”Sugar mummies are all over Kenya. I wonder why young men can’t find them so easily”. I said to Mwenda who is a buddy and partner in business.
You see, I had told him about this blog and how I was planning to make it the number 1 sugar mom hookup site in East Africa. I had also talked with him about my plans to increase the hookup fee for sugar mummy/sugar daddy connections as it would allow me to deliver better services. He was very attentive all the way.
Seconds later, we turned into an alley off Tom Mboya street which would lead us to a pub and brothel called Ricco.
I know that there are several of them around this place. There is Good Hope, the New Amar bar and restaurant, Taiti, you name it. But we chose Ricco in this particular evening. And I will tell you why.
It is almost 9pm now, on a Friday evening and the heavy rains of Nairobi keep pounding the streets with such vigor. I had wrapped my cloak tightly around me to prevent warmth from escaping my body.
By this time, Mwenda had given up and was mentally bracing for a nasty cold since he had no sweater or jacket on. The night was chaotic but deceptive as usual. Matatus and cars splashed rain water as if their drivers had no care for the world.
Looking up the skies, one could see that stars had been obscured by thick clouds suggesting that more rain was on the way later that night.
Thankfully, Luthuli avenue and most streets in Nairobi are properly-maintained these days. Kidero deserves a second chance, I was thinking.
The street is well-lite and people are up and about until late in the evening. We feel secure, although we wouldn’t risk parking our cars here. If we did, it would be at our own risk if something happened.
So with clenched fist, we trudged along the pavement of the infamous avenue. Shops were already closed on either side of the street. But we could see that bars and brothels reigned as the supreme market place for hookers and revelers looking for sex at any time.
As we approach the junction of Luthuli avenue and River road, an old Toyota Cienta sped at a safe distance away from us. It left behind a stench that smelled like rotten vegetables. ”This one must have come from Muthurwa”, Mwenda said.
”Sipendangi hizi magari za Cienta”(I hate Toyota Cienta cars). He continued. ”Why? ” I asked, obviously faking my ignorance.
”Cienta and Probox zii hutumiwa na Al Shabaab, na pia assassins was Jacob Juma wanazipenda sana.” He explained.
Somehow, that conversation was interrupted by a hooting matatu speeding by. I increased my pace and so did Mwenda who is right beside me.
”Tumefika”(We’ve arrived), Mwenda murmured as we approached a hanging neon signboard which announced the name of the club in bright green colors.
We quickly turned to the left and began climbing the dimly lite staircase which leads us to the pub. As we did the climbing, music played on and people seemed to be busy walking along the corridors searching for nothing in particular.
We take a left turn and then another second and third left turn. This would take us to the new bar where we would order some few drinks as the investigative work begins.
So we take our seats near the counter and ask the barmaid to serve us with cold Guinness.
This is the second time to visit this place, and I guess the barmaid must have marked my face. So she smiled at me as she served us drinks on the counter.
Just before we can take the first gulp, two women take up their seats on either side of us. From the look on their faces, I can see that they have the courage of a lion, and are even hitting on us, hoping to smash them for a small fee.
The one seated besides me asks for a matchbox. Maybe I look like a smoker. But I have never put cigarette on my lips before.
In an attempt to ignore her, I turned away and continued sipping my beer. But she insisted … ”leo kuna njeve”. (it’s cold today). This time round, I give her a look of bemusement while replying her with the word ”Najua”(I know).
I think this must have offended her because she walked away immediately while hurling silent insults at me for not liking her. I watched her and saw that she was trying to put some effort in her hindquarters so they could swing accordingly. It was a thwarted effort because she had butts that were as flat as a cooking pan.
Just as I returned my attention to my drink, I noticed that a familiar face was coming in the direction where we were seated on the counter. ”Nilikuambia, ona sasa”, Mwenda remarked.
So I pulled one of the stools beside me so she could sit on it. As she approached, she opened her arms in readiness for a hug. I opened my arms to reciprocate the hug.
”Long time Betty!” I whispered as old time memories trickled down my head.
You see, we used to attend lectures together back in our campus days at UoN. She was this cute girl with a killer shape. Guys drooled over her and even attempted making multiple sexual advances on her.
Betty was intelligent, charming and well-focused. On several occasions, we copied her assignments. She even did several PowerPoint presentations on our behalf.
She was this girl that would go an extra mile to steal other girl’s phone numbers for our sake.
Every Friday noon, we would attend lectures and after class, sit at the back while enjoying some Konyagi. It was our favorite drink since we used to buy it at a discounted price.
Betty had very tall dreams by the way….. she wanted to end up in Hollywood someday.
She did extremely well in the scripting classes. Then one day, death robbed her of her mom. We went to Murang’a to mourn with her and came back to the city.
Now, I remember one cold evening when she called the crew. We were 5 of us. Then she took out a bottle of fine Captain Morgan drink from her handbag.
”Party like shit” She said while giggling. We took the party to the next level because one of my friends had another bottle of Konyagi in his pockets. So we drank the hell out of us, laid wasted and beaten like pulp.
Then she broke the news……..”Buddies, am engaged and soon getting married”. That statement stunned us. It made us go from drunk to sober in a matter of seconds.
”Nilipata mlami and so we are finalizing things before heading to Sweden”, she said.
That statement made us feel very cheated and even betrayed. That statement robbed us of our joy.
Now, several light years from then, we bump into each other at Ricco club.
”What happened and why are you here by the way?” I asked with the innocence of a child.
”I work here”, she replied with a hint of bitterness which life had handed over to her. She had divorced the white guy from Sweden because that man used to assault her physically. Call it domestic violence.
”Come and I will show you around”. She said while obviously cutting us short, perhaps because she didn’t want us to remind her what she’d gone through.
It was late at night, and as we were shown around, we saw naked women parading on the corridors.
This reminds me of our days in a brothel called 3 Eden. Some rogue hookers would hide under the bed and steal money from clients who removed their trousers and dropped them on the floor as they enjoyed a good time.
During those days, I met a hooker who believed in charms. She tied a string of beads around her waist line to attract clients. She smelled of a strong ointment which she was gifted by Babu, the Tanzanian witchdoctor—- she said.