The day I pleaded for mercy in the hands of Nairobi prostitutes
By Mwalimu Miruka Ongoro
| June 9th 2018
I had just completed college and was staying with my relatives in Eastlands, trying to find something to do in the city.
Still new to the town life, the only place I knew too well, then being the iconic Ambassadeur Hotel, off Tom Mboya Street and Moi Avenue. This day I had gone to meet a relative who would receive my documents, to try to as a friend to ask his friend's friend to inquire for places I would apply for a job. It was mid-morning.
That was before Mututho liquor laws. Bars were open 24/7. While standing at Ambassadeur area, waiting for my future benefactor who was taking long, I felt the need to go for a short call. Being not too naive and not too wise, walking by the doors of the congested business premises, I saw the image of a yellow smiling elephant on a door with the usual trademark words, Tusker Baada ya Kazi (Take a Tusker Lager, after work).
I concluded that was a bar. My father had advised being careful when passing water in Nairobi. If I went to the city, he advised that I use public toilets if I had the money or go to the nearest bar or bear with the situation till I go home. Unlike in the countryside where we peed in the bushes or wayside, things were different in Nairobi. One would be arrested by the city askaris if found urinating carelessly.
I, therefore, scaled the stairs of one bar opposite KenCom and on reaching the first floor, I met some attractive women. The yellow-yellow type, scantily dressed, sauntering sensuously and rotating their rich-round behinds. Their ages and sizes varied. The makeup they had used emphasized their magnificence, their designer perfumes made the air sexy. I had never seen anything like it.
When my eyes met those of one round light skin, she pulled me towards her. Before I could decipher what was going on, another bubbly, equally stunning beauty had grabbed me towards her chest. Mmmmh! The perfume was nice. "So this are prostitutes,” I thought to myself.
In a split second four stunning ladies had held me tightly. "He's mine, leave him!" One of them who had cat eyes said. "No! He's mine!" interjected another. "Come we talk, we'll agree, how much do you have? I will give you the best game," asked another.
All this while I was trembling. I had heard and read stories about women forcing men to have sex with them. Women raping men. That prospect made me fear the more, given that contracting HIV/AIDS would be a possibility since these were strangers. The men who were nearby seemed to enjoy the scenario, flirting casually with those ladies while some laughed at me.
Out of nowhere, I squealed like a wounded Moran. Tears welling down my cheeks, I shouted begging, "Please, please... leave me alone!" They suddenly left me but not before administering some soft kicks and slaps.
"Woishe! Leave him. The poor guy has nothing,” one of them pleaded to her ‘hungry’ colleagues.
Driven by fear and terror, I vanished from that place like thin air, even the short call disappeared miraculously!
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