The Girl In The Dark Street

Olivia sat outside the mud-walled hut she shared with Susan. Her head spun with thoughts and confusion as she reflected on the life she had lived. It was awful. No matter how hard she worked, she still lived from-hand-to-mouth.

Six years ago she run away from the school in her village and came to the coastal city of Mombasa in a move she now considered a jump from the frying pan to the fire.

She ran into new people –Men and women. The women were kind and generous. But she could not say the same of men. They were the complete opposite. By the end of her every association with every man that had come her way, her situation had ended up a hundred times worse.

She counted herself lucky to have met Susan; a homeless mother of two who despite her wretchedness took the trouble to accept a pregnant run-away-girl to her small family and offered food.

As time wore on, Susan began to make good money which she gladly shared with Olivia and the kids. They moved to this rented house in Kichanga slums. It was here where Olivia bored her three kids while Susan held her.

Olivia baked and hawked mandazis in the slums. With that, she made little income and supplemented what Susan brought. But with every daybreak, she felt increasingly guilty of being a burden. She also thought about the future of her children. By whatever means, their lives must be better than hers.

A thousand times, Susan had tried to persuade her to join her in the s*x industry. But Olivia had held her stance against prostitution firmly and determinably.

Was she any different from Susan? Could she describe herself as virtuous when each of her three kids had a different father?

It was about time she compromised. Twice she had tried to lead a decent life by getting herself a husband. But they both turned out to be dreadful monsters.

Every other endeavor she had tried to earn a living had ended up in mishap and misfortune. But Susan did not appear to know the same trouble. For her everything seemed to fall into place.

In the end, she resolved to tread the dark path. She was unable to think of a better way to survive the cruel world that fate had driven her to.

She would go into the dark streets where she would not only earn a living but also get back at her worst enemies: men. She would find great delight screwing them just as some members of the gender had screwed her. She would rob them of both their money and happiness.

***

Cheluget strolled aimlessly through the unusually deserted streets. What a stark contrast to the cities he was used to; Nairobi and Nakuru, which at this time of the night would be bustling with businessmen, shoppers, travelers and thieves.

He was in Mombasa, arguably the country's oldest city and a gateway through which the earliest foreigners had entered the country. These were the Portuguese, the Arabs and the British.

Earlier that day he had learnt how the city got its name. It came about as a result of an interaction between two individuals who due to the language barrier could not understand each other. One was a Portuguese, and the other a local man of the Giriama tribe.

The Portuguese was asking, "What is the name of this place?" The native man from the Giriama tribe, bewildered by the strange tongue, answered with another question, "Wambaje?" by which he questioned, 'what are you saying?'

The Portuguese thought he had been given the name and he went away singing in his head “wambaje, wambaje, wambaje...”

Sometimes later, when he tried to recall the name, it was gone. All that came to his mind was 'Mombasa' and he went around telling his colleagues that he had learned the city's name. That way, name of the city was coined.

That was long time ago. Several centuries even before Cheluget's great grandfather was born.

Now, so eager to explore the historical city, Cheluget soon found himself along Moi Avenue. He angled to the left and right across from him was a thatched roofed storey building. He noticed the conspicuous writings on the wall 'Casablanca club.'

The streets about this building, unlike in all other parts of the city he had walked through were a bit occupied. There were a number of girls idly standing against the walls along these rather dark streets. And yes, they had a few pieces of clothing partially covering their bodies. Their prying eyes, scrutinized every passerby.

Cheluget recalled another of the reputations of this city. It was widely known for the trafficking of flesh. He had heard that here, human flesh was merchandised in exchange for money.

A moment later, he felt his arm grabbed and before he knew it, a girl's arms had circled around his waist. She tugged him closer to her body. The contact was thrilling

"Hey! Handsome,” a woman’s voice broke lazily through the air, “You just maybe in need of company. I can show you around."

Turning around, Cheluget met a pair of smiling eyes. He could not believe it. In his village, the idea of a girl seducing a man was unheard of. Not that this kind of business did not exist. The society highly condemned it that its participants operated in secret and disguise.

"I can also take care of your other needs at a reasonable price." The girl added so shamelessly.

How candidly she spoke? Cheluget was genuinely blown off and alarmed. His heart hammered against his ribs. He had been warned about this. But whatever he had heard was an understatement of the reality.

He had no intention of indulging a wh*r*. But he had been away from his wife for nearly a year now. And her touch and proximity ignited aggravated within him. If anyone had looked carefully about him, he would not have failed to notice his condition. He cast another look at the girl and she reacted with a mischievous smile.

He was not ready. He disentangled himself from her grip and walked away.

Casablanca was a big club in the city. He wanted to take a look around it. He drew closer to the entrance. A Goliath of a man sat at a desk gazing grimly at him. Cheluget ignorantly walked past him.

"Hey!" The man shouted at him in a voice deep and raspy. "Entrance fee.” He demanded. “Two hundred and fifty shillings." He stretched his arm towards him.

That was simply unaffordable. How could he spend that much money before he had even bought a single drink?

He was considering aborting his mission when someone tapped at his shoulder. He hastily turned around and to his utter surprise, his gaze met Kibet's, an old high school friend standing right in front of him and grinning childishly.

"Kibet!" He exclaimed clapping his hand against his and the contact resulted in a blasting sound. They hugged each other passionately.

"Long time bro, how are you?" Kibet said looking at him as if studying his face.

"I am fine. How about you?”

"I am cool. I saw you talking to a girl out there and I couldn't believe it. I had to come and confirm that indeed that was you." He said fishing out a five-hundred-shilling note and handing it over to the bouncer who scribbled a receipt and gave it to them.

"Let's get in." Kibet gently pushed him from the back.

"They are charging to enter?" Cheluget whispered an expression of disbelief in his face.

"Yeah. It is a way of keeping away unwanted losers from the vicinity.” Kibet explained. “This is a high-end club. The elite of the city come here to have fun." He added.

They covered a few steps and were soon at the foot of a staircase and they began to mount the steps. A live band was playing rumba music. The flashing strobe lights pulsated in various neon colors making it hard for them to adjust their eyes. They saw unoccupied seats in one corner and walked to settle there. A waitress hovered around waiting to take their orders.

"Hey! Habari zenu?" She greeted them in swahili, a big smile on her face.

"Mzuri sana." They answered in unison

“Can I get you anything to drink?" She requested so politely.

Cheluget was contemplating what brand of soda he would take when Kibet began to speak. “Two bottles of cold Tusker." He had not even bothered inquiring from Cheluget what he would have preferred.

"May I have your money, please?"

This was another thing quite out of the norm for Cheluget. Conventionally, one ought to be served first before he could pay his bill. But here it was vice versa.

"How much" Kibet asked.

"Six hundred."

Another shock. That was almost double the price.

Inside, just as it were outside, there were several girls scantily clad in obscenely revealing dresses walking in front of them and scanning the spacious room with their eyes in search of potential clients.

Cheluget looked at them. They are all fornicators and adulterers, he thought.

"Now tell me, when did you arrive in Mombasa?" Kibet asked.

"It is about three weeks now. I have been posted here."

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Someone told me you were recruited into the police service. But I didn't know you graduated."

"My graduation took place five months ago."

"How great! Congratulations."

"Thank you.”

“And welcome to Mombasa bro... They say entering the city is easy but exiting is nearly impossible.”

Cheluget spotted a girl sitting strategically opposite them. A couple of tables separated them. She was skeptically surveying them and throwing flirtatious glances in their direction.

Wait! Wasn’t she the same girl who just tried to seduce him outside? Had she followed him in? But she wore a different dress.

He took a closer look at her, noting with apprehension that she was a beauty, splendid with natural style and very much unlike the many others around her who seemed to have been disfigured with bleaching cream and excessive make-up. She was just simple and fairly young, perhaps in her early twenties.

There were several others like her dancing in the dance floor while some eagerly waited for potential clients to appear. So tactical were they that biding their time would patiently wait until the clients had taken at least a bottle of what they ordered.

Pushing ideas of girls aside, Cheluget attempted to focus his attention on the beer which was now being se