owner will find there is nothing left for him". At the face of it , it was a polite way to dissuade us from adolescence sex, but a little deeper it implied we girls didn't really belong to ourselves but to some man somewhere, who was supposed to have all the cocoa. Our role in society it seemed was to prepare for this man.


Certainly it was a simplistic and traditional  way to illustrate our purpose in society. But , now, many years later  when I think of it , I wonder what is my role in society? Or to hide in the safety of numbers, what is the role of us, prostitutes, in society? I read in college about theories which tried to say that everybody has a role in society. You know the 'I am because we are' kind of theories. That the other person functions because I function or something of the sort. Removing one person disorganizes society. Would our society then be disrupted if  prostitutes were removed ? The same way it would go hay wire  if the police were taken away?


A quick answer would be no, apparently because we contribute nothing of value to society. And in our odd country here, we even don't pay taxes. All we do, as some would say, is steal, spread diseases and separate families. But that would be ignoring our spiritual role. Yes, I know how it sounds for a prostitute to talk about spirituality, but I actually mean. We are priests of our own kind, ministering to our flock; the men. Ignoring all the hullabaloo, the role of priests is to provide emotional stability to those who congregate. A role we have played, in a more practical way, to many a man we have slept with.

Men come to us because they want to get something out of themselves. And not the product of their balls, for if that was the case, they would fare better, saving time and money by playing with themselves. Its something intangible, what the priests here call pepo, some sort of 'demon'. Men come to us possessed by stress, frustrations, mid life crisis, career stagnation,work challenges and we exorcise them in a more pleasurable way, which doesn't involve sitting on a pew for hours listening to a man or woman blaming your spiritual afflictions on your refusal to give tithe.

But why a prostitute? Unfortunately its because a prostitute is considered to be close to the dark of the earth;a somehow a priest of darkness. But more formal and effective than witchdoctors. Men sex prostitute with some roughness, haste, urgency and complexity not shown anywhere else. I see the difference always when sleeping with a man who doesn't know I am a prostitute and one who knows. The face of a man after a session with a prostitute, is that of relieve and freshness, something which I can bet my money making organ cant be noted after a time with the kept woman. FYI a prostitute , mark you, is very different from the side girlfriend. The latter is the woman snatcher, and who in reality is in competition with the wife while providing nothing more than sexual pleasure . However that's a story for another day.

It might be a little hard to get all this, but like with all matters spiritual only those who honestly practice a faith, understand it. Remove prostitutes and the productivity of the country would be affected; families would break up, and more people would end up in asylums. The call for the government to legalize our trade, should not because we are to pay taxes, but because we contribute to the well being of the nation, same as churches.

Episode 9 : When Sex Is No Longer Sin

I have been fascinated by the idea of the Devil & Hell. Not because  I will end up in the hot arms of the Devil. But because I am intrigued by the philosophy of sin. The definition of sin, and the factors that make one kind of sin to have more weight than another. Why is lying to your son about where children come from a lesser sin than say prostitution or stealing?

I have read quite some literature exploring the concept and consequences of sin. There is Dante's Inferno, Robert Louis Stevenson's Markheim and certainly the Bible. I love Jesus' view of sin; an outlook so detached from even the most faithful of his followers. And no, I am not saying this because He had a soft spot for prostitutes; but rather because he was real.

Anyway sometime last year I read on some blog a story trying to give at modern look at Hell. The story defined Hell as the place "Where doing wrong is right, and doing right is wrong.". After the protagonist had sex  in Hell for the first time, he says something like. " This was my first sexual experience in hell. It was flat .There was nothing exciting about it. Perhaps not because sex was readily available but due to the fact that the naughty element of sex that makes it the mischievous act it is on earth was lacking. "

This brings me to my point . Among the major contributors to the so called pleasure of sex is the fact that sex is 'sin' , the 'wrong' thing . When the sin element of sex is removed it becomes another biological exercise like eating. In marriage the sin factor is contributed by trying to hide it from children and house help. But after sometime that fails to provide the adrenaline rush to spark the excitement in sex; that is when people start to cheat. Sleeping with a prostitute when married is 'wrong' but to most men it offers plenty of pleasure. Simply because its not right.

When you earn a living having sex, like I do, its no longer sin. There is nothing to cause the adrenaline rush. Sex is work & work is never particularly interesting. But once in a while you will get a man who comes with an out of the ordinary idea that stimulates your pleasure glands.

The other day a man in a new Jeep picked me around 10 pm. He told me to sit at the back. " I want to report my wife" he said as we drove to the Central Police Station. The police are not our best friends and wherever possible we keep our distance. But here he was taking me, almost naked and with prostitute written all over me,  to a police station. I didn't feel so good.

He drove straight to the compound, and parked near a bus whose passengers some two policemen were frisking. We had sex there. It didn't last ten minutes, but it was the sweetest and most exciting sex I have had in a long time.

Episode 8: In Five Years

A cliche question the reporters in those glossy women magazine ask when interviewing 'an achiever' is "Where do you see yourself in five years?" . And the cliche answer for the career women being interviewed is " I want to be living my dreams, running my own business". Well that is the right PR answer, masking the real one which could have elements of fear, greed and adultery.

Such women think it would show a lack of ambition and character to say they would still like to be working for the same company, in the same position or a slightly higher one.  But despite what the women say there  would be nothing wrong in working for the same company for five years; indeed in the formal companies the longer you stay the higher you rise, and the more your pay.

In our trade on the streets; the opposite happens; Your value decreases as your experience increases.Quoting five years experience is a turn off. Many a girl gets to prostitution telling themselves they wont do it for more than a few months, maybe six,  save some money, start a business , hit it big in some way or get a 'proper' job. But a year goes and another still on the street. The optimal experience is about a year; when one is no longer surprised by the antics of men and all the inhibitions are gone. After a year there is  a plateau and then the downward curve starts.

And this is not tied to age. If a girl hit the streets at the age of 18, in two years she will be 20 but  streetwise she will be older than the girl who started at 23, and has been at it for five months. Somehow men are able to tell the difference, and the more you stay on the street the fewer men  pick you. Eventually you fade away, drop out of the street or change tactic.  The obvious way to do the latter is to go downtown, to cheap brothels and bars; where you charge a tenth of your fees uptown. But its not a free ride down there;Duruma road and Latema are over flowing with fresh girls every day. Good Hope along River Road still offers some hope but there is something really boring about sitting on your chair, in a minis skirt , legs wide open waiting for a man to wink at you.

Of course there are girls who have been here for the five years. As to why they have been in the business that long they don't talk but something is usually miss with them, a thing I cant really explain. However one thing is absolutely clear; their view of men is on the lowest side. To them, men are  pigs, as some writer said.

In my opinion such girls sound so disillusioned because they are not able to justify the long time they have been on the street. To keep your head up in this business you need to justify , to yourself, all your 'awkward ' actions. So where will I be in five years; Going by the magazine cliche answers I should be a pimp. But the truth is I actually don't know. I might still be here, if that happens I will say " I think  sex is over rated. I have been trying to search for the real pleasure in sex". Certainly a holy grail more elusive than the actual Holy Grail.

.

Episode 7: We All Have P

Boys in our school used to say K is constant and what matters are the variables affecting K. It didn’t make sense then but now when I think competition it does. No one loves competition, though out of politeness people say they do.  Competition is especially undesirable if you are peddling the same product and the way to differentiate it is by natural factors beyond your control. Like us, we all peddle P, every man knows that, and so they are looking for other things that come with the P; Beauty, ass, flexibility, age, intelligence and whatever else. So what to do if, for instance one got P but is not good looking and appealing? The logical thing is to accept one's true position, and then to make the best use of it to fit the male psyche. Like they say in business; look for the edge. It’s fruitless to believe such crap as beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.

In the normal world, where a man chases the woman, the latter has all the time to show all the P accompaniments. But not in our trade along the street; we only got five minutes or less to pitch. A man stops his car, we crowd it. He knows we all have P, and so it’s upon us in those few minutes to show him the delicacies with which we will serve it with. The skimpy dresses are not necessarily to arouse but to show in the least time possible what we posses beyond the obvious. The lewd language  to hint at our wilderness and what we are capable of. The mother tongue, to appeal to the roots. And the little jig to focus attention on the hips.

Yet we cannot prevent competition. There will be girls coming to the street every week or so.  A girl cannot come from anywhere and start practicing along "our” street. She has to be introduced by another girl; a veteran, and then buy in cash or kind the goodwill of the real guardians of the street'; the watchmen, the area thugs bouncers and so on. One such girl is Chiki. She came to the street about six weeks ago, and in that short period she has done us enough damage. Physically she is not exceptional: she is pretty, with a gorgeous figure just like many others here. However there is something about her that appeals to men. Only numbered men have turned her down. Her trademark style has been when we all other girls crowd a man's car windows she stands at the front, in some funky pose which few men are able to resist. My hubby included.

Let me explain. There are men who come only for particular girls and if the girl is not available dare not touch anyone else. Such a girl will call the man "husband". The other girls will respect the "marriage" so that when the man comes, and the girl is present they back off and let the husband take the "wife" away. Yesterday one of my husbands came. We crowded the windows of his Toyota Camry but when he asked for me and the other girls noted it was my hubby they let go. But Chiki stuck. I was on the driver’s side while she was on the passenger side, smiling at the man, who stared at her seemingly having forgotten my presence. I couldn’t control myself.

"This is my husband .Leave him alone!" I shouted at Chiki.

"Let him pick" she said calmly, smiling even more lasciviously.

I walked to her side and shoved her. Noting signs of a possible confrontation the man zoomed away perhaps never to come back again.

What do you think you were doing? I confronted Chiki after I had looked at the car disappear down the street.

"I was working, same as you” she said.

I slapped her. Then I felt remorseful. The fact of the matter is that neither of us own the men we sleep with. Neither their wives nor their girlfriends. They belong to us all with P.

Episode 6: Just Call Me Malaya

There have been discussions about the politically correct way to refer to prostitutes. And the suggestions have ranged from the hilarious dealers in horizontal refreshments to the obvious commercial sex workers. The truth is however we don’t give quite a damn about how we are referred. I mean it would be escapism if we are referred by some rosy names; we still do the same thing, and the names don’t increase our value. We actually refer to ourselves and to each other as malaya; a name perhaps more crude than prostitute. But we are not the only malaya, very many men in their twenties and thirties refer to their girlfriends as malaya. A man saying "wacha nikaone malaya wangu" won’t be meaning he is going to see a prostitute but rather her girlfriend. The underlying logic is that all women in a way or another are prostitutes. Very few, if any, women would say with a straight face that they never had sex even once with the money or security component at the back of their minds. We the so called prostitutes are the brave ones to come out in the open and stop beating about the bush; we are in it for the money, the pleasure is secondary.

Talking of names, none of us or rather few of us prostitutes use their real names when introducing ourselves to our clients. Its not really about protecting our identities for if we have the guts to parade on the streets then it means we have little worry about our identities. The trick is to use the name as a selling point. Let’s face it; the truth is that there are names which sound sexier than others could be such a turn off. Due to all the influences around us men have come to associate certain names with some people. Thus if I call myself Beyonce, the man will for a flash think of Beyonce Knowles. Same with a once popular name among the girls here: Naomi...yeah Naomi Campbell. But then you have to be clever in these things; Most men know we use fake names but why make it so obvious?  For instance why call yourself Paris, you know Paris Hilton, while Paris is such an odd name here.


The days of Shiko, Shiro, Maggie and Rosie are gone. The trend nowadays is to sound exotic, unique and well to have a name that feels edible. Exotic is not necessarily in the context of the country but Nairobi, where most  prostitutes are assumed  to come from particular regions. Cheupe for instance has a coastal ring to it, though she comes from somewhere in Central province. And there are all those stories about chakacha, flexibility, sex lessons from the coast. The common name in this category used to be Amina and Mariam but they are now out after they were over used by those who couldn’t even twist their waists. Nowadays French and Amharic names are common. So are unprintable Baganda names. Then there are the “innovative" words given to almost all female children born these days; Furaha, Amani, Pendo, Mimi, Nini, Tamu. Names which signify nothing in real sense, but hint at freshness.

As for me I change names as need be. Many men want to sample women other than those of their tribes. So the first thing is if I am able to guess the tribe of the man from his accent or physical look then I give a name which is from a different and not closely related tribe. The more  rare or smaller the tribe the more excited the men are. If it’s a white man I will give some 'real' African name. My favorites are Naliaka and Pendo. I still love Claire and Marilyn. My default name among the girls is Sue, which you too know. Never mind about my real name.

Episode 5: Let The Pee Flow

On the social scale prostitutes are ranked lowly; somewhere near the proverbial alley cat which can’t tell who fathered its kittens. But if prostitutes be the alley cats then the city council askari are the alley mice. We feel the askari are the scum of humanity representing the worst of mankind. It’s a feeling encouraged by the dismissive and you-are-not-human beings way the askari treat us. It is often, and appropriately so, a cat and mouse game between us and them. Unfortunately for now they have more ways of getting back at us than we have of them. But In spite of them having the handcuffs, whips, guns, cells and when necessary the law, once in a while we will have some clever way to hit them.

By default we are always on the lookout for the council askari and when we see them or hear rumors of their coming we disappear to the shadows or clubs, but as it maybe occasionally they get the better of us. Last night they arrested nine of us who they squeezed in the back of their van.

 Every one of us knows the drill; the city council arrests you and at the least you have to fork out 500 shilllings to be let free.  It’s lesser than the three thousand the judge will fine you if charged with prostitution. But the askari will start by asking for a thousand shillings and they expect you to beg them to reduce the amount to 500 shillings. We hate begging the askari, so meanwhile as we decide to eat the humble pie or not  they pack us in their old van and take us round and round the city arresting more girls.

Few girls carry such an amount in their pockets. This is purely for safety reasons; you never know who meet in the night and what they will do to you, so the lesser amount you carry the better. You can’t even trust your clients not to steal from you. If a girl makes money during the night she gives it to a watchman, the bouncers, street guys, anyone trustworthy to keep for her and collects when okay.  Yesterday the city council came a little early, at 10, when few of us had made any money. So we made the necessary calls and were waited for rescue. It’s very rare for a girl to fuck a council askari for freedom. A girl would rather spend the nights in the cell than have an askari inside her. However there will be an odd one who lays an askari but the result is contempt and ostrasization by the other girls until she is pushed out of the street.


Cheupe came up with the idea of urinating in the council vehicle.  We were parked next to the high court gate and all the askari were out receiving a bribe from a man who had come to the rescue one of the girls. Cheupe is an odd one. Though we are all loud, she is the loudest and seems to care the least. She even has a slogan;cheupe kuja nikupe. “You know what we are going to do" she said, her loud voice a little lowered " We are going to urinate in this van" . We laughed; we took it as a joke. . “Its no joke, we are going to do it, every one of us" she said. She then opened her legs and let out urine. Cheupe doesn’t wear pants, which I find to be less sexy than actually wearing one. Guess men want to fantasize, and when a man is passing and you r display your ass, well bet the fantasy is gone and he will offer you less. Anyway after Cheupe had done it, we all did. It was so much pleasure and we laughed as we did it. The two young girls we also forced to lower their pants and empty their bladders too.

The van was filled with the smell of urine; a mixture of beer, cheap spirits and bodily fluids. We clapped in joy. I was released around 4 am .My benefactor was some bouncer at city club. I paid half the amount in kind in the club's gents and the rest I will give him in cash. Cheupe was locked in.