Celebrating East African Writing!

Judge Not by Munga G.

The night is chilly and I knew it would be like this when I was leaving home but there wasn’t any viable alternative to make my kill. I had to dress, as I am dressed. A micro-mini that clutches every bump on my bootylicious booty that was a story in it self. I had high heels and a top that only covered my boobs and kept them upright and firm.

Dressing like this at first was like wearing underwear only, which I did not wear now for ‘accessibility’ to my clients. The cold had now become part and parcel, and having my body under constant scrutiny was also another thing that I had become used to. I was not like the girls who dress in short skirts and keep pulling the skirt down as if they had no idea of what they were wearing. It was also a kawa (normal) thing to me of being penetrated every now and then; it was as effortless and unemotional as going for a pee.

Ten years ago, I had just exited the ‘black hole’ (this is the term we commonly referred ushago-upcountry as.) This is because you could hardly accomplish anything in that village that only consisted two shops, and a maize meal. And so to the ‘green pastures’ I went. In Nairobi I was to live with my aunt, who was very, very wealthy but no one knew how or where she was making such a fortune from. But dad usually said it is not up to anyone to investigate others but rather appreciate them and be happy for them.

My aunt was a very attractive woman, who always seemed to attract everyone and still have so many adversaries and nemesis against her especially among the XY gender, both in the ‘black hole’ and in ‘the greener pastures.’ This I later came to learn was due to her liaisons with women’s husbands and ladies boyfriends. Mothers were angry that their sons fresh after facing the knife went to her for their first encounter. Sisters were fuming with anger that their brothers were not getting married since the pleasures they were to enjoy in their matrimonial homes they were enjoying without having to worry about family issues. Wives were in fury since the money their husbands were supposed to build and provide for the family with was going to my aunt’s. But the XX gender had no qualms with her as long as they got whatever they wanted, and this my aunt did without fail.

So for fear of being lynched, my aunt eloped with a man who had just sold out his land to pay his daughter’s school fess and pay up a debt. After a month this man came back to the ‘black hole’ after being downloaded all the money he had. This money had been used by my aunt to establish herself. My aunt had left with nothing and now she lived in a five bed roomed, house in Hurlingham and more to that she had various motels (read sex dens), salons, and bars around the town. This was her plan B just incase she fell out of demand. Nairobi is a competitive town you know.

After completing my form four examinations, my dad talked, or rather wrote to her sister to find me a job instead of me wasting myself with a moron. This is the term my father constantly and openly used to refer Collo to. Collo was my first and only love, which I gave my purity to with no doubts or thinking twice. Both our parents did not support our being together but we were deaf to whatever they said. Collo had even been arrested because of having an affair with an underage (me.) But nothing was able to break the bond that we shared.

My aunt aunt said it was okay and so as a farewell gift I ran off to Collo’s thingira for two days and nights so that I could satisfy him so he could not start looking around, but all the same, there was despair in me because I knew that as soon as I stepped out of this god forsaken village, the addiction of intimacy and sex that I had made him addicted to would make him search for another well to deep his bucket in.

On reaching Tearoom, my aunt was waiting for me and behind her was a huge posh car that I later found out was a range rover, which were a signature of wealth. Immediately she took me shopping since she referred to my clothes as shao (old fashioned). From hipsters to pencils to miniskirts, from spaghetti tops to backless a.k.a mgongo wazi, from high heels to stilettos, I even got a phone that could do everything from taking pictures to listening to music and other more exciting features. I became her assistant making sure all business were running smoothly and making profits. I never even thought of being paid since I did not know where to take the money since everything that I needed I had at my disposal. Soon her business partners and clients started becoming interested in me.

One of them even tried touching my breast, ati ni testing (saying that it’s testing). I gave him a slap on the face and spat on him. When he reported this to my aunt, she threatened to kick me out of her house back into the black hole if I did not give in to their wants. I did not want to go back to the black hole, first because my only redemption, Collo had already married. Heartbreak. And secondly because I had become used to this type of life of having everything I wanted. So I decided, whatever!

So whenever my aunt was too busy to handle her clients she would send them to my room. Soon news of my tastiness spread out to most clients, and my aunts demand dropped drastically, this was no issue since it meant at least now she could rest and again they paid her and not me. So as long as money was flowing she had no problem. But soon clients started paying me instead and even though I gave her the money I was making she suspected that I was not handing over all the money.

I now became compe (competition) to her. She kicked me out calling me malaya (prostitute) and man-snatcher, and I told her that was what other women felt when she took away their men and I added that whatever she called me, she was the same two times much than me, I even called her an old engine, after all; …if you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poisonous do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge? The villainy you teach me I will execute.

So here I am headed out to the streets, the little I had saved I used to get a room and buy a mattress and bed sheets, these are after all my most important tools of trade. As soon as I make enough money, I will quit this ‘job,’ find a husband, have children, settle down, enjoy life and advocate for girls so no one else should pass through the shit I have been put through. But sometimes I wonder if I will ever get enough money if aunt has never done, but maybe her ambitions are not the same as mine. I’m hopeful though after all here comes a range rover with a blue number plate.

©Munga G. 2009

If you would like this piece to be the Story of the Week, please vote below on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being weak, and 10 being excellent. The numbers will be tallied on Friday and the story with the highest figure shall be Crowned Story of the Week. Be sure to fill in your name and verifiable email. You can include your critique/comment after the vote.


5 comments on “Judge Not by Munga G.

  1. Bernadette
    October 19, 2009

    Nice piece.i give it an 8


  2. Raymond Bett
    October 21, 2009

    I would give it a 7.
    It is an interesting story, that portrays the life a Koinange girl and how she got there! I just wonder does she have to be that naive?


  3. Kyt
    October 24, 2009

    Nice read its a good story! So…9.


  4. Munene Kilongi
    October 27, 2009

    Good story! 8


  5. Nyawira Njenga
    November 21, 2009

    I give it 9. And it leaves me thinkin: not all twilight girls got there knowing what they involving themselves in. Its a sad case.


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