Wednesday, October
23, 2013 -- BY CHRIS MANDI www.the-star.co.ke
From humble
merry-go-round groups, commercial sex workers in Nairobi now run several
restaurants, boutiques and matatu business
As Kenya turns 50,
commercial sex work is fast gaining ground. This has led to a high number of
secret red-light districts across the country.
The country is now
graduating into a “reputable” sex destination in Africa, competing against
bigger markets like Brazil and Thailand, according to sex workers interviewed.
If regulated, this could be the difference in Kenya’s budget deficit with the
potential of Sh100 billion in revenue, they say.
The more reclusive a
location the better the remuneration. Sarah Njuguna (not her real name), a
retired commercial sex worker, runs several brothels in Mtwapa.
During her days, she
would make between Sh18,000 and Sh23,000 a night mostly from white tourists at
the Coast. The romps secured her nights in all the plush five-star resorts and
a high end status that most of the country’s citizenry envy. She boldly adorns
tattoos across her exposed chest, arms, thighs and legs.
She is full of tact,
a principle for the trade. She claims to have enjoyed the sex, tastes of
different wines, numerous dine offers, and the cruises throughout the pristine
coastal areas.
“I don’t regret my
lifestyle,” she quips.
An apprentice to sex
work at 16, Njuguna explains that her mentor and friend Joan Wairimu (not her
real name) succumbed to Aids a while back. Her words change to gasps and soon
tears well up in her eyes.
“Wairimu was a
cherished pal,” she begins. “She would frequently visit our home in Karatina
with goodies and had tales of far-fetched glories in Mombasa. I was enticed to
follow suit and make it like she did.”
Oblivious of what
was in store for her, she followed Wairimu in an eight-hour journey to Mombasa.
The reality soon dawned on her. She had all along seen her friend as a thriving
Vitenge saleslady, but ended up in a lavish mansion that housed “human bats” -
the sex workers.
She reluctantly
stayed there but gradually, her allowance from Wairimu decreased, and she had
to fend for herself. She too became nocturnal. Her shopping bag livened up to
revealing outfits.
She regaled in the
tunes of Wyclef Jean’s 'Sweetest Girl'. She was the jewel amongst men out for
night life. This was at a cost that reveals the ugly face of the job. She was
quickly pushing fellow night stalkers out of business and they were unpleased.
She would have to undergo tooth surgery to fix two silver incisors after being
mobbed by a pack of fellow sex workers.
This served only to
strengthen her soul and over the years she has amassed a fortune. A palatial
home sits in her parents’ farm in her name. She is currently a real estate
magnate, owning her own company. However, she is without a kid, a fate
attributed to the countless abortions she had. Her affluence though reminds one
of the benefits of commercial sex work.
Wairimu’s story is
repeated miles way on Argwings Kodhek in Nairobi’s Hurlingham Area, by Nina
Mumbi (not her real name).
She rented an
apartment that houses a brothel serviced by foreign girls especially Somalis,
Russians, Britons, Americans and Nigerians, some as young as 17 years. The fee
is between Sh1,500 and Sh9,500. It has an affinity for high ranking government
officials, reputable businessmen, and diplomats including their sons.
Mumbi attributes her
costly clientèle to networks, cartels, and the age of the girls. Most of them
are lured by the young girls. Mumbi accumulates between Sh55,000 to Sh60,000
after expenses on a weekly basis. She too
has narratives of bad ordeals.
For instance, an
enraged woman from across the road demands that Mumbi produce her husband. She
further reveals that her spouse is a frequent guest at Mumbi’s brothel, has
neglected his duties, denied her conjugal rights and does not take care of the
family.
Caught in the melee,
with guards trying to calm the angry stranger, clients ship out to avoid being
nabbed. Eventually, the man walks out, his face dark with guilt. I learn that
Mumbi is the “godmother of prostitution” with rings that tie seats of power
officials and the police. She has at times had to offer her body and bribes to
avoid arrest.
Elsewhere, Latema
Road’s Somerset Building depicts a normal business premise. On the ground floor
are shops, hotels and liquor stores. Pubs frequented by young people, mostly
high school teenagers, line up first, second and third floors. Prostitution
here is overt to the discretion of the police and county security officers.
Alibanus is the
property manager and collects room service payments and rent on behalf of Liz
Ndunge (not her real name) alias “Mama Sweetie.” The charges are as low as
Sh150 for sex and Sh150 for the room. In a jungle of Swahili and English, Zippy
Ikurunze, a Congolese refugee, explains, “Mama (Ndunge) nachukua pesa ya
commission kutoka kwa kila mmoja yetu (I will collect commission from each one
of us).”
She further reveals
that Mama Sweetie recruits the girls herself to work and provides surveillance
for the county askaris.
The business here
thrives on cheap services and Alibanusnotes in slang: “Naweza fungua biz yangu
kama hii nikiwa na capital budda! (I would start such business if I had the
capital).” He further confides that his boss operates several bank accounts
under different names.
Some brothels have
now gone a step further and offer “instant phone call services” while others
deliver services to any clients “door step”.
This comes with an
extra cost as it caters for their transportation and nonsexual services like
conversation and massage. An interesting and turning twist are the commercial
sex workers “chamas” or merry-go-rounds with elected officials.
Members remit their
dues at the end of their day – actually in the morning. There are penalties on
those who don't pay. Most of these commercial sex workers are single mothers
and some students trying to raise fees.
One Juliana Wangui
(not her real name), who supports an ailing husband, narrates how tough it is
because the medical expenses are overwhelming. “I am in this because my husband
is diabetic and we have got to take care of our two sons who are in high
school, and a daughter who will be sitting for her exams in this year's KCPE,”
she says. “If it was not for this chama I don't know how it would be for me and
my family.”
Does her husband
know about this? “Yah! He knows but he is too sick, and he needs that money and
so are the kids.” Each member of the merry-go-round takes part of the cash on a
given month and the rest go into the group's account.
Members are now
exploring new market opportunities. One Violet Akinyi (not her real name), who
recently returned from holiday in South Sudan, talks of her new area of
operation and the much she banks. “I still remit my returns but then, I do it
on monthly basis as it is costly to do it daily.”
She goes ahead to
joke amidst laughter. “I can't wait for Somalia to stabilise in terms of peace.
It is the next big market for our services.”
The groups also
cater for medical emergencies, borrowing for family member expenditure and
personal use. One such group has taken a loan and invested in matatus between
Nairobi and Thika.
“With our pulled up
resources there was no better way to invest our hard-earned money than to
invest in that lucrative business,” says Njoki Gicheru (not her real name), the
group's financial secretary.
Benefits trickle
down to their family members and subsequently to the Kenyan economy. This has
seen the emergence of small and medium enterprises such as M-Pesa outlets to
boutiques run by current commercial sex workers.
Members of the
investment groups are beaten mercilessly when they refuse to pay up their
loans. Officials say that there are no laws to protect sex workers, which
forces them to take the law into their own hands.
The sex workers are
hopeful the country will “soon” realise how they oil the cogs of the economy.
Last year, they led a demonstrations in Nairobi demanding that the government
regulates and taxes them.
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