Memoirs of A Prostitute: Susan’s Farewell

A man almost died in my hands. It turned out he was allergic to rubber. Another slapped me on the face alleging I had tried to steal from him. I fought back but cried alone for many days after. I pinched the wallet of another only to find a photo of him and his family. I still feel guilty. Then there was that other client I fell in love with. Typical man, he took my love for granted and called me names when I declared my affection.

What about that other who used to bring me a book every time we met supposedly because he didn’t want to sleep with a stupid woman. Poor William! Why didn’t you go for all the educated women you claimed were at your beck and call? Oh how can I forget the other ‘six pack’ man who I put in his right place when insulted and refused to pay me; I shrunk his arrogant muscles by making crude fun of his skills and you know what! You don’t call me a bucket and get away with it.

Then there is what will possibly remain my greatest bladder relieve moment in my life; when nine of us filled the floor of a city council van with urine; and not just pee but Kane Extra smelling pee. Cheupe, I will always love your ingenuity. Talking of authorities there was the adrenaline seeking man who picked me on the street and drove to Central Police station where he parked and I serviced him there. Gosh! Talk of poking the Inspector General in the eye. Eh and the moment three of us stood in court getting a tongue lashing from the magistrate for being “drunk, disorderly and practicing prostitution.” Kindhearted man. After half an hour of giving us life lessons he set us free telling us “Go get your act together.” Perhaps he meant it literally.

Salome I have the mark of your teeth on my left shoulder, and this mark right next to the nose that won’t go despite using all manner of creams. What are your nails made of? Anyway hope my incisors are still etched on your arm. But silly us how could we fight over a man who it turned out could not raise the full fee? Let’s blame the cold nights which certainly froze our reasoning.

Now the time has come to leave this place where all these memories originated. I am saying kwaheri to the Street. I know some of you will say “Ah we have heard that before!” But this, I tell you, is the real one. I am quitting for good, and even if I hit the hard times I will never come back.

When I joined the pleasure business, about seven or so years ago, I could count with my right hand fingers the number of men I had been with. I came here not intending to ever use my more than my left fingers to add to the sum. In the first week I was happy to realize that even on the Street not all men are equal. That the pay of one generous, or perhaps foolish, man can be equivalent to those of five mean, or maybe clever, ones. But my joy was short lived.

It became clear the super men, the generous kind are rare. Most men, moneyed or not treated us lowly; like people not worth to be paid more than a certain unwritten standard rate. So it was back setting my goals using the number of men I needed to sleep with. The figure surpassed all my fingers, toes and body organs. I naturally stopped keeping tabs because if I put an actual figure to it, I hated myself. So I got sucked in and just lived by the day like everyone else here.

As to why I opted for the street in the first place; never mind. Those are some of the things I would rather bury my head in the sand ostrich style.

So I am out for real. This same Street has helped me land a companion to travel the world with. Not necessarily five star travelling but more of the rough, adventurous kind. I don’t mind, my bills are taken care of and I get to do something I have wanted.

My gratitude to you all for keeping me company over the years. Sometimes all I needed was a listening ear. Thank you UP for giving me the space. All I can say now, with tears down my cheeks, is bye bye.

By Susan Kahumbura