GOING DOWN K-STREET
By Collins Nabiswa
When I was growing up, we heard stories of big government cars passing by this well known red light street and picking up girls for not so holy dalliances. The unnamed ministers rushed to courts to seek absolution and deliverance from the “righteous” scribes. The unknown ministers shouted themselves hoarse how they love their wives and are communion-receiving-heaven-bound saints. That is a story for another day!
When I recently came of age (am that young!) I decided to visit this (in) famous street that have destroyed careers and created swash bucking dames. It is either famous of infamous depending on which moral divide you stand. After a few beers at Antonio’s Grill at the top of the street, that ironically ends at the gate of All Saints Cathedral, I embarked on my little tourism.
Am immediately struck by the sight of two scantily dressed ladies of the night positioned strategically at the turn off to the Intercontinental Hotel perhaps to catch the roving eyes of the “Wabenzi”. The ladies have a tiny wrap cloth around their waist which they expertly unwrap and lift their legs so that the oncoming headlights can illuminate their “wares” and perhaps hook the drivers.
As I try to remain unobtrusive lest they discover my mission. These “entrepreneurs” have extreme aversion to the Fourth Estate accusing us of misinforming the public about their trade. I move down and pop into the den where smokers fumigate themselves to slow suicide. I notice that the hookers dash into the public toilets near the booth for quick refreshment and change of clothes. Two light skinned emerge from the ladies looking like Halle Berry; no sane and “healthy” can afford not stare!
I continue down the street and meet more ladies jumping into all types of cars. A Nissan Sunny car slows down and a big bottomed dame quickly jumps into the passenger seat and it speeds off to God knows where. Beige Merc pulls up and a bevy of heavily perfumed ladies descend on it like vultures on a carcase in dry Kajiado plains. They pipe sweet nothings to the driver of the limo securely hidden behind tinted windows. Finally a plump light skinned seemed to have impressed the “buyer” as noisily hopped into the car and it zooms off into the Nairobi night.
I reach Kengele’s club and decide to perch here to quench my thirst and to get some warmth. I take a vantage position that will allow me to catch the street action. A GK VW Passat swoops in like an eagle and takes off with about five ladies perhaps to a “private government party.” Probably waheshimiwa busy building the nation with Kazi Kwa Wasichna initiative.
I order my cold Tusker as I continue watching men in big cars on foot and even on motorbikes haggling with hookers for the services. It was big business down there with commercial sex workers (politically correct) constantly jumping in and out of vehicles. After an hour of watching grown up men soliciting for sweet but illicit sex I decide that am going to join in the fun.
I pull up my turtle neck sweater and put the borrowed car keys where they can be seen (for status). Since am small bodied I scout the street for a lady with a similar figure who can offer some good sampling. After all, car reviewers have test drives and wine connoisseurs sip the wine on offer, why not me? Trying to justify my not so holy mission! I approach one but she brushes me away saying that I can’t afford her. Kwani what does she think she is? A Passat or a Hummer?
I coil my tail and slowly move up the street hoping to convince one Kstreet Queens and vanish into the darkness to sample the true Kenyan night experience. I settle on one dressed in a netlike mini dress just ending below her waist. You can the pear shaped tits and the small Mau down there. She is caked in layers of make up and has a gold tooth in her toothy smile. Her behind juts out like Migingo Island in Lake Victoria. She has a small shiny pouch probably for carrying condoms.
She smiles lustfully at me as I put on a false swagger and approach her. Am carefully lest someone with camera snap my nocturnal sojourns and use them against me! Before I open my mouth a bevy of women carrying their stilettos in the hands charge down the street and I can hear shouts of Kanjo and the fine lady was about to hook vanishes. The speed with which she left could only be compared to that of record breaking Usain Bolt.
A group of council askaris in grey over coats and black lumber jack shoes zoom past probably hoping to nab one or two lady and extort a fat bribe from them. I instinctively chuck out my camera and rush after them. I stumble upon a group of kanjo with two women. They threaten to arrest me but after checking my job ID they let me take their pictures with the “suspects”.
Something happens that confounds my understanding. The ladies start undressing but the kanjo guys seem unperturbed. They strip to their birthday suits as they are led to a waiting battered Datsun pickup and locked up. I receive a few choice words when they realize am a journalist.
That was a close encounter with the ladies of the night and the brute kanjo askaris. They could have nearly arrested me for engaging in illegal trade with prostitutes. Next time I need to check out the famous Sabrina Joy as I continue my self orientation on the mysterious Nairobi nights! See you there!