“I am a prostitute and proud of it”
When I met 29-year-old Susan, not her real name, I thought she was the most beautiful, well-spoken, educated woman I have ever met.
She had everything working for her.
But, behind the angelic face was a woman whose money came through the oldest profession known to mankind.
“I am a prostitute,” she tells me gaily. “But I prefer to think of myself as a courtesan. It’s more, elegant don’t you think?”
Unlike other women who are forced onto the streets, Susan’s case is completely different.
“I was a bored housewife when I started this life,” she tells me. “It is easy to fall into this lifestyle. There is a lot of sex and too many men searching for one night stands.”
“Maybe I was trying to redefine myself, or maybe I wanted out of my marriage, truth is I needed a change,” she continues.
Her journey onto the streets started in Nairobi and later in Dar es Salaam, where I ran into her.
“I fell into it by chance. I had gone to a key party; you know what that is, don’t you, Darling?”
“Anyway, I realised there were too many men with wives who were not adventurous enough. The rest as they say is history.”
I cannot say I understand her thinking and Susan sees it on my face. She smiles.
“When I initially got into the courtesan business, I did it for fun. Now, I do it for the money and pleasure. ”
I am tempted to say that maybe she has deep psychological issues, that perhaps she is a nymphomaniac.
“Let me try and summarize it for you,” she tells me.
“I enjoy good sex, I enjoy men, I enjoy using their money and most of all, I have fun.”
“I am not like other prostitutes who stand on the street, I am high end, meaning clients can reach me on my work phone and pay me more than those who stand by the roadside,” she adds.
“I however do not go around announcing that I am a courtesan, I have a family you know. That is one of the reasons I left Nairobi. I do not want my mother getting a heart attack.”
“When my husband found out what I was doing, I begged him not to tell my family what I was up to. I love what I do, that does not mean my conservative family will agree with it.”
“Can we take a photo?” I ask.
“No Darling, I told you my story, that is enough. I cannot have my photograph making rounds on the internet.”
Susan’s story leaves me shaken. I am sure there is a lesson here but I am not sure what it is at the moment.
I am not one to judge, so I let it go.
I do take away two things; one, things are never as they seem and two, Susan is an enigma, one I intend to unravel in due time.
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