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Nairobi Nights
By Sue: The Kenyan prostitute building a brand.
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Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Episode 29: The Street Badges
Like other industries ours too has best practices. One of these involves how we sell ourselves to clients. Best practices demand a girl sells herself by focusing on her personal strengths rather by pinpointing the weaknesses of a colleague. A girl should not act like politicians who win by degrading and mudslinging opponents. Though there is no definite punishment for going against the best practices, doing so comes with consequences.
Two or so weeks ago a white man came driving some not so good looking car, but girls here think white is gold, it matters little how the white is packaged. So three other girls and I crowded the car. Among them was Mariam; a woman who somehow seems out of place on the street. She is relatively older and acts rather mature. Mariam is one of those considered pillars of the street; she is polite and careful with her words. She dishes these random pieces of advice to girls. And among all of us, she seems the most focused and organized. Mariam is very pretty, but has a problem speaking proper English. However considering the nature of our business, that has never been a handicap, actually in some circumstances it is a plus.
The white man seemed interested in Mariam, who was on the driver’s side. She was speaking in her smooth Swahili and the man was enjoying; like most of the white men who come here, he had an odd looking, never ending sheepish smile. Then I did something girls don’t do. I competed by bringing Mariam down. I was broke and had partaken some strong drink. I didn’t care for best practices. “She is fat” I shouted, as if being fat was a bad thing. The white man looked at me, more in surprise than appreciation. Miriam is not necessarily fat, bet she has the right amount of weight. And even if she was, there are men who want such ladies. I said it in bad taste. Miriam forgot about the white man, and came blazing to where I was. Within minutes I was on the ground, there was no way I could fight her. She beat me almost senseless. The girls didn’t try separate us, perhaps they thought I deserved it.
I was out for some few days. When I went back, head down in shame, I apologized to her, blaming it on alcohol. And as the rule in such situations, I topped my apologies with some small monetary compensation. We are now in good terms, but I have a small scar on the back of my shoulder; a badge of shame.
I have another badge. When I first came to Koinange Street, I tried to be the people’s person. Trying to be nice and polite to every of the girls. It didn’t take me long to realize that was of no use in a very individualistic and competitive environment. In the eyes of the other girls I looked stupid. And yes, I saw the looks when a man picked me and later heard their scathing remarks. Who did I think I was to go round being nice to everyone?
I shed the Miss Good image, and became more acceptable. I could gossip and take sides in arguments rather than be the girl in the middle who giggles sheepishly. Most importantly I could hate. Whether my feelings of hatred were real or not mattered little; the important thing was that in my eyes and those of the other girls I was becoming street worthy. Yet I didn’t have what is unofficially perceived as the street badge of honor.
There is no girl on the street, however good, who is loved by all the rest. Everyone has an ‘enemy’, and as they say in those hip hop songs, having an enemy is a sign of success; something to be proud of. I knew there were girls who disliked me and openly called them enemies, though I never actually considered them as such. Yet in moments of extreme pressure and competition say as a result of poor business or strong drink I became a little eccentric and took the fight to my so called ‘enemies’ . At such times a slight excuse was reason enough to pick an oral fight with the ‘enemies’.
However oral fights can only last as long. The main victim of my insults was a short, stocky girl called Caro. My issues with her started when I was told, by another girl, that she was going around saying I was a cheap prostitute who had been practicing at the Sabina Joy but now had the guts to go snatching men from the street. Thinking of it now, there was some truth in her statement. But I was not to take it lying down. I confronted her, and that was the start of months of exchanging words.
One evening I was drunk and as she passed near where I was standing, I said “Seems today men have rejected you” or something to that effect. As tradition I expected her to insult me back. But that time round she looked at me for a second then slapped me with her thick hand. A slap begets a slap. I slapped her back. In a few minutes we were rolling on the ground. She was stronger and heavier than me. I was drunk and my punches weak. She beat me proper before we were separated. I still have a scar on the neck from that fight. Though I was beaten I consider it my street badge of honor.
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Things here and there in my life. Somehow I can’t think straight. I will do one more post this week before taking a short break out of this town.
I was interviewed on Aljazeera sometime last week. You can listen to it here
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Twitter: @suenairobi
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Posted by Sue at 9:41 AM 37 comments
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Monday, May 9, 2011
Episode 28: Sue – More Than Just Sex
Competition in our industry has become very stiff. The competition has been driven by an oversupply of the services we offer. This is not necessarily because more girls are joining the trade but more as a result of having a few of the trade’s stabilizing dynamics disrupted. A key variable in our industry is time. The fact that there are girls who only operate during the day, and others during the night makes sure there are only enough of us at any particular moment. With the introduction of the alcohol law which requires bars to be opened at 5pm during weekdays and 2pm on weekends, the timing has been messed up with. There are tens of girls who used to operate from different bars in the city during the day. Now they have to reschedule their work hours, burdening the night.
Distribution has also been upset. This has to do with spread of the girls in different parts of the city. When a den is permanently closed it affects distribution because girls move to other open venues, which might be in a different side of town. The area around Luthuli Avenue and River Road has served a crucial role in balancing the downtown and uptown Nairobi prostitutes allotment. But in the last few months misfortunes have been hitting that area. It started with the closing down of Eden which I hear has been turned to a shopping complex by the new money in town, then Good Hope burnt down. Some hardened girl who changed base to the street the other day, told me Safaricom House was closed a week or so ago. This is not the one along Waiyaki Way but the alias of a lodging cum brothel along Luthuli Avenue.
There are now more girls coming to the Koinange side of town. Most are not newbie but toughies shifting base .The immediate effect has been to exert a downward pressure on price. But what I find to be a more grave consequence of the influx (never mind that’s where I started) is the loss of what was left of the Koinange panache: the impression that we girls on the street are cleaner, more decent, open minded and sophisticated than the girls downtown; but still with the prostitute feel which most of the girls in up market brothels have lost. Pretence is a crucial part of our business on the street. Pretending to have swag even when in real sense its non existent. The faking commands better prices and helps protect the image of the street. The toughies from downtown are brutal in their dealings, dressing, talk and negotiations making nonsense of the economies of location.
On the other hand there are some few fresh girls who have joined us. These are the extremes of the downtown girls. They have so much style, its intimidating. Whereas the rest of us still call men honey, sweetie and babe, the new girls are using words normally using new pet names of Pretty, Sweetness and the likes. Words common everywhere, but the street. Two of them, suave and young sell themselves as a package, so that a man cannot pick one and leave the other. And that at a discounted price. I feel such girls should not be along Koinange, but some lane in Westlands, Parklands, Kileleshwa or some other such place. That is a hint of the tension that is starting to build here. There are those of us who feel we own the street, and we ought to chase all these new comers and reclaim our fast fading glory.
I have to admit that I have not been very innovative when it comes to selling myself. I just parade, smile, mention a word here or there and hope a man will pick. More or less it worked. Nowadays though, the magic seems to have gone. As concerns my marketing efforts starting this blog is the most innovative thing I have done. And though I have generated business from it, I have to confess its always awkward, uneasy and a little complex for both the man and me. Bet it’s because I feel such men know so much about me that I don’t fully relax. The men for a reason or another don’t seem at ease. Though I didn’t want my brand just to be only about sex for cash, I have to overcome those shortcoming and reservations; be easy and make my readers at ease as to enjoy sessions with me. (I will write more about this when I do a post reviewing my brand building efforts in the last four months.)
Meanwhile I have to be innovative on the street. I toyed with the idea of role playing dressing. You know I dress like a nurse or policewoman. The nurse seems exciting and I will see what to do about it. The other idea is to offer a package; something more than sex. For instance sex and talk. Where sex is accompanied by a tell it all session. Previously I have smoothly been able to make men talk about their work, fear, hopes, and problems. While men may not take my suggestions I note they feel good when I listen and seem genuinely interested in their lives. But the short time between a car stopping and a man picking me is not enough to let a man know that I will offer sex and a listening ear. I am thinking of printing business cards with my number, email, website and catchy slogan of what I offer. Sue: More Than Just Sex or Sue: The listening pleasure…something in those lines..
A major marketing hitch in my kind of business is that word of mouth doesn’t seem to work. I have never slept with a man who has been referred to me by another man. I suspect some men don’t want to be known they sleep with prostitutes, which is okay, while others want to spare the marvelous prostitute for them.
Getting repeat customers can also be problematic. Not long ago after a very good session with a man, I said to him.”Will you come back to me ?”
“Why should I? he asked.
“I thought you enjoyed”
“I did, but I don’t visit a prostitute twice.”
I smiled. But it hurt.
Follow me on Twitter @suenairobi
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Posted by Sue at 3:18 PM 37 comments
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Thursday, May 5, 2011
Episode 27: No Dim Candle Lit Room
Many men are attracted to picking girls from the streets because of the freedom to choose where to have sex with them. For unlike girls in downtown bars and brothels who insist on having sex in-house; in stuffy rooms and tattered mattress, the girls on the streets are more risk inclined as to go where a man wishes. Not that we have much choice. When I get inside a car I usually have no idea where a man will take me. It may sound stupid, but it’s a foolishness I charge a premium price for. A man may consider such factors as cost, privacy and convenience in determining the destination.
Men don’t say where they are taking me until I ask. Their assumption maybe that a girl on the street is ready to go anywhere. Perhaps they also fear a girl may change here mind if told of the destination. True there are places a girl would be uncomfortable going to. For instance near a neighborhood where she stole from a client. Also in a hotel where she was short changed, created a scene and embarrassed the hotel. There are also men who love going to a prostitute’s house. This perhaps is driven by the image of prostitutes in movies; husky voiced, cigarette smoking women, living in dim candle lit rooms, with some erotica hanging on the wall next to the bed. The truth is girls here don’t live that way.
Most of the girls downtown live in congested neighborhoods which are slightly above the state of slums. If you asked a girl at the Sabina Joy where she comes from the answer would be Kayole, Githurai, Huruma, Mwiki, Mathare North or Mlango Kubwa. If not that it would be a place like Gachie or Wangige. Few girls if any admit coming from the slums. To some extent it’s an ego thing, and to another it’s about what such a discovery may do to business; what with the stereotype of prostitutes and slum residents as thieves. A prostitute from the slums will not only be assumed to be dirty but also exhibiting the worst of prostitutes’ treachery.
Here on the street the opposite happens. Few girls admit to living in the estates where the downtown brothels girls live. Doing so would snatch the slight decency expected of girls on the streets. However in actual sense there are some of my colleagues here who live in such estates, even in slums. Though such low income places may offer convenience in terms of cost, they are a big inconvenience when it comes to the logistics of business. Life in such areas is characterized by arbitrarily police round ups, what is called msako. Woe unto you if you are caught in the msako when leaving for work. Besides the msako there is always a high possibility of bumping into policemen on patrol. Police in such areas have a superiority complex which tries to exploit on the perceived inferiority of the residents. They are certain to arrest or harass you for no good reason. Thus if you live there you might be forced to leave home before dark for work. And if you work here on the street where business doesn’t pick up till after eleven, there is just too much time to kill, time which could have better been spent sleeping.
A brighter move, and which many of us have adapted is to live, as we put it, near the money. Thus we pick relatively decent places, slightly expensive but with some comfort and peace of mind. After all, if you have to spend the night in cold, chasing cars and shouting honey then you need to enjoy the fruits of your labor in calm. So you will find a number of girls living in Pangani, Westlands, Buru Buru, Kariobangi South and Kiambu town. At times two or three girls will come together and rent a two or one bedroom house in an up market place.
I live in a bed-sitter in Pangani. It takes about twenty minutes or so to get to town, and I can leave or get in the house at anytime. I guess none of my eleven neighbors knows what I do for a living. Although the watchman may have a clue because of my odd hours ,he doesn’t ask any questions. I like it that way, having to live without announcing to everyone what I do for a living. I love the beauty of living alone. The joy of those moments when I stagger home towards daylight and crash on the bed, or those times when I am seated on the floor of the toilet vomiting as a result pf a bad hangover. No matter how the night has been, I usually find solace in my house. It is a special place, sacred in its own way. And for that reason I made a rule to preserve it only for myself . But rules get broken.
The duration between 3.45am and 5am in the morning is one of desperation. If a man hasn’t picked you by the time, then some despair sets in. That does not mean a girl cannot be picked within those hours, she can, but the quality of men who visit the street at that hour is not the best. Most have been partying all night long, are drunk, demanding and hard to negotiate with. The sober ones are likely to be with emotional problems and rather unpredictable. If there be a serial killer hour, then that is.
Sometime ago a man picked me in his car a few minutes after four. He was in a suit, good looking and sober. He told me he was from outside Nairobi. He was on a business trip but booked in a hotel with his family . He said he only had a thousand on him, not enough to book a room and pay me. Could we go to my house and at the end of it give me the whole amount? he posed. I didn’t think of it twice. I was financially cornered. I said yes, reasoning one man would make no difference.
We had a twenty minutes session. Dressed up he said he couldn’t find the money in his pockets, and then pulled one of he oldest tricks in the book. “I left the money in my car” he said. I followed him to the car which was parked outside the gate. I stood a short distance away. I watched him bend over as if looking for the money under his seat. Then all at once the engine started, and he was gone before I knew it. I wanted to shout thief and have him stopped before he accessed the main road. But I held my breath. Even if he was stopped someone would ask:” What has he stolen?”
Never again have I serviced a customer in my house. And never will I..
Posted by Sue at 2:32 PM 34 comments
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Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Episode 26: An Allergy To Rubber & Other Latex Anecdotes
My first ever client wore two condoms. He had voluntarily worn one but I had insisted he insert a second. This was as a result of intelligence I had gathered from Njoki, a girl I had befriended, and who had been at the Sabina Joy (SJ) for years. According to her a girl could not risk sleeping with a man who wears a single condom. “What if the condom tears?” she asked. This was the Njoki who recited Yeats and whose experience and perceived brains were impossible to ignore, especially as an anxious novice. So there I was lying on a tattered mattress in a stuff dimly lit room, telling a rather drunk man to wear an extra condom or bounce. Of course he protested claiming I was giving him a raw deal, but too bad for him, he had already paid for the room and walking away would have meant him losing Sh200. As he penetrated me I was dealing with the relief of at last doing something I never imagined I would do and the discomfort of too much rubber.
Word spreads fast at the SJ and it didn’t take long to know I was not endearing myself to men by always insisting on the double potion of condoms. Also after some research on my own I realized using two condoms may actually have been doubling the risk rather than the protection. So I went easy on it. That said the number of men who wanted raw sex; kanyama as they called at the SJ, was amazing… A man would ask to have unprotected sex with me, and if I asked why his answer would be a vague statement like “That’s what I enjoy”. Unlike on the streets where monetary gains may tempt a girl to have raw sex, at the SJ there were no such incentives. At times a man would try to penetrate me without a condom and if I alerted him to it, he would pretend to have forgotten. That however was a ridiculous excuse because the condoms would be lying on the bed for him to see. Yet what perplexed me most those initial days was why anyone would decide to have unsafe sex with a prostitute. It’s a puzzle I have never solved to date.
The sex at the SJ was no frills. This made it impossible for men to trick me to having unprotected sex. You see the short time sex at the SJ follows a very predictable pattern: You smile at man. He smiles back. If he is at a distance you wink. He comes over to you. Twende shortie you say. The man asks how much. Two hundred. If he agrees he goes to the reception and pays Sh200 for the short time room, and gets a pack of condom wrapped in tissue paper. Both of you queue awkwardly outside the short time room where there is always a couple inside. If those inside the room stay for more than five minutes, you start intensely knocking the door until they get out. Once inside you ask the man for your fee. Money in hand you lower jeans, lie on the tattered mattress, apply some saliva on your P and wait for the man. If he makes as if to touch your breasts and all or ask for funky styles you turn him down; money and time are not enough for the extras.
On the street nothing is as predictable. The venue of the sex is an unknown just as what will happen when there. Since on the street I charge a premium, I am more flexible and give or act as if to give my all. Still a number of men have tried to penetrate me raw, especially when I am on my fours. Some wear the condom then try to remove it. But I am always alert and none of those odd men have succeeded in their trickery. There are other men who will offer me extra cash in return for kanyama. In such circumstances I, and most girls, decide what to do based on individual greed, desperation and need for money.
As much as the effects of a an ailment such as AIDS may be more adverse on me than say pregnancy, like most girls I am equally worried about getting impregnated by a random customer. Most of the girls practicing in places like the SJ or on the street, and who have children are proud to pin point the father. In most cases the father is a boyfriend in their neighborhood. (Yes, many girls have boyfriends.) . In cases where the father is a client then it one of those they have built a special relationship with. While at the SJ I believed a condom could protect me more from disease than from pregnancy. No wonder I got pregnant despite my being extra careful. I have never understood how it happened. But luckily or unluckily something came up in the early days of the pregnancy and I didn’t carry it to full term. And no, I didn’t abort.
There was another time when I had a pregnancy scare. A man picked me from the street around 4 in the morning. He was fairly drunk and so I was. We went to a hotel within the CBD and had this rough sex. Either he didn’t wear the condom properly or climaxed and continued thrusting, but somehow the condom came out. I only realized when we were done. I was not very polite with him and used some choice words to express my disgust. He laughed, placed my fee on the bed and left. Such was a “Shit! I am a prostitute!” moment; a few seconds which reminded me straight on the face of my place in a righteous society. Anyway I didn’t want daylight to get me in town, so I left the hotel and went home with the condom stuck in me. I managed to remove the filthy thing. Though it was during my unsafe days, I was lucky again as I tested negative both for diseases and pregnancy.
Still on condoms, a man picked me one rainy night. He was not so good looking but quite polite. We went to a hotel in the outskirts of town. Immediately we entered the room we were all over each other with kisses and touches. When time came for the actual sex, he removed some cream from his trousers and gave to me. I thought it was a lubricant. “That’s a spermicide. I am allergic to rubber”. What! I looked at the packaging and instructions, sure it was a spermicide. There was even an applicator which I was to use to apply it inside me. “I will use it too “the man said. For a moment I was frustrated and confused. I was broke and needed the money. “What happens when you use rubber?” I get very sick. He looked and sounded genuine. “Are you married?” No. This broke my heart. He was a prostitutes’ man. “Will this protect me from infection?” “I don’t know, but I have used it with other women and nothing bad has happened. Do I look like I can infect you intentionally?” There was a moment of silence. I then took the cream, squeezed and applied generously inside me. In silence he applied it on himself. We made love, nothing forceful, and nothing steamy. But everything mellow.
That was a few months ago. Nothing bad has happened to me.
Posted by Sue at 11:58 AM 52 comments
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Monday, April 18, 2011
Episode 23: Are You Satisfied ?
At the face of all I need from a client is money. The cash lifts my spirits, but leaves me with some sort of emptiness when not coupled with a sense of satisfaction. The contentment I speak of is both sexual and psychological. I am used to living without the sexual pleasure. Sometimes despite giving my all sex feels like any usual physical exercise say walking. There is no thrill or a hint of pleasure. Initially the sex frustration used to disturb me. I remember in my earlier days on the street how I almost got depressed after sleeping with several men and not getting tickled the way I expected. With time I overcame the feeling. I realized in the process of making the psychological leap to prostitution, I had lost something, that which previously used to make me passionate and crazy about sex. Still this does not mean there are no moments when I enjoy sex. There are ecstatic and orgasmic instants. However I seem to have lost control of when and how I experience sexual bliss. My P seems to have charted its own course about this.
Then there is the issue of the psychological fulfillment after a session with a man .When I know I have given a man what he came to look for in me I get a big moral and ego boost . A delight that makes me think I am still relevant on the streets. There are men, like I pointed out earlier, who come for the physical and others the spiritual. And it is easy to know what a man is after. The duration between him picking me and getting to bed gives the clues; its in the talk, the driving and his eyes. The way he acts during the actual sex also hints at what he is seeking. Men who thrust as if they are trying to get something other than their semen out are not in for the physical pleasure alone.
The crucial point for me is after the sex. I see fulfillment, guilt, satisfaction, bliss, delight, disappointment, grief among other things in the eyes of men. When a man requests to hug me after a session I feel good. When a man curses or says that was good I know he got what he wanted. A man who throws money at me rather than handing it over to me didn’t get what he wanted. There are all these small clues. Sometimes I will be courteous enough to ask a man whether he is happy with the service or not. But such a question rarely generates a honest answer.
When I have not satisfied a man I feel like I am losing my shine, which actually I might be. I will carelessly spend most of the cash I get from such a man. I will try, more than necessary, to prove myself to my next client, sometimes making mistakes in the process and losing whatever others think is left of my dignity.
Posted by Sue at 1:25 PM 41 comments
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Friday, April 8, 2011
This And That
Well it’s been ages since I said a thing or two about the comments here. I will do it today now that my computer is still being repaired & with it stories I had planned to post. So I will answer some few questions, say something about others and highlight some of those I found really interesting.
For how long does a prostitute remain fresh on the street? What’s the optimal duration before she starts losing her appeal? From my own experience I started feeling stale after a year. A spark was gone. Perhaps because within a year I felt the street had validated me. I had gotten the t-shirt. After a year I started getting occasional lapses in terms of make up, dressing and the morale to go to the streets. So what will happen to me if I stay on the streets for five years? In Episode 8: In Five Years Time an Anonymous crudely & perhaps rightfully so tried to capture how I would look after five years on the street look:
…The thing about those prostitutes who have been on the streets for 5yrs is that it shows on their faces, kind of like the hard rough hands of a construction worker. They have experienced all kinds of shit, from the abuse of kanjo (City Council) who haul them onto the lorry for a free quickie to the mean bastard who picks them up and doesn’t pay me. Yes their pain is evident on their faces, their disgust, hate and rage. There isn’t any new line they can buy except to tell the men who pick them up…ripa mbere ya kura…March 4, 2011 3:47 AM
I will not allow myself to get to that.
In Episode 11: Of coming Out Of The Closet I talked about the pressure to come out in the open and my reluctance to do so. Well nothing much has changed regarding this. But I have met quite a number of people through this blog. As much as people promise not to stare at me as if I’m from Hell, or create a fuss, somehow they end up doing it. One person kept looking at me from head to toe despite us being seated in a restaurant. Another kept asking me if I was full, as if she thought I was starving. A man was excited, overwhelmed, shocked or intimidated and he could not construct a logical sentence. Then there was the lady who had promised to meet me alone but came with a whole bunch of friends who sat a table away and tried o photograph me secretly. It’s all hilarious, but nowadays more than ever I am hesitant to meet anyone. However I am coming out in the open in other ways. With a podcast I will make my voice known. I am betting no one can identify me from the way I speak.
That said in a comment on the same episode Gwen asked …”Do you want to grow into the profession or something else entirely?…Do you ever get female clients?..” To grow in the profession entirely I would need to re-launch myself every year. In the long run I will naturally fade so for now I am content in building a brand before I finalize my exit plan. As for female clients those are few and far. The mechanisms of girl on girl sex make picking a prostitute as a partner not the best of options. But yes there are still female clients, one of them notorious.
In the episode Wanja asked is Cheupe for real? Cheupe is the girl who came up with the idea of urinating in the city council vehicle. In my article in last month’s UP magazine I told of how she sold me fake sedatives. You can read the story here. Of course it has an editorial touch.
Episode 14 was titled; Why I Chose the Street. A quick clarification the episode was not about why I chose to become a prostitute but why I decided to go to Koinange Street instead of being in some bar or brothel. Having confessed to spending some time at Sabina Joy, the notorious downtown bar cum brothel some I lost the respect of some people.
Wonderman said:
…At first I’d entertained the thought of sleeping with a prostitute (you basically) but when I think clearly, I know as you mentioned earlier in your blog-you got no conscience, and then it would be meaningless. Now you mention you’ve been to SJ? Damn!! You’re cut from the same cloth as all you night girls…”
And if you wonder why Wonderman will not sleep with me, a girl who has been to the SJ some Anonymous provided an answer which is a stereotype of what people think of the Sabina Joy:
….Those whores at SJ have stinking pussies..I doubt if they ever shower. I once took one home and when she unleashed her torn panty the smell that came out made me a celibate for the next two months…YIEW!!!What happens to some women down there. I imagine I know enough chicas who do not smell at all….but some, they smell like a rotten mouse… February 4, 2011 8:56 AM
I admit the SJ is in a class of its own when it comes to the girls and patrons. It has, successfully, branded itself as the number one destination for cheap rough & sweaty sex. Sex characterised by ambitions of sensuality which are never actualized. But personal hygiene is a girl’s own responsibility. True there are some, who are not the cleanest, but there are many who maintain a level of decency & they care about how they look and smell. And then men talk and girls listen. If you take time to sit and have a beer rather than rush for a short time, you will know who to pick or avoid.
But not everyone thinks girls who have been to the SJ are bad going with a question by an Anonymous:
Will you marry me? February 21, 2011 2:57 PM
I will, if you won’t seek to tame me.
In Part 2 of Episode 14, where I mentioned about writing for UP magazine, an Anonymous asked:
.. Just out of curiosity if you are writing on magazine like UP, ain’t you being paid enough to get of dangerous street well unless sex is your thing (addiction)
February 7, 2011 3:34 PM
No, I am not addicted to sex. Indeed if a girl got to prostitution to satisfy a sex addiction she would be disappointed because there are many instances where the sex is not available, and less than satisfying when you get it.
Another Anonymous made a very critical observation…
….Its a mysterious world for some of us with boring routine lives and 8 to 5 desk jobs and weekends spent in front of the TV. Please try to be more vivid in you descriptions of your colleagues, encounters, the watchmen and bouncers etc. I’m curious to know the nature of these men. What state of mind is a man when he picks you up? Do you ever talk? You also haven’t answered yet why you chose the street. I’m also curious about your childhood and how you lost your virginity. What course did you do in college? Are your parents poor? Have you ever been in love? Do prostitutes get pregnant from their client or what do you do about birth control and how do you deal with STDs?
Quite some questions. I am a little hesitant in giving vivid descriptions of people or circumstances because if I did the posts would be too long and you won’t have the patience to read. I read blog posts should be short and not as long as this one. The day I make enough money to take a three months or so retreat from the city, learn a thing or two about writing, then I will do a book, and give much of the detail that I skim through. For now I have to keep doing quick posts. I have answered some of the queries in subsequent posts. As to whether my parents are poor, no they are not. And yes I have been in love. Also yes prostitutes do get pregnant from their clients.
Now some quick answers to a few questions which have flowed in through comments, Twitter, Facebook and Email.
Tamaku: No ipod to listen to while client huffs away???!
And what will I would be listening to? Sexual Healing? But no music during sex, I need to show the man his huffs and heavy breathing are the best music I have ever listened to.
Anonymous: At what age did you lose your virginity?
16 years
Anonymous: Have you experienced any form of bestiality:
A: Yes of the handcuffs variety
Anonymous: Have you ever stolen from a client?
Yes…
I will write more soon…
Posted by Sue at 4:38 PM 17 comments
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Monday, April 4, 2011
Episode 21: Role Playing
Most human beings have one form or another of eccentricities. However because we get to hear only of the oddities of the famous we think ourselves perfectly normal. Yet there are many things we do which may be considered as pecularities. But we don’t think of them as such because to us they are normal. Its debatable whether the word normal loses meaning when defined by an individual as opposed to the larger society. I have never thought any of my actions as freaky until some few days ago when someone suggested some of the things I do are strange.
Like everyone in college I had dreams of a good job. I used to very specific which particular companies I wanted to work for. The first was Zimele Asset Management where I was to be analyst. The second was Safaricom where I imagined working in product development. Then there was Y & R where I figured I could be a copywriter. And there was the World Bank, there I was not sure what I wanted to do. By the time I got to my fourth year I had stopped dreaming. My dreams hadn’t been quashed but I had started developing some, let me call it open minded, philosophy. With the open minded thinking I felt, correctly or not, I had life by the balls.
A few weeks on the streets I started wondering, not in regret or remorse, what would have happened if I had ended up working in those companies. I became a little obsessed with the the thoughts. The result is that nowadays (& for the last two years), at least twice a month, I pretend or actually believe and as act as if I am not a prostitute. Such evenings I dress in what I think a female analyst at Zimele Asset Management dresses in. Then I go to the bars where I think she would have a drink. I sit there imagining how my day in the office was, analyzing the money market and securities. When its Y & R I create and recreate advertisements in my head.
The days I pick to play these roles are random and on such I don’t step on the street. Rather after a few drinks I go home to ‘prepare’ for the next working day. Its a rather costly exercise for me. The drinks the successful young working women take are expensive. The bars they visit classy, serene and comfortable places.( My favorite being off Waiyaki Way). I am blind to these costs and willingly spend. When the urge to become a product developer at Safaricom comes and I have no money I get into a state of frustration, I lose my concentration and become a little edgy. I am not able to summon the energy to go to the street until the urge disappears.
I know the role playing may sound futile and outlandish, but in the short list of things that make my life full it ranks highly. The first person I told about it was my gynecologist during my regular monthly check up last week. I mentioned it as a by-the-way. I was surprised by how shocked she was. She even suggested I should be seen by a psychiatrist friend of hers. I laughed. I have no mental problems. I know what I am doing & at no one time have I ever imagined it as bizarre.
Yet beyond the feeling of satisfaction I have no logical explanation for my acting. But this could be one of the things that beats logic. I am okay with the way I live presently. I don’t really aspire to live the lives I act. It’s not a fantasy but simply I am happy to experience the career life in my own way.
That said there are some complications with my role playing. Normally when I go to the classy places I sit alone smoking, taking some white wine or better still shots of Jack Daniels. Of course as a copy writer I am thinking of the customer’s brief requiring an advertisement that resonates with men but doesn’t feature gorgeous women. But generally I want to avoid conversation. I am confident and knowledgeable enough to hold small talk about any topic but what if someone asks where I work and I mention a company where he or she works? That however is a small matter, an awkward moment which I can get away with using some charm. The bigger risk is that under the influence of strong drink one says things they should not. And the more I drink the more my prostitution instincts become sharpened as much as I may wish to tame them in such situations….(Will continue with this…)
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( Well I know of late I don’t post as often as I used to do. One or two things. My computer almost died last week & its being resuscitated. I am not very okay working from a cyber cafe. If I am to believe the technician the computer should be working by end of the day. Also I have been recording a series of podcasts, slightly different from the content of the blog because when talking thoughts & memories flow in a special way…I will have the podcasts ready soon..
As for me getting an editor, being more vivid in terms of setting and character etc, perhaps later in a when I can invest more time and money in this or if I ever decide to do something more concrete, say write a book. At the moment I am okay with the way the brand is growing. Thanks for all the comments, criticism, feedback and yeah business leads. I appreciate them all. )
Posted by Sue at 2:02 PM 45 comments
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Monday, March 28, 2011
Episode 20 : My Fee
Men pay for sex with a prostitute as if paying for a commodity. But my ideal situation would be if they paid for the service the same way one pays for a work of art. Not necessarily a Dali or Wanyu Brush but an obscure artist whose abstract painting pierces the soul of the buyer. If that was the case I would have the same basis as great artists to charge high prices; not for the aesthetics of the art but for the inexplicable effect a work has on the soul. But the ideal is only a fantasy I dream of, as I live through a very different reality.
Pricing of commodities is a function of many factors but the key is the cost of production. Someone argued in one of the comments here that in my kind of work the commodity is naturally occurring and I should not price it. That however is a little simplistic. To start with it ignores the equivalent of the cost of mining; compensation for the psychological leap that is practicing prostitution. Then there are the obvious maintenance and packaging costs; buying clothes, making the hair, gynecologist charges and the likes, not forgetting the cost of transporting the commodity from the factory to the consumer. Perhaps I should state, hoping not to sound like Coca-Cola, I don’t sell my body, but happiness.
When I moved from the SJ to the street I set myself the standard fee to charge; Ksh.1,500 per session. Though a somehow arbitrarily amount I calculated it was enough to cover my costs and a fair price for what I was giving in return. However I soon did away with it. It was limiting. There were men who wanted to pay slightly less and I was shutting them out. And the others who wanted to pay more but were caged by my price.
Still naive, I then started charging on the basis of the car a man drove. But as I pointed out earlier the car a man drives is a very poor indicator of what he may pay a girl. Some of those who seem to have bought sleek cars through a formal career or clever business, are a little full of themselves, like they are running the world. They feel they have nothing to prove, and are actually doing me a favor. They pay what is a complimentary amount for the bother. But there are those with the expensive cars who seem to have made money the easy way; perhaps through deals, corruption or some other backdoor manner. These are generous with their cash and pay much more than what I ask for.
Those driving the lower Toyota , Nissan, Volkswagen and second hand BMWs ( The latter are indeed very interesting) are quite unpredictable. Some are on low budgets and cant pay a lot as much as they would like to. Others have this constant fear that they are being persecuted or exploited by the government and everyone else, so they are just tough with their cash. The second hand BMW types seem in doubt of their wealth, or more appropriately whether people recognize them as wealthy. They will pay relatively more and with some flamboyance, just to prove they are loaded.
Nowadays I gauge each customer differently. This is the best strategy. I use some simple indicators to know what to charge. For instance men who ask what my price is immediately I enter their car are not ready to pay much, so I quote a figure a little bit low. Those who talk much will definitely negotiate, so I quote a higher price to create room for negotiations. A customer asking when I would like my payment ; before or after the session is a hint to charge more. Why a man is sleeping with me is an important consideration too. Those who sleep with me for the spirituality will have no problem paying more, as compared to those in it for the physical satisfaction. At one time I thought men appreciate girls who charge more because things classy come at a premium price, but then I realized many men want a prostitute for who they think she is; a lowly girl without social or moral inhibitions.
The much I have been paid per session is $150 ( plus other benefits), not so long ago by a man who flew all the way from Kampala to come spend the night with me at a $ 200 hotel in Nairobi. An exact opposite of Sylvester. I will mention it in my next post this week.
( Thanks for the best of blog votes. No worries about the competition. Winning just comes with recognition and some validation, values anyone building a brand will appreciate. And now that I seem to have figured the direction my brand will take, I appreciate them much more. Mmm this post could be a hint at the direction. )
Posted by Sue at 1:29 PM 64 comments
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Monday, March 7, 2011
Episode 18: Sylvester
Every profession has an eleventh commandment. The one thing not in the rule book but which should be adhered to. The eleventh commandment though is not sacrilegious; it can be broken, but with heavy consequences. In our trade on the streets the eleventh commandment is never to fall in love with a client. When one falls in love with a customer so many things can be compromised, affecting the main reason for being in prostitution; making money. You can not for example steal from a man you love. Not that we are out to steal, no, but sometimes, like when dealing with a mean man, it maybe necessary. You can’t also negotiate steadfastly with a man you love. You are most likely to take the lowest offer or, as impossible as it may seem, give yourself up for free; after all that’s what people in love do.
People break the eleventh commandment in a moment of foolishness. But for us we might break the commandment not in a moment of folly but simply because we are human beings responding to a biological urge to be loved. When a man picks me from a group of girls, it means he appreciates me. Crudely you may call it lust, but the lust is generated by an appreciation of something I have. But it ends there. Only a rare man will love a prostitute. We are seen like public institutions; open to all, to be (mis) used until we run down. We know this and so we never go out with a man expecting him to love us.
However we may fall in love with a man. After seeing the best, worst and real of so many men, many of us believe we are experts in male psychology. Thus before a girl falls in love, much analysis has taken place in her head. Nevertheless like anyone else we make mistakes.
Sometime ago I met a man called Sylvester. It says a lot if I knew his name, for many men are hesitant to give prostitutes their name, and if they do, they pick a common place name like John or Peter. Anyway Sylvester picked me one night around 11pm. He looked in his early thirties. The first thing he asked when I got inside his Subaru was whether I was feeling cold so that he could heat the car. Then he asked whether I felt hungry. Simple obvious questions but they meant a lot. As we drove towards Westlands, where he lived in an apartment, he volunteered more information about himself. He worked as an engineer with a local mobile phone company, he had broken up with his girlfriend and he eventually planned to relocate from the country. Again obvious things, but how many men volunteer such information to us?
When we got to his house rather than hurry me to the bed with his hands all over me, he let me sit on the couch, brought some whisky, put some music and cracked jokes, about himself, his work and us. And when we made love it was sensual. Him concerned about how I felt.
And so Sylvester picked me several times and treated me the same way. Naturally I became very fond of me, like falling in love. We never negotiated the fee he was to pay me; he paid what he wanted which was always slightly above the market rates. Perhaps even if he had decided not to pay me, I would have been okay. I actually thought he was falling for me too. Occasionally he called me during the day or night just to know how I was doing.
One morning, two months or so after meeting him, we were in his house and he couldn’t locate his wallet so as to pay me. He searched for it everywhere, but still couldn’t get it. Then he grabbed me abruptly, his face with an expression I had never seen before. “You prostitute! Give me my wallet or I kill you.” I was surprised. I didn’t have the wallet. He then slapped and insulted me. He searched my small handbag, made me undress; put his fingers inside me but still no wallet. Eventually he kicked me out. I cried. Not because he had hit me or refused to pay, but because I was in love with him. I had thought him different only to discover he was like all the rest.
Posted by Sue at 1:09 PM 74 comments
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Thursday, March 3, 2011
Episode 17: The Man In The Jalopy
There are those contradictory sayings about first impressions and judging people. For instance there is the saying first impressions are lasting impressions, and don’t judge a book by its cover. Perhaps its the realization that there cant be a universal way to judge a person that we have all these sayings. The environment and particular circumstances are key in determining whether to judge a person by the cover or not. How will a prostitute on the streets for example know whether a man is loaded or not?
At the heart of it, it doesn’t matter. As long as a man can pay my fee it matters not to me whether he is spending on me what he makes in an hour or a whole month. Sometimes its obvious a man is spending the last of his shilling on me, but well that’s his choice. As some other people would say generosity is not a function of how much one has, but the enormity of the heart;or stupidity.
Wordily logic, however, has it that the more one has; the more one is likely to give. From an economic view point, I tend to think everyone spends a similar proportion of their income on leisure; something like 20%. Certainly a fifth of a hundred thousand is more than a fifth of ten thousand. So a girl will wish to go with a man with more money;hoping the man will pay him extra. Of course it doesn’t always happen that way.
In the streets the way to judge how loaded a man is by what he drives. I can’t tell apart many models of cars but I can know an expensive car. Well there are girls who are experts. A seemingly expensive car will drive past and a girl will say ” That’s Japan not showroom.” Japan is cheaper. How they tell is beyond reason. But the car a man drives is not an absolute gauge of his well being. The car may not be his. This is somehow easy to know by the way the car is driven and the confidence of the driver.
High worth individuals, driving the fuel guzzlers, are able to make decision fast. They wont dilly dally picking a girl. Its as if their minds are already set. Such a man will stop a car, and as we crowd it, he moves his eyes from end to end then settles on a girl. A decisiveness which perhaps explains their wealth. Or perhaps they don’t want to be seen on the streets talking to prostitutes.
Those in the average cars will take hours to pick the girl. They have some misplaced excitement or perhaps are confused. They will stop a car, let the girls gather around, and like a king, Swazi king, take their time to make their choice . Some will be lost in laughter as the girls sell themselves. They are problematic men.
Some months ago a rickety old car, which no one could tell what make it was, drove slowly along the street. When it stopped the girls thought it was due to a mechanical problem and no one seemed bothered, until the man removed his hand and waved, beckoning a girl. I went.The man just opened the door. I got in and we drove to some hotel along Ngong road. To be on the safe side he was the kind of man I had to insist he pays me upfront. He gave me a $50 note for a one hour session and paid for my taxi back to town. I have neither seen the rickety car again, nor its owner; a man not to be judged by the cover.
Posted by Sue at 11:27 AM 36 comments
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Monday, February 28, 2011
Episode 16: Why I Became A Prostitute – An Attempt
Often I am asked by readers of this blog why I chose to become a prostitute. And quite a number of times I have set out to write my reasons for choosing to engage in this particular kind of pleasure business. In all the occasions I have stopped after the first few sentences; and this time too I might be in for another futile attempt. The question as to why I am a prostitute arises mainly from the fact that I have admitted to having a relatively good education, which according to many could be put to better use in the loop; some formal 8 to 5 till 55 employment cycle, rather than in an illegal trade where the advantage of having read many books is hard to pin down. If like a number of my colleagues I had talked of having not more than seven years of education, a high school pregnancy or other such tale of woe and poverty no one would be asking why. However that is not the case.with me.
Many times when writing I am in a soul scratching state; and when writing about why I became a prostitute I find myself not able to relate to tales of misfortune and a poor background. Its not surprising then, a few sentences later I realize I have no explanation that is ‘acceptable’ or ‘good’. Yet society requires the choice of prostitution as a way of earning a living to be justified, and not just by anything that comes out of the mouth, but by some very specific reasons. This is unlike in other careers, for instance accounting, where a generality like,” This is something I always wanted to do” sounds rich enough to explain professional choice . In prostitution such would hold no water, what with sex work being a ‘crazy’ high risk and ‘dehumanizing’ career.
So what led me to prostitution? The easiest thing for me to say is that after college I couldn’t get a job and with bills to pay I had no option but to sell my body. But that, to a large extent, is a lie. True, after college I didn’t immediately get a job, but so did many of my classmates, yet they did not jump to prostitution instead opting to survive and persevere until they got ‘proper’ employment. I also know I didn’t look for decent work hard enough. I only made some few applications and didn’t wait for all the responses from the employers before I hobnobbed to the SJ where I got hooked, literally. Courtesy of my ego and the reality of the work, I would be hesitant to say I was destined to be a prostitute or worse still admit that I choose prostitution because I was lazy, wanted freedom and having it easy. The same way I woulnt say, as some readers have suggested, I am in it because of a sex addiction; As interesting as it is, sex does not stimulate my mind enough to an extent of getting addicted.
Seeing that, for now, I don’t have a simple,clear reason which can qualify as ‘acceptable’, and because for once I want to try conform and satisfy society a little bit, I will assume there is a complex reason somewhere which can explain my participating in the flesh trade. Complexity, in this case, being a virtue . And so I start the search for the complex reason by looking at my Sexuality; from the time I was around eight years and used to sexually harass the boy sitting next to me in class, to the now, when I am harassed by men in hotel rooms.
Posted by Sue at 10:19 AM 46 comments
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Monday, February 21, 2011
Episode 15: Things I Carry In My Handbag
The last few days I had been, anonymously, attending a workshop where all the women participants had this urban, suave and sophisticated talk as if they were all living the good times. Something about the way they carried themselves didn’t look real or perhaps because I haven’t socialized with their kind for long I felt that way.
Anyway on the first day of the workshop in what I took to be an ice breaking exercise the facilitator asked; ” What is it you carry in your handbag and can’t leave home without?” The women looked like they were trying to out do each other and the answers included credit cards, sunscreens, a photo of my family, organizer, gym card, yoga book, perfume, motivational book and such. When it came to my turn I hesitated a little, then in the spirit of the workshop which was sort of to strategize against men I said ” My pepper spray. I dress in what makes me comfortable, but makes some men uncomfortable”. I lied. I don’t carry pepper spray, but then in the circumstances I couldn’t mention the actual things that I always have in my handbag, unless I wanted to be thrown out.
I love medium size clutch bags. When I have to carry clothes to work, then I use a larger bag, which after changing I leave with some watchman or other of the street gatekeepers, but I never put my clutch bag down. So here are the must have items in my small bag:
1. Pen Knife
Its actually a cheap but very sharp blade which I can open with a single flick. Sure its a weapon, and I feel much better when I have it. I have never used the blade but since I never know in whose car I hop into , it does no harm to have some defense tool stand by. If my instincts send alarm signals, I will have my bag with me until we embark on the sex, and then it will be within reach. I can only use the blade in the extreme of circumstances. A man not paying me is not extreme. A man verbally abusing me is not extreme. A man hitting twice me is extreme. Can I kill? I would hesitate before committing murder, but if thats the only option to save my life then I would do it without guilt.
2. Lubricant
As someone correctly pointed out there are many times when a client doesn’t arouse me, hence make me wet. It doesn’t matter the foreplay. And quite a number of men are hesitant to lick a prostitute down there. So I have the gel to ease the friction. But its not something I will apply in the presence of the client. That is unprofessional ; enough to turn off some men, though it might stimulate others. If I need to use the lubricant I will , at the opportune time , excuse myself , pop into the toilet and come back ‘wet’. But of course once in a while, I will meet a man who I ‘feel’ and who in turn makes me wet. Also, high risks, like the police station incident I mentioned in one of the episodes, excite me to the extent of making it unnecessary to use the lubricant. When I used to work at SJ I never used lubricant, instead I just applied saliva. Even though using a lubricant would have been for my own good, I didn’t feel the men downtown were worth investing in KY.
3. Condoms
Yes, I carry a pack of Rough Rider condoms. You see there are men who will want to have unprotected sex on the pretense of having forgotten to buy condoms. But viola I always have a pack ready. Others will have genuinely forgotten to buy some, and will only remember when my clothes are on the floor. At such times the emancipation to go raw is at the highest, but then too bad or too good, I have pack ready. Then of course there are men who buy or get for free, cheap, thick , low quality condoms which feel so uncomfortable inside me. Its always a pleasure to introduce them to the world of premium, ultra thin condoms. This reminds me how at the SJ some girls used to insist on their clients wearing two of those free government condoms. Double protection at half the pleasure. Huh Pleasure is inversely proportional to Protection.
4.Sedative
The spiking agent, the mchele, that can black a man out giving me the opportunity to unload everything from his pockets or some valuables from his house. I have it both in powder and gum form. As impossible as it may be there are men who will actually believe that chewing a gum given by a prostitute will make them last forever. I don’t intend to steal from men, but the drugs add to my feeling of security, knowing if need be, I can knock off a man for hours easily. And then again as Cheupe, she of urinating in the city council van, told me in my first week on the streets “With men you never know when opportunity may strike” and “Whether you steal or not, everybody thinks you are a thief”. I have to admit in my two years or so of practice on the street I have spiked only once, the victim being a drunk diplomat. That’s another of the stories I am going to write about soon.
5. Book
I always have a light book in my handbag. At the moment I have Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, a small book which I bought for Ksh. 70 on the streets. I am yet to start reading it. Before that I was carrying Tale of Kasaya by Eva Kasaya, and released by Kwani or some other Kenyan publisher. I picked the book from a client’s house with his permission. Its a true, interesting story of adventures of a former house girl until she got ’emancipated’. Its a story I loved, and though I can not exactly relate with it, I know many of my colleagues can. There were times I used to have James Hadley Chase paper backs in the bag, Reading them a second tome after high school. Almost all had a prostitute or some prostitute kind of girl featured in the story. My favourite being ‘ But Just A Short Time To Live”. I read on my way to work . Sometimes when bored at home I go to town early, and kill time reading at the Jeevanjee gardens or the seats outside Steers . I read the bigger, involving and more abstract books at home.
6.Lesso and extra pant
If I leave home with my uniform, then I will make sure I have a pant and lesso, or kikoy tucked somewhere in the clutch bag. What would happen if I am busted by a client’s wife or girlfriend when stark naked in action? Whatever would happen, including leaving my clothes behind, I wouldn’t leave my handbag. At least then I will have something to cover my nakedness.
The other items are what every girl has; some Vaseline, perfume, lip bum, tissue, wipes and the rest. I also carry a lighter, cigarettes, my ID, ‘job’ and business cards.
Posted by Sue at 9:31 AM 41 comments
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Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Of A Bucket, A Brand & A Kid
On Valentine’s day I wanted to sleep with a married man. I was sure one would pick me on his way home to deliver roses and gifts to his beloved wife. I fantasized of the moment when having sex I would imagine the flowers and wine on the backseat were meant for me. That, for me, would have been the perfect welcome back to the street after an absence of about a week. I had been out due to a cold and a bruise I suffered after a silly fight the other weekend. Well, it happened, but the man was one of those who don’t believe in the hullabaloo about Valentine so he didn’t have any flowers for the wife. He actually thought he was doing me a favor by sleeping with me on Valentine’s day, and wanted to enjoy my services free of charge.
Enough of him. Now I wish to say a thing or two about some of the comments on the blog. I know this is not the way to do it, but they have accumulated and I don’t spend enough time online to respond to them as they come. A persistent theme in quite a number of comments has been about my identity and genuineness. There is nothing much to say about that. But truth, by its nature cannot, be contained for long; it always has a way of getting out .
And perhaps other than inviting someone to enjoy my sex services; there is no foolproof way to prove I am Sue. That’s possible. I have actually received countless offers from readers of this blog who wish to buy my services. But one of the ironies of this blog is that I am somehow afraid of sleeping with my readers. Seeing that they know so much about me, and my personal philosophy, I always imagine it would be an awkward nasty experience. I met one man who contacted me through the blog and we had a rather uncomfortable time.Then again it makes nonsense of my aim to build a brand. What use is a brand if it does not translate to economic gain? The street is becoming more and more competitive each and every day. The reason I had to go back to the streets on Valentine’s day, though I was not fully recovered. The more I stayed away, the more I lost touch with men, girls & trends.Hence the less competitive I became. A brand is supposed to give me an edge, to at least bring in more customers. The customers are coming but I am turning them down. The brand, if any, as of now is of no value; at least in terms of my core business. Maybe I diversify to something else of which I have no idea at the moment. ( Selling my customers t-shirts reading ; I went to Sue and all I got was this lousy t-shirt, pleasure & no disease). Perhaps when hit hard by competition I will have no option but to pitch myself to those who read this. Well I almost digress but I meant to say there might be no way to prove myself in the present circumstance. And am I obliged to do so?
I have learned to acknowledge the diversity of human beings. No human being really surprises me anymore. Not even this comment on Episode 1:I can’t Feel Your Thing where there was this man I told “That your thing disappears inside me, I can’t feel it at all.”
Anonymous said…
I would have told you to get your overused bucket out of my house with punches and slaps yu whore,at 2.00am,and unleashed watchmen to you who wudda torn your punany apart. January 26, 2011 4:43 PM
Why would one treat us in such a dismissive manner? It boils down to the view that prostitutes have lost dignity of themselves. So why treat them with dignity? The truth, as impossible as it seems, is we still value ourselves. What we have done is define dignity in our own ways. We view and value sex differently. Sex is deemed to be a sacred special act. But we are seen as cheapening sex, doing away with its sanctity. I’d say almost everybody who has casual sex does it. We might be better of because we actually attach a monetary value to the act.
In the same vein verbal abuse has no effect on us or particularly me. When in practice I am rather sure of myself and ego, so even if someone told me I had a bucket, I would smile and wave goodbye, shaking my small finger.
And don’t be fooled by girls; we dont forget or accept such acts. Personally you may humiliate me, if thats the word, at that particular time of the night, but I will make sure I get back on you; however long it takes ; you will have to pay for it.
Then there was this other interesting chap;
Anonymous on January 27,2011 6:53 AM ,
What business has a whore got to do not pleasuring me yet i wil pay her….Kwanza me,i never pay them..I just pick you,munch you like 15 raos and throw you out,like the tissue you are.I dont even let you shower,i make you go with a stinky punany all the way home…There is one i met at f2,imagine she asked me 4 7k a night..by the way i bought viagra and staffed her 20 raos,then i chapaad her the next morning she left with a swollen face!!!Why charge for a punany that God gave you for free????*puts on an evil smile*
Well let me ignore the obvious untruths like “staffed her 20 raos” and look at “Why charge for a punany that God gave you for free????” . I charge, because the punany belongs to me. Nature gives us things to help us survive, nature does not charge us, but that does not mean we should not charge. People charge for their good brains and talent which is natural. All-the-way sex is also a talent; just like painting . Not every woman can do it. I have a right to charge
In response to the above comment someone said:
Anonymous January 31, 2011 2:19 PM ..
This is the most shameless man alive. Who in 2011 talks like this???: “Kwanza me,i never pay them” take your broke ass to shags “There is one i met at f2,imagine she asked me 4 7k a night.” yeah 7k. It’s her biashara if you can’t afford it go to Luthuli u shady ass…”Why charge for a punany that God gave you for free?” dude ur buying sex.. oops your stealing sex.. no chick out of the 17 million in Kenya can give u ass?? then your the sorriest asshole alive nkt!! get some manners.
Need I say more? I would have loved to, but it doesn’t stop there. In the same thread the interesting Anonymous continues..
Anonymous said…
I am the anon @ 9.32am, and in my life i have bedded well over 2000 chicas…Thing is ,all pussies are the same, there is no sweeter one.I usually decieve campus gals with my flossy lifestyle, then when they follow me i chapa them like 15 raos(whole night)…then i wake them up after the last one and tell them,my wife is coming you gotta go.And i dont give them a shilling…Then go to this upcoming career women,esp bankers..esp the ones in sales.I pretend i want a loan,show them my payslip and its a key to my house where the inevitable happens..So by the time i am reaching a ho who wants 10k a night, its usually an afrodisiac coz WHY,WHY are you chargin me for what God gave you 4 free.As i am writing now, am from throwing one out 2nite @ 3.00 for refusing me an oral.Why are you peddling yourself if you cannot give me something as easy as 1,2,3.
Just a minute is there any difference between me and that man who has slept with more girls than men I have had sex with? Feminists would say its because we are women. I am tempted to say so, but that would make me a feminist of sorts; and I am not. Let’s play who is the prostitute now?
In Episode 2: Why Should I Not Open My Legs? I talked of my wish to have a kid. A thing which, from some of the comments didn’t make sense to quite a number of people.
Anonymous said…
Why do you want a kid? January 21, 2011 12:12 AM
Anonymous said…
Interesting …you want to nurture an empire of prostitutes or what?Dont bother getting a kid.
No, I don’t want to nurture an empire of prostitutes. My kid, will have the freedom to determine his or her destiny. I dot believe its entirely impossible for me to become a good mother. I think I would even become a better mother than most in decent jobs, after all mothers get three months, or less, maternity leave, spend the days in the office and only see their children at 7pm, if there is no traffic jam. I would be spending the whole day with my kid. My work doesn’t begin until around 10pm or 11pm, and then most of the days I am home by 6am. And aren’t there mothers who work night shift? Perhaps those who doubt, think by being a prostitute I am a less caring human being. That’s not true. Having seen what human beings are capable of, I would be more than caring to my kid.
Well, not to sound impolite but partially I agree with this comment; only partially;
Enigma said…
Hey Sue,go ahead and get that kid. Don’t let some hypocrites dissuade you. After all,do they know for sure what their mothers were doing before they were born?? January 22, 2011 9:55 AM
But if I get the kid, there might be some awkward moments for me as suggested by Eazy;
Eazy said…
“So mom, how did you and dad meet?” January 24, 2011 12:11 AM
We met at work.
Other concerns had to do with my ability to support the kid
Anonymous said…
Dont you think your child will be affected by your “career” you r also not going to remain forever young so this prostitution wont sustain you for long unless u have some sorta Retirement Benefits going on.. January 25, 2011 5:37 PM
True, I wont remain a prostitute forever. Actually at the rate things are going I might fade out sooner than later. I have no pension scheme, but I am already working on a plan B. Perhaps when I become uncompetitive on the streets, I should look for some sort of formal job, but how to phrase my experience on the street as a plus to the employer would be quite a deal; I have experience selling fast moving consumer goods to men?
In Episode 3: Anything At The Right Price I said I declined to have anal sex with some man. And someone commented:
Icon said…
putting principles and prostitute together? seriously? you better consult a dictionary, the two can never go together .February 14, 2011 8:05 PM
As unimaginable as it may seem, prostitution is also based on some principles; both personal and industry principles. Prostitution does not delete the human part of us, that which makes us beings with a choice; to do A or B. That’s why I declined, even if the price was right. The same way some people would decline to kill even if they were paid their twenty’s salary in advance. Just remembered some other anecdote related to prostitution and principles. Will write about it soon.
To Episode 4: Survival of The Species, where I wrote about the risks of us or me getting infected with HIV. And there was this question:
Anonymous said…
What would u do if you ever get HIV? anuary 21, 2011 12:21 AM
Well, I wouldn’t want to get infected with HIV, but in the worst of circumstances I will just live positively.Many people do.Its an open secret that some girls here on the street still practice when positive. But like I previously said I would stop working if I became positive. Not for fear of being locked up, as the minister proposed, but one of those principle things. I know how ‘foolish’ it is to have unprotected sex, but the few times I have done so, my instincts have served me right. There are some people, from some VCT, who make the rounds here at least once a week, and those of us willing get tested. I test every week, and so far so good, I am not losing my guard though. Its been ages since I had raw sex.
Then there was this piece of advice;
Anonymous said…
Start using the women CD… February 4, 2011 9:51 AM
I once tried and the female condoms are rather clumsy and uncomfortable. And they wont make me more appealing to my clients.
( Will reply to comments in other episodes a little later..)
Posted by Sue at 11:07 AM 39 comments
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Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Episode 14 (Part 1) : Why I Chose The Street
At some point, early in my career, I was naive enough to think a good education would give one an edge in the trade. I was partly thinking of myself and of a lady I had met at the Sabina Joy; where I practiced for a short time (no pun intended). For those not in the know the Sabina, also known as Karumaindo, is perhaps the oldest and well known bar cum brothel in the country; It is a rough, amorous place; something vividly captured by a writer.
….To those not accustomed the SJ is a source of mental, and to men even physical shock, what with the casual display of flesh, inner wear, lewd signs and vulgar language .There might be a lady with big lips, bleached face, thick fingers, smoking a cigarette, a beer on the table in front of her, and a man caressing her wide thighs exposed by her short skirt. There might be another one, looking not more than twenty, dark skinned, slender, smiling showing her dimples and playing with a young man’s zip, pretending as if to open it while asking him to buy her a drink. This scenario is enough to make men of a weaker will fall into the temptation of venturing inside pulling a seat and ordering for a beer so as “to absorb the shock”. And as they sop up the initial bolt of shock, they see and hear more, and they become even more stunned to an extent one beer is not enough to help suck up the shock, thus they ask for another beer, and another and another till that point, late in the night or day when the shock is gone, the pleasure in and they resign themselves to the fate of the SJ. To others the sight, which is like that of the first few seconds of a low budget blue movie, is just pleasure, fodder for fantasy: for that is what the SJ offers to those with shallow pockets, enough material to make their erotic fantasies as close to the reality as possible.
…Unlike in clubs to the east and north of Moi Avenue, where to achieve the right feel for some cosy naughty behavior, the disc jockey pumps fast music supposedly to charge the patrons, then dims the light to create a dreamy air, before playing a soft song say Lionel Ritchie’s Endless Love, at the SJ the mood is always appropriate for love making. Whether nine in the morning, three in the afternoon or eleven at night, the mood is right. Whether playing Awilo Longomba or turbulent Turbulence the mood is always right. There in the air you sense it, but not the gentle, smooth love making that happens after watching a cheesy movie say Titanic; but something rough, with a touch of urgency, where panties may torn and nail marks left all over the body.
It was at the SJ where I first went after shedding all the pretense of becoming a prostitute. When I decided to do away with camouflage prostitution; where I would sit at a bar sipping a drink, looking decent and hoping a man would pick me. The Sabina had the advantage of having few barriers to entry. The watchman was the only gatekeeper. The other girls would try to intimidate you but if you were stern it was easy to brush them away.
For a girl getting getting into prostitution proper,the SJ offers a relatively soft orientation ; one which wears off inhibitions slowly. Though exposing your body is a plus at the SJ, its not as a competitive edge as on the streets. You can still be in that long kinky skirt and jeans and get lots of clients. Then there is no experimentation in sex; mostly because of the socialization of the men who go there, and also due to the fact most of the sex sessions at the SJ are short times. Time and the aura of the short time rooms dissuade most people from doing anything other than the traditional. The rooms have dirty tattered mattresses, with used condoms and toilet paper lying all over the floor. It always amazed me how men could get it up in such circumstances.
The SJ was a risky place for me, it being very popular with college students spending their fees, pocket money and loans. There was a likelihood I could meet someone I knew. For this reason I chose a Tuesday mid morning for my first foray . I thought the chances of meeting someone who knew me on a Tuesday were minimal.
At that hour of the day there was no big deal at the Sabina . I just walked in and sat down . Of course there were the weird glances from other girls. One of them being this girl who could recite Yeat’s The Second Coming, a poem I came to love and find relevant to the circumstances:
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity……
To be continued….
Posted by Sue at 12:40 PM 33 comments
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Friday, January 21, 2011
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
Posted by Sue at 5:08 PM 45 comments
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Wednesday, January 19, 2011
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.
Posted by Sue at 1:06 PM 41 comments
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Friday, January 14, 2011
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.
Posted by Sue at 2:03 PM 28 comments
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Wednesday, January 12, 2011
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.
.
Posted by Sue at 1:13 PM 20 comments
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Monday, January 3, 2011
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.
Posted by Sue at 9:56 AM 14 comments
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