On the social scale, prostitutes are ranked low; somewhere near the alley cat that can’t tell who fathered her kittens. In an ideal world, if prostitutes were the alley cats, then the city council askaris would be the alley mice.
But in reality, it’s never so, the askaris are THE city cats and we, the mice. It’s a feeling encouraged by the dismissive, ‘you-are-not-human-beings’ way they treat us. It is often, as you might say, a cat-and-mouse game.
Granted, they have more ways of get- ting at us. They carry handcuffs, whips, guns, mobile prisons and, when necessary, the law. But once in a while we play a few tricks on them. We are always on the lookout. When we see or hear that they are coming, we disappear into the shadows or clubs. Sometimes we are not so lucky and they get the better of us. Last night, they arrested nine of us and squeezed us into their waiting van.
We know the drill; the city council arrests you, you cough up 500 shillings and you are free. A judge will fine you in a court of law no less than 3,000 bob when charged with prostitution. The asking ‘bail’ for the askaris is 1,000 shillings, which they expect you to haggle down to 500 shillings.
That Friday night was different. They showed up earlier than usual, about 10 p.m. None of us had enough money; few girls carry such an amount in their pockets. This is purely for safety reasons; you never know who you might meet in the night and what they might do to you. The less you carry the better. You can’t even trust your clients not to steal from you. If a girl makes money during the night, she gives it to a guard, club bouncer or street guy for safekeeping.
The askaris packed us up into their old van and took us round and round the city while they arrested more girls. Meanwhile, all the girls were busy making calls as we waited for rescue. It’s very rare for a girl to pay an askari in kind for her freedom. Most of us would rather spend the night in prison. However, occasionally, there will be an odd one out, but she earns the contempt of the other girls and gets ejected out of the streets.
Cheupe, one of the girls, came up with a brilliant idea; we should urinate in the council vehicle. “What?” the rest of us asked. The council van was parked next to the High Court gate and all the askaris had gone out to ‘talk’ to a man who had come to rescue one of the girls. Cheupe is an odd one. She is the loudest and seems to care less. She even has her own slogan – Cheupe kuja nikupe. (Come get it). “You know what we are going to do,” she said, lowering her usually loud voice a little. “We are going to urinate in this van.” We laughed. “It’s no joke, we are go- ing to do it, each of us,” she said.
She did it. We all did. Two young girls who had been quiet all night were shaking in fear, but Cheupe wasn’t having it. She forced them to lower their pants and empty their bladders too.
The van was filled with the smell of urine, a mixture of beer and cheap spirits. We clapped in joy. I was released around 4 a.m. after Duke, an old friend who works as a bouncer at a city club, bailed me out. By 5 a.m., all the girls, except Cheupe and the two new girls, Sheba and Naomi, had been bailed out. “Nani amefanya hivi?” (Who has done this?), asked the askari when he opened the van’s door. Sheba and Naomi turned their eyes to Cheupe. “Nyinyi wawili mpotee mara moja,” (The two of you disappear from here) ordered the askari. They were off the hook. The plan worked, except not for Cheupe. She was locked up. Sometimes the cat just needs one mouse to be satisfied; that is until he gets hungry again. Until next time.
