Stripping, Nairobi’s newest flesh and blood

By six in the evening, it would be a miracle to find a parking spot in Nairobi West, best known for pork and endless raucous drinking joints. Here, the main agenda of business is to booze Monday to Monday.

Tucked in an anonymous building opposite a petrol Station is a strip club, where the favourite pastime is gazing at naked women.

“Go early or you won’t find a seat,” we were advised.

The strip club is located upstairs, accessed through a rickety, narrow and dark staircase.

The place is dark and you have to be frisked by ‘men in black’ before you are let in.

It takes a while for your eyes to get accustomed to the darkness. The club is T-shaped and one strippers’ pole stands smack in the middle of the seating area. The seats are plastic chairs branded with popular beer brands.

The counter is along a corridor to the right. At the end of the corridor, there are two private seating spaces, while the washrooms are to the left, and with another room to the right.

We are seated and drinks are on cash basis. By 8.30pm, the club is nearly full and the only space available is at the counter.

“This is the safest strip club in Nairobi. Prominent people come here,” says our waitress after we buy her two bottles. She goes on to reveal the names of the few ‘big men’ who frequent the club.

By 9.30pm, the club is full, even though the action doesn’t begin until 11pm. The DJ, who can’t be seen, has been playing Jamaican music for an hour, and now switches to Bongo. My eyes have gotten accustomed to the darkness and I can now see the faces of patrons who are eagerly waiting for some action. Most are smartly dressed and I can also see a few women who are obviously with their boyfriends, or ‘clients.’

I excuse myself to go to the gents and the smell of ammonia is so pungent that it stings the eyes. Looking around, the club is a stark contrast to the neat and well-groomed patrons. Most drink directly from the bottle and when I ask for a serviette, the waitress brings tissue paper!

By 11pm, the place is jammed. Some people are seated on beer crates near the counter. Here a crate is sold after every 10 minutes.

At 11.15pm, the first girl comes on stage. She is light-skinned and athletic. She sways at the pole as the DJ switches to Nigerian music. Deftly, like a monkey, she jumps up and holds the pole at the top, quickly swinging her legs to intertwine with the pole and slowly starts sliding downwards, head first. Her flimsy skirt falls off, revealing a red thong. Midway, she stops and starts gyrating to the sound of Dbanj.

All eyes are fixated on her. In five minutes, she has removed her bra. Her heavy breasts fall onto her chest, swaying sideways as she dances. The next girl is topless, in a thong. She gyrates like she is possessed by a demon. In seconds, her thong is gone.

By 1am, all the girls are walking around naked, dancing at the pole, giving lap dances or disappearing with a man into the corridors and rooms as the patrons watch with depraved relish.