Episode 47: The Sex Cause

Late in my high school years I was a rebel without a cause. After listening to some Millie Jackson I reasoned I could develop a feeling bitchy attitude like her. Or look like her in that cover jacket where she is seated on a toilet bowl with her pants down. Certainly there was nothing I was to achieve by acting Millie Jackson. Anyway being a bitch and grumpy was part of the attitude, but such could not survive around my full of life and well, bitchy mother. So it was only sometime after I joined campus that I decided to become a rebel again, this time with a cause.

I had gone to university very psyched up to "change the world." However it didn't take long to realize that most of the comrades were more interested in sex, parties and CATS than in changing the world. And the students who were changing the world didn't seem like true believers; they spent time in meetings; all talk no action and only pretentious anger at the "state of things". After watching Holy Man, a feel good Eddie Murphy film, I was inspired to go solo. My cause was ambiguous; a combination of human rights, going green and protecting the ozone layer. I started by vowing never to take tea because I had read somewhere that tea workers were paid peanuts. It didn't matter to me that one cup of tea might not make much difference. I believed " It starts with you" the catch phrase of those in solo protests.  Then when I told my mother about my tea boycott he laughed and informed me in jest that a cup of coffee at Starbucks was $ 2 while the farmers here were not getting even a dollar for kilogram of cherry. I boycotted coffee too, not sure how that was going to make farmers get better prices.

Around the same time I read about farm to fork. A campaign to ensure that what is eaten is produced without harming the environment, and all those in the production chain are adequately rewarded. My farm to fork campaign involved creating a lot of fuss whenever I went to buy greens, fruits or sometimes even eat in a hotel. Of course few in this country have the patience for such fuss. So I relented. But to compensate for the guilt I  felt for failing to trace the food I ate from the farm to the fork, I decided to recycle polythene bags in a big way; carrying my own papers even when going shopping in supermarkets.

Well the first protest lasted only a few months. The fire ebbed because I could not see the reward of my protest, and well I missed tea. Lets not talk about principles. But I still wanted to change the world. I still wanted to be a rebel of some kind. Thus after some few months I decided to take on the sex cause. As a woman I felt I needed to do something about our lot. I reasoned there were two ways to go about in approaching sex as a cause. One was to campaign against the portrayal of women as sex objects. And two was to empower women sexually almost literally; women to use sex as a weapon. There were already people doing the former so I settled on the latter. My mantra was simple: If a woman was to have sex with a man she should not only get the pleasure but also some material gain. The challenge was how to communicate the message without sounding a sort of desperado. And well we were in university where sex just for the kick was part of the experience. The idea became a cropper. But to make up for my failure I vowed not to have sex with men and engaged in a lesbian affair.

All this came to mind yesterday when in the process of doing something else I saw  my university notebook that I used to plan my causes. I had even toyed with some slogans for the sex cause. When I read them now they seem a joke:  A condom & a cent. V for Value.  Dont just open your legs: Open your bag. You make a weapon everytime you part your legs.  Sex is power.  Then there was the classical : Women of the world unite, you got nothing to lose other than your..... . I could no come up with a punchy phrase to capture what I intened then.

So much has changed in the world  and in me since then. At the moment I have a different opinion about that sex is power cause, and I am not sure I would advocate for it. But thinking of it on a lighter note and in light of how I earn my living, I didn't sell out. I am leading from the front. I am one of those rare hands on rebel leaders. ;)

-I have answered 26 more questions. I will answer the rest soon. 

-If you had paid for the Illustrated Book and I haven't refunded your money kindly email me. I will refund you the money asap. The Illustrated book will be available free of charge sometime in October.

Episode 46: A Banking Dilemma

Today I am facing an economic problem. More like a banking dilemma. I have heard banks that issue credit cards are in a sort of Catch 22 situation.  You see there are those customers who pay their credit card bills on time, and then there are the others who go past their limits and are late to pay. The former are charged high interest, penalty fees and other amounts banks are fond of. The defaulters and over spenders rake in the profits, while the disciplined customers provide stability. When the economic times are good the banks will prefer the defaulters, but when the times are bad they wonder how to chase the defaulters away in as polite manner.

Like I mentioned before almost every girl on the Street has a husband; the regular customer who only asks for that particular girl. I have several of them, which is nothing odd. My husbands fall into two general categories. There are those who are 'mature', cool and undramatic men. Then there are the others, rough, unpredictable, full of life men who treat girls like well, prostitutes. The cool guys are the gentlemen among the johns; but then they are sort of boring. Almost everything about them is as routine as their visits. Even their pay is fixed and rarely give a bonus. But these men provide security.

On the other hand the rough character regulars seem to act by the moment. Sometimes they time their visits sometimes they don't. Its like they just seat in a bar  watching football then miss me. So they get into their cars and come looking for me. These are the men who are as likely to take me to a dingy downtown hotel as they are to take me to a four star hotel. They are also the ones who will pick me past midnight and to take me to a drinking spree in Naivasha, where they proudly introduce to their friends as poko wangu ( my prostitute), or using some other funky name which hints at my trade.  Their sex is rough and very experimental . These are the men who are most  likely not to pay me, or under pay. But they are also who are most likely to pay me much more than the usual, and occasionally throw me a gift, never mind the not so sweet words and actions that accompany it.

Like some sort of bank, I need both of these customers. And overtime I have played my cards well so that I really don't have to choose between the two. But today I have to make a decision. Earlier in the week one of the cool guys, picked me and later fixed a date with me for today. Then yesterday one of the roughs passed by and said he wants to show me the world today. Despite their shortcomings I need to keep both of them.

At the face of it, it might seem an easy choice, apparently because many believe we don't have a work ethic. So I just go with one and then give a silly excuse to the other. Yet girls want to bring each other down here. So if I go with one of the men, then the other comes and ask for me, the girls will tell. And don't believe what men say, even in the comments here, they actually get their egos hurt when a prostitute slights them. So the man I ignore wont be happy. He will just pick me one more time to satisfy his ego, then never see me again. In times like these every man counts.

Anyway I will see what to do. It looks like it will rain today, and hopefully one of them wont turn up.Luckily I no longer have a business telephone number.

To all who answered my questions thank you so so much. I really appreciate. I will be replying and commenting on them soon. Do have a lovely weekend. 

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Episode 45: The Present Tension

The Street is an ecosystem of sorts. Though not delicate everybody who is part of it knows the importance of maintaining its balance. The Street ecosystem looks more like a union of the low of society. Low in terms of income, power and perceptions. There are the Street people and children. There are also the watchmen and late night hawkers. Then there are the clients and us. Others who form the ecosystem include the city council askari and police who we consider parasites.

Its we girls who give meaning to the Street at night. Without us Koinange would be just like any other lackluster city street in dark. All those cars which drive past would not be there. The odd hour hawkers would have nobody to sell to. The watchmen, with nothing to excite them, would be like the many others in the city, sleepy and with no drive. Thus one would expect us to be at the top of the Street hierarchy, but we are not. At the top are those who feel the Street belongs to them. The competition here is between the Street people and the watchmen. The former feel more ownership because apparently they have been born and brought up in the streets, while the latter believe they have the official mandate to protect, not only particular properties but also the Street in general. Occasionally these two clash, either verbally or physically. However most of the times they find ways of accommodating each other, knowing very well their strengths. The Street people are not really governed by any code of conduct, and have little to lose.  The watchmen, on the other hand have the law on their side, a reputation and a job to think of.

When a girl comes to the Street she blends with both of these. It happens fast and without any coercion for it does not take long to know who owns the power of violence, which matters a lot here. A girl needs to feel protected even when on the Street. She also needs to be informed when she has dropped her guard and the police or city council askari are around. Also once in a while a man in a car or walking will come and try harassing a girl. Or a girl pinches the pocket of any of such during a promised cozy session in a dark alley or car. A man might discover and try to manhandle a girl. She only needs let out a cry and the man will not know what befell him. Rungus, fists and shoes will land on him.  By agreeing to be at the bottom of the Street chain of command vis a vis the ecosystem, the girls are guaranteed of the protection. Still sometimes a girl has to pay for the protection. The method of payment depends on a girl. Sometimes it’s in cash or kind.


I talk of these because after being away for about a month I went back and found there is a new street order. The Street people around the area I operate from have changed. There is a new group, more forceful in their enforcement.  They want a girl to pay a certain amount daily whether she turns up for work or not. They are also violent and I hear they have beaten a girl or two. On the hand girls are becoming increasingly impatient with them, and soon one or all of us will face of with them. The plan is to refuse to pay their extortion like    protection fee, the results might be a deadly face off.

The new Street people claim to offer more protection both against the City Council and the police. But they are not very smart in the way they do it. I hear a notorious city council askari who does the rounds was beaten on his way to his house about a week ago. A city council vehicle had one of its tires deflated. Stones were hurled at another. More is said to be in the works. Of course in situations like these we know the askari are planning some sort of crackdown or revenge like they usually do. The watchmen are intimidated, and the police operate at a higher level. The City belongs to the City Council and as much as we girls hate them we know the trick is not to be violent in the way we deal with them. We prefer to be more innovative, or play cat and mouse games with them, until the day one of us will emerge the winner. If it comes to violence they will always beat us.

The situation is quite tense, but then no one can come in between, not even the law. What is of the Street will be solved here. Such tensions arise once in a while, but unless you work here you may never suspect anything is wrong.  All signs are that the resolution will somehow happen very soon, and hopefully a stable power equilibrium will be established.

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UP Nairobi: Who Is More Street?

I still pen a monthly article for UP Nairobi magazine. Having passed through the hands of an editor the articles are  not as roughly cut as those appearing here on the blog. Below is an excerpt from this month's issue titled ' Who Is More Street? '

Once in a while I catch the television segment Who Owns Kenya? A crude version of it is replayed here on the Street almost every single day. The Street version is not Who Owns Nairobi? But more like Who Is More Nairobi? The reasoning is this, just like citizens of a country enjoy some privileges as compared to non citizens, those who are “more Nairobi” should also enjoy some extra benefits by that virtue.

Such benefits, unlike those of citizens, are not clearly stipulated, but generally have to do with competition for clients. Not that girls sit down and discuss who is more Nairobi than others, it’s rather more manifested in their usage of statements which tend to be exclusive or imply ownership. The most common of the statements is always; “What do you know about Nairobi?” which is always said in a dismissive manner. A girl may drop such a line to intimidate another in order to win over a client.

The criteria for deciding who is “more Nairobi” is always an issue in the streets.  ...... Read the rest of the story here.

(Up Nairobi is distributed FREE of charge.)

Episode 42: A Little Viagra

I bet you all know how easily available the drugs to 'enhance' the 'sexual experience' are these days. You know the ones that help a man last longer, get his thing up and maintain it up there. And the others that are supposed increase ‘sensitivity’ and make a man taste the love in love making. An article or two I have read in the newspapers have implied that the increased use of the drugs is a result of the present lifestyle which takes toil on the sex hormones, organs and emotions. Lifestyle here is taken to mean drinking, smoking, junk food and certainly chewing of miraa and gawks. But then one of the larger signposts of the present times; the pressure to achieve and the crucification of failures must be contributing to making the drugs a favorite of many men. Anxiety has always been a classical cause of impotence. As to why a man would be anxious while with a prostitute, as many presently are, is another discussion all together.

The increase in the use of the drugs has corresponded with a decrease in the shame of using them. They have become more like condoms. There are many men who pop the drugs in my presence. I usually don't ask questions and the men don't provide answers. But I always wonder do they openly use the drugs while with their girls? Or is it easier to do it with me because there is no sexual shame when with a prostitute? The most discreet of the men will want to give me an impression that they are swallowing painkillers and not performance boosters. Thus when driving to a hotel, a man will say something like “I am having a headache" then proceed to swallow the tablets which look nothing like Panadol or Hedex. Sometimes when I want to sound cheeky, I will say “Which head? “ And seeing the client’s expression change to disturbed, I say “Just kidding”

About ten days ago a man picked me around 2am. He looked in his mid thirties, was shorter than me and wore a broken suit. He was slightly drunk and as we drove to a hotel in the Parklands area he kept cracking the kind of jokes that many men tell prostitutes; simple, dirty and predictable. Somehow at that hour the jokes sound funny; the haha funny and not “that is a smart one” funny. At the hotel reception he bought himself a Redbull and a liter of water for me before we climbed to the third floor.

Inside the room the man sat on the bed, and opened his Redbull. I sat on a chair and waited. With time I have known not to undress before a man gives me a hint to do so, for there are men who find so much pleasure in removing my clothes and it would be to my disadvantage if I denied them the joy. From his trouser pocket the removed two tablets which were wrapped in a yellow receipt. “A little Viagra" he said laughing. Of course Viagra is what lots of men call all those boosters. I didn't catch a proper glimpse of the tabs but I prayed they were not a herbal brand of boosters girls here have nicknamed rocket because they make men fly.  I think rocket makes a man produce so much testosterone, because as stories go a man who has swallowed the pills becomes some sort of animal; high and wild. It’s almost impossible for a girl to satisfy such a man. The saddest thing is that some men don't remember the sexual experience very well after the effects have worn out.


The man didn’t go high but lay in bed with his feet still on the floor; it’s the position many men lay when they want a girl to start working on them. All these took about ten minutes. I stood up and wore my sex look. But as I was going for the man, I noticed his eyes were closed and he was breathing  in an unusually heavy manner. I shook him, but he didn’t respond. His breathing got worse, and some sort of foam started oozing from his mouth. Sometimes when a man has been given a slightly excess dose of sedatives reacts in the same way, and that's the point a girl frisks a his pocket and walks out. At least with sedatives one is sure a man will wake up, no matter how long it takes. The smart thing at that moment would have been to look for the man's wallet, pick some or all the cash and then leave. But what if the man died? I would be blamed for it.  The policemen are most likely to come looking for clues on the Street like they always do. Some girls are even rumored to be police informers. Though many girls will swear they can take a bullet for each other, I know when push comes to shove its everybody for herself. And of course there are girls who don't like me and would be first to say I went with the particular man. Girls and watchmen remember very well who goes with who or in what car.

I took a bath towel soaked it in water and placed it on the man's forehead, but nothing about him changed. He then started throwing fits and I thought for sure he was going to die. I decided to go inform the hotel staff. I am able to give an impression of calmness even when my inside is burning. I stood in front of the mirror, and decided not to look so calm; that might make one think that I was okay with what was happening; panicking on the other hand would make me look guilty. I settled for something in between. I walked out of the room and took stairs to the reception. The receptionist was a girl in his early twenties obviously very sleepy. She brightened up when I explained what had happened. I didn’t mention the tablets to her. She called the manager of the hotel. I don't know what instructions the manager gave, but the girl excused herself and walked outside. The next thing I saw was a watchman coming to the hotel lobby behind the receptionist. She came back to her desk where I was still standing and told me to wait for the manager. Rather than wait for the manger, I opted to go back to the room and check on my would be client. “The manager said you should not go back to the room until he comes". The receptionist said. “Why?" I asked. “He just said that". The girl replied. The watchman approached. I was already a suspect.

The manger came after about ten minutes accompanied by two other men who I guessed were waiters. The latter looked very excited. The manager didn’t even bother to say a greeting to me. “What happened?" he asked obviously trying to sound tough. Calmly I explained what had happened; omitting the tablets and the fact that the man had picked me from the Street . Saying I was a prostitute would definitely make things worse. “Who are you to him?" he asked. I grunted and started climbing the stairs. All of them followed me.

I opened the door of the room, and the man was still lying in the same position but in a worse condition. His mouth and face were covered with the foam like substance. His breathing was now in gasps similar to hiccups. “What happened? “The manager asked a second time. “Get a doctor.” I said, going to where the man was. “How did it start?" the manager persisted. “Get a doctor" I shouted “The man took some tablets”. The manager looked at me then lowered his voice cop in a movie style “What did you give him?". Huh tablets are only associated with drugging prostitutes.

"Lock her up" the manager said. I was not entirely surprised.  And quite enthusiastically the watchman and two waiters grabbed me.  “I am not running away" I said, trying to free my hands. “We can never know" the watchman said, pushing me with his rungu to the second floor. I was thrown inside a small dark room, filled with detergents. “You will never drug another man again" One of the waiters said as he switched off the lights.

I sat on the floor. For a moment I thought of escape but banished the idea after deciding I don't want to live on the run. I then pictured myself in a police cell, then in court charged with murder, and then my life in prison. I was scared. I was sure the man would die because the manager looked so indecisive and slow to action. Would a postmortem establish that the man had swallowed the tablets voluntarily? If at all they were the cause of his condition.


The door was opened some minutes past six in the morning. And there was the manager, the waiters, watchman and the man who was to be my client staring at me. He had lost his shine, and looked confused.

“You are lucky “said the manager. I walked out without saying a word to anyone.



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I have been missing in action for reasons unrelated to the above. Ooops! I know I still have lots of emails and messages to reply to, questions to answer and also books to deliver. I am working on that overtime.

Please note my my new address above.





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Episode 41: The Indifferent Men

When I started having sex I used to think the end was the only thing. And by end I mean sexual climax. Of course the end mattered but it didn’t take long to learn the process of attaining the climax was also important; for it is this that differentiates the sexual ability of girls. When I was a novice in my kind of work I was not sure why men pay for sex; whether it was because they were sexually starved or because they were seeking variety. If it was the former then the end is what would matter, but if the latter the process would be crucial. Most of the men I slept with in downtown seemed starved and need of sex per se. They were okay with me just lying on my back, my head resting on my hands as they had their pleasure.  Or perhaps they were not starved sexually but in the pocket and thus were aware that for the 200 shillings they paid they could only get budget sex.

In the Street it was different and has been for a long time. The men who come there are most likely to have multiple girlfriends or are enjoying relatively good sex with their wives. But they pay a premium to, among other things, go to the edge of pleasure which is achieved not by the climax itself but the anticipation towards it. That’s the reason many of us here give their all to the clients. We kiss, lick and touch where girlfriends and wives don’t. We also allow men to do certain things on us they dare not do to their women. And because we have sex so many times and with so many different men, over time we become experts of sorts.

But something has changed of late. It’s tougher than ever before to satisfy my clients. And not because the quality of my performance has gone down, not at all, but rather men seem to have raised their expectations. If not they have become indifferent to my efforts towards achieving climax. I am flexible, creative and will go the extra mile to please my clients. And as much as I want repeat customers or bonus payment I do it because of the ego boost I get seeing a man enjoying my services. The face of a man who is pleasantry surprised by what I am doing to him sticks me for a while and motivates me, sometimes more than the money.

A few minutes with a man I am able to accurately guess what he has experienced and what he hasn’t. That way I am able to pull a trick out of my bag and give him something new. But none of my creative efforts surprises my clients anymore. And I don’t think all of them have had a taste of some of the things I come up with. I am also one of those who believe there are infinite ways to play with a man. When I ask some of these men if there is any particular experience they want, they don’t pinpoint anything. It is very frustrating.

I cannot find any logical for this new man, and my ego does not allow me to ask my colleagues whether they are experiencing the same but looking at their faces I bet they are. Is it that sex is so easily available that men are bored of it? I don't think so. It can’t be. If I was a science alarmist I would say we are going through an evolution moment when a species adapts to acquire a favorable trait. Perhaps men who have no frills sex live longer, though I guess they are less successful. Now I digress.

I once read a question a lady had asked an Agony Aunt. “What do I do to spice up our sex life?" The answer was the classical “Do away with all the shame and assume you are a prostitute". So what answer would she give to an actual prostitute? Maybe that's the answer I need.


Before you write me off know I still got a trick up my sleeve, the one thing that will make any man say " Shit!" and actually do it. Or so I think. But then this is supposed to be the secret weapon spared for the special one or the most desperate of situations, like when my life or a million dollars is at stake. Irrespective of what the indifferent men do, I won’t stop believing I am still one of the best in bed

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 I have answered forty more questions. Click Ask Sue above to read the answers. 

Thanks to all those who ordered the Illustrated Nairobi Nights, I am getting back to you soon. Same for those who have requested the free ebook.

Google has hit me below the belt so I will be making some changes to the website by the end of the week. Will let you all know. Thank you for taking time to read. Next post on Friday.

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Episode 39: What Goes Around Comes Around

There is every reason to trust a man in his forties, who drives a Jeep and has several copies of The Economist magazine on the back seat. Such a man if he speaks in a deep voice, is collected when picking a girl, and genuinely seems  interested in your welfare gives the impression he is self assured; not one to play boyhood games of the twenties. But that is not always the case like I found last night.

This man picked me around eleven. He was very sober and looked by his dressing as if he had worked till late in the night. We drove to a discreet  Sh.8,000 a night hotel slightly out of town which is a favorite of relatively older men having some fun on the side. At the hotel he asked if I was hungry, and I said I couldn't mind a snack. He paid for a room and I went to locate it as he ordered  fish. I ate the fish in the room while he undressed and took a shower. I have to admit he was handsome.

By default a man is supposed to pay a girl  before she delivers the service. But then you have to judge each man individually. Once you agree on the amount there is no need to demand money upfront from a man who  looks like he can definitely pay.And if you plan to give your all then the hope is the man will pay you extra. Of course if you are in downtown Nairobi you can take such gambles, no matter how the man looks.

So I gave myself to him . He seemed to enjoy and so did I and thus we tried several things in the hour I had agreed to spend with him. After we were done, I took a shower, dressed up and asked for my pay which was also to include taxi charges. He reached for his trouser, removed a 200 shilling note , and gave it to me. I took it thinking he was looking for more. But he just dropped his trouser back to the bed.

 " Thanks" he said.

" So..?"

" What?"

"My money?"

" That is the amount I always pay prostitutes" he said in a calm manner, and deep voice which I kind of liked.

I lost my temper. And for the first time in career  I slapped a client hard on the face. He touched his jaw, then  went to the door opened it and told me to get out. He spoke slowly and confidently as if nothing had happened. Though in a fighting spirit I was not blinded by anger. From his look I knew he would have smashed me with his powerful hands. So I stepped out, but made sure to do the prostitute thing which is to shame a man by screaming and calling him names. But perhaps having swindled again he knew by locking his door and ignoring me, I would be thrown out by the hotel staff, who in such places tend to side with the man. That's exactly what happened.I was escorted to the gates still trying to create a scene.

Today when I think about it I feel a little foolish. One for trusting the man and two for causing unnecessary drama. I know I got myself marked by the hotel staff and definitely other potential clients which is not good for business. And then what goes around comes around. Perhaps I deserved it, for only the other day did I steal from a man.