[Mand meru]

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe............i had to laugh at this one
http://www.timesnews.co.ke/09dec05/m...magazine2.html


There is more to ‘onion prostitution’ in Kibera slums



By Dorcas Nyariki


It has always been said that the only person you can trust is you. But some of the slum dwellers have now someone else they trust more than self or a dear friend- the onion. It runs errands in a click of the mouse and when it delivers the message, the recipients come running! Pay attention.

Owing to the burgeoning population in the slums, increased prostitution and the rise of the number of aids patients, we delved through Kibera slum in search of the reason why things happen the way they do.

We unwearingly walked through the slum for a couple of hours as we sought for the hidden live of the residents. The assignment was not easy. It was like searching in the dark and our success depended upon our patience, vigilance, devotion and utmost courtesy. We ultimately learnt that there is more to the slum than just the tattered garment of its physical form.

Talk of the slum and everybody’s mind rushes at crammed and shuttered structures, poor people, a place devoid of sewage system and other basics like water and electricity. In a statement, it is perceived as the backyard for the have-nots. There is more than that.

While it is safe to say that a better half of the slum dwellers live in harrowing poverty, it is also worth noting that among them live those whose earnings rate far above the poverty line and who still find the slum the best place to be.

I’m in the company of a colleague who happens to have knowledge of the slum’s geography. We alight at ‘kona mbaya,’ (near Kibera DO’s office) so called because it is said that the place is a dangerous place to be during odd hours. We work inwards through Kichinjio, Darajani, Kambi ya Murwa and Laini Saba.

All the streets are busy and especially with the cooking of mandazi, chips, different types of cookies, Githeri and green maize in the open. We walk slowly and quietly into the heart of the village. There are many beer clubs than hotels and schools with customers talking, shouting or singing from within the lopsided shanties. There are many children playing in the narrow and dirty streets.

The further we go the smaller, cheaper and more devastated houses become and the narrower and indefinite streets get. The environment is dirty and stuffy and I’m told it gets worse during the rain season. Some huts appear inhabitable. They are slanted with only a few pillars promising to support the weight of the roof in the next few days. The mud has fallen off; the termites have eaten the base of the pillars leaving them suspended in the air as the yawning holes in the walls portray emptiness.

Nobody seems to care to renovate the structures or if they did care, then we had to just guess why the houses remained unmade. Perhaps, just perhaps the essential facility for the job is inaccessible – the mud. The huts are so packed in a manner that leaves only narrow footbaths which nobody will dare dig and make mud. Some of the huts are pathetic and we keep guessing if they are occupied. When we ask, we learn that no structure with a roof on top will ever be vacant in kibera.

At about 4 p.m, we are at Laini Saba. We drug our feet slowly and talk less. More crowds have started filling up the street. Some staggering, some shouting, and others holding hands as more children cheer up the mood.

I’m more focused on three people ahead of me. A man is busy unzipping his pants and an elderly woman is whispering into his ear with one hand passionately caressing his shoulders. A second woman is standing close enough and is laughing. I turn to read my colleague’s mood. And no, he is standing twenty feet behind me and he is spellbound-reading a banner.

His eyes are glued on two boldly written Luhya words on a banner in front of a noisy club. He seems not in any hurry and by this time the scene of the trio has disappeared. He finally shakes his head, looks at the people standing at the door of the pup, smiles and moves on.

He asks me whether I have read the banner. I pronounce the words and he laughs for a long time before he tells me “hayo ni matusi mbaya” – (that is an abuse..)Does the owner of the club know this? Does anybody care? Is the club licensed for such business? Nobody tells us. Such a signal holds my attention as I make a number of similar errands to get to the depth of the slum’s life.

The stories are not easy to come by but with persistent ad consistent quest, I manage to get bits of stories from the newly acquired friends by the third day. The pieces of information help me to narrow down the focus on the otherwise broad panorama

At the heart of the slum, prostitution is a lifestyle and the biggest scar. The strain of Poverty has coaxed most women and young girls to throw their morals to the wind and bow down to temptations. Please underline ‘most’. Men are also snared by crafty women into prostitution.

Hungry wives and even young girls are commandeered by a few men who can afford them either quarter of meat or a plate of chips or at most ten shillings. When poor husbands go out to toil without leaving anything for the family, the wives never wait. They turn to other men, most of them I’m told are watchmen, who can afford them a meal for the time being.

So the lucky men don’t go out hunting for such women lest they get accused. What they do is simple. They’ll fry an onion or best of all roast a piece of fat meat. Such smell from a particular direction sends a short message ‘I’m available’. To the waiting women or girls, the smell reminds them of the earliest bird which catches the warm. Any woman who comes knocking late will have to twist her nose elsewhere.

In such a situation, men are said to take advantage of the women’s vulnerability to exploit them. Would it surprise you that the apposite is also true in Kibera? Unsuspecting men also find themselves in traps laid by women and before they realize, it is always too late.

I’m told that any man transacting on credit terms with a single woman, and there are many of them, should either forget asking for the money or compromise his morality. That a woman will genuinely ask for money or anything worth money and when the man asks for payment the woman will always tell him to collect the money from her house. So when the man comes, she’ll pretend as if applying lotion on her upper body and one by one she’ll strip herself naked. If the man happens to be one with wonky morals, he’ll end up paying her on top of what she owed him.

Male visitors are also not so lucky. If a man gets his feet into a relative’s house who is a prostitute, he’ll also pay unless he is known to be the poorest of the poor. The host, (who is the man’s relative) will strike a deal with a co-prostitute. She’ll leave the house as if going to the market as the prostitute zooms in. Within a brief moment, the man gets convinced and betrays his personality.

The life in slums is actually a war without end. Not even the strongest of the strong politicians will promise order in terms of housing, basic facilities as strongholds for social development. We’ll only hope against hopes until we don’t know when. Meanwhile I zoom out of the slum’s village and have a glimpse of its outside before I leave.

From a higher perspective Kibera slum appears like a mass of rusty iron sheets rising and falling depending on the landscape. Indeed the panorama mirrors the ups and downs of a class of people who are distinctively left alone. The biggest slum is sandwiched by a very rich environment with posh and good looking houses.

The slum dwellers literally seem to be keen on lateral growth in terms of housing. Their nearest neighbours’ houses grow tall but this never bothers them. Not at all. May be, just may be their priority order is equally tall and the project for a tall house is the bottom most.

[milanya]

The creativity of people in illicit affairs never ceases to amaze me