I first started servicing old mamas in Kilimani and Lavington area. My name had spread among the desperate rich women whose desire for promiscuous sex had overpowered their willingness to stay faithful in their marriages. All these happened within 2 weeks of commencing this nomadic and freelance lifestyle. I considered myself a serial, private and innovative entrepreneur.
My first client was a voluminous Kikuyu lady who had divorced her husband about 8 years ago after she realized that their separation would freely grant her a huge stake of the family business.
Her behinds were almost overweight, and she carried them around carelessly. She didn’t care about the number of men who turned to look. She wanted them to look. I came to discover later on that both the married and unmarried had fallen for her trapping massive and exaggerated buttocks.
She had three married children. The youngest was 11 years older than me. They were all settled in their marriages; except their mother.
I met her in Nairobi town. No, she actually met me.
I had gone for a job interview at Mombasa road, just near Airtel offices. It was a secretarial position. I was blatantly told that my old suit had been the reason why I wouldn’t get the job. “Presentation is everything,” the Indian lady suggested. The company had called for two interviewees. One of them was Ginesh Aarush Khan. Between me, Sebastian Odongo Woud Nyadenge and the other fellow, guess who got the job?
Angry and frustrated, in town, I decided to branch to Lazurus bar and restaurant to meet my uncle.
I pushed roughly aside the watchman who had tried to frisk me at the entrance and took the lengthy steps to the first floor. For some reason, the watchman never bothered to follow me. Had he tried, I would have fought him to death.
I was willing to die.
I had suffered enough, and so, I thought.
I was to meet my uncle from upande wa mama [from my mother’s side] who had promised to help me secure a job. He claimed to have a good understanding with his Chinese boss, Huan Sui. I was not enthusiastic. I had lost hope.
The only reason I agreed to meet him was to ask for a soft loan, which in my heart, I knew I couldn’t pay.
My Business Management Degree made little difference in this cruel life. Tissue paper is far better. It can be used. The other piece of paper is secretly kept in the safest of places as a trophy, yet it lost its worth many years ago.
My uncle ordered for fish and chips. He implored me to also get some food. I panicked and requested for pilau.
I didn’t want to annoy him by asking for expensive meals when he was about to help me get a job and a soft loan.
We enjoyed our meal. We licked our plates dry to ensure our money was well spent. The eagle-eyed waitress noticed that we were done just when I had raised my last spoon of pilau into my mouth.
She brought the bill and gave us a few minutes to consult our wallets. When she came back, she requested us to pay the bill of Ksh. 1,450.
I was shocked when my uncle pushed the receipt to me and said awkwardly, “Nyathi Nyamera aonge pesa. Mpwa sina chochote leo. Nimekauka! [Nephew, I have no money today]. Please clear this one”.
I, the nephew of this careless, un-ambitious sleepy conman, had just Ksh. 76 in my right pocket. I wanted to die right away.
The waitress noticed our hesitation. She heard us argue. She saw the sweat that was pouring down our faces. She noticed the stammer in our voices. When she saw us tremble, she called the security officers who came looking straight into our eyes. I don’t know why they were annoyed. Either way, it is my uncle who was first lifted up like a child.
They might have pulled his trousers carelessly such that they were swallowed wickedly by his buttocks. I momentarily wondered whether he wore any underwear.
Two other men stood beside me, one on my left and the other on my right…. they poked their fingers into the flesh of my ribs. I bellowed like a Tanzanian bull and attracted the attention of everyone in the room.
As they shoved us left, right and center towards the exit, my eyes met my ex-girlfriend, from college. She sat comfortably with a huge old man beside her. She was seeping some brown juice which I imagined must have been mango juice. She rolled her eyes with a steady look that started from my head to my shoes while snarling at me suggestively as if to say to me…”work hard!”
These people don’t know what male comrades go through… We have nothing to offer. [If you know you know]
In a matter of seconds, I was in a dirty room seated on the floor; begging. Four other men jumped acrobatically into the tiny room and added the number to 9. Our tormentors started preparing themselves to teach us the hard way. The few slaps we had endured were not counted as any kind of torture…at least by the look of their faces. I knew they wanted to squeeze every inch of our bodies.
They had already fished out thick wooden batons and nyaunyos.
They also had a pair of scissors…I still don’t know what they wanted to cut!
Just then, Njeri Kamau [not her real name] knocked at the door and called one of the men out. That was the first time we had met.
She settled the bill. She then, looked at my uncle…. her eyes rolled to me and back to my uncle. She was inspecting. She decided that she needed me. She asked me to follow her. I didn’t object. We took the stairs and as we passed by the watchman I had disrespected earlier, I felt disappointed.
We entered a new black Harrier and sped off. We stopped after about 10 minutes at Accra Road, just outside one of the tall buildings whose name I won’t mention for obvious reasons. We climbed the stairs of the building slowly to the second floor. We branched left and went through a long corridor. We stopped at house number 16. She opened. I followed like a sheep. She gave me Kshs. 2,000 from her pulse. There was a 1,000 note and two others of 500 each.
Before I found the courage to beat my brokenness and ask why she gave me the money, she had already undressed. She was totally naked. I now understood why I had been paid. I had been instantly employed. I knew I had a very long time ahead of me.
After about 45 minutes, I wanted to return the money and run away. It was not the kind of job I had anticipated. Her demands were too much for an inexperienced village person whose self-confidence had been brutally injured by poverty. She wanted me to kiss the unkissables and touch the untouchables…she even wanted me to try the boot or exhaust if you like.
When I tried to refuse, she fished out more notes of Ksh. 1000 each and threw them to my face. I later learnt that they were 8. I hadn’t paid my rent for 3 months. I had taken loans from every online platform I would find. Okash, Opesa, Tala, Branch, Mshwari and KCB Mpesa had threatened to send their secret agents after me. Not to mention the number of friends who were looking for me! I had sold two of the most expensive things I had in the house; my bed and my gas. When I remembered all these, my energy doubled, I almost killed her [stay with me]. She was the happiest person in the world.
We met the next day. And the next…I didn’t mind the Ksh. 3,000 she offered me on the various occasions we met.
Through her, I met other ladies. I still don’t know if she deliberately introduced me to the ladies or it was purely out of coincidence. We never failed to meet her friends in the bars we frequented. For some strange reason, they always asked me for my phone number and actually called.
I would walk into offices for appointments. I would enter parked cars. I went to parties. I visited homes. I was everywhere! With my assets…
Business was booming. I had rented a new house at Ngong road, near Race Course and furnished it well. I was thinking of investing in Boda business by buying 3 motorbikes. I had enough money for 5 of them.
After about 2 months, I received a phone call at around 9:00am from a lady who introduced herself as Stella. She mentioned the name of Njeri Kamau. I didn’t need a sharp mind to know why she was calling me.
We met that day at 2pm in one of the hotels at Westlands. She was old. Her brown skin was a little wrinkled. From my approximation, she was about 54 years old. She looked very educated. She had a very expensive aura. She smiled shyly amidst bouts of low-key laughters. She said I was funny and interesting. Was I?
We ate our food in awkward silence. I was also very shy. I thought that she was about to “advise me” concerning the line of business I had chosen. But as soon as we finished, she turned to me and asked, “how much do you charge for an hour?”
I panicked and said sheepishly, “Kshs. 5,000.” She went into her pulse and pulled out Ksh. 50,000. I did the math; 10 hours. She placed the money on my trembling hands. She told me to take a taxi to her house at Kileleshwa and ensure that I arrived before 9pm.
I stayed on in the hotel for more than 2 hours…confused. I was lost in thoughts. If you had asked me what I was thinking about, I couldn’t have been able to explain. I was looking into space. At 8pm, I took a taxi from my house, after negotiating from Ksh. 600 to Kshs. 350. The car rolled into the compound at 8:45pm.
The car left.
I pushed the alarm button on the door and waited. It was Stella who opened. From where I stood, I once again noticed her smile broaden. She had a glass, a quarter full of some iced-liquor. She wore white shorts with just a bra. Those who remember, I had said that she looked at least 54 years old…. but, looking at her now, I was forced to estimate again. This time around, I fell for 32 years, not more. Some might argue that she was old for she had at least 6 or 7 white hairs intertwined in her rather long beautiful blonde hair, but again…it would be the effects of bad hair lotions, oils or whatever ladies use.
Okay, she smiled again.
I opened up and let a huge grin.
She hugged me.
I tapped her back as I entered the house, silently.
There are houses and there was this particular house! It was huge. Everything looked expensive and fresh. On almost all walls, were paintings…corners had colorfully decorated vessels. A Chiwawa hovered aimlessly in the house. My eyes noticed the tall home theatre speakers that stood close to a huge aquarium that had various types of fish. Strange looking fish. For once, I remembered Mbuta! Could this aquarium keep some tilapia for emergency occasions when one forgot to buy Vegetables?
As my buttocks sank into the soft sofa set, I noticed that Stella was standing next to me with a glass.
She asked me to choose between Tequila and Johnnie Walker! [alcohol brands]
I said I preferred orange juice.
She gave me Tequila.
One thing led to another.
As we were busy in our honey moon, the door was opened without our notice. Suddenly, a huge black man stared at us.
He simply dropped his bag and closed the door.
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