THE MERCY OF FREEBIES

It’s Friday. No one recognizes it more or better than a jobless Nairobi lady, a hooker and university students. They all are of the same mettle, all with the some needs. It’s not an ordinary Friday. The month is approaching its final quarter and many wallets have been excessively worked out. Some are malnourished. Some are but a mere burden. It’s cold, a typical July weather. Tracy lay on the couch alone. Her boyfriend Geoffrey should have been around to cuddle had it not been for her niece‘s unprecedented visit. The last thing she wanted was to be a bad example……. no, an inconvenience to her niece−she was grown up. May be she even knew more than her aunt, she turned on the couch.

Tracy had her Samsung Galaxy S3 smart phone in her hands, both the television and home theatre remotes resting on her belly. Westlife music wafted through the room. She would occasionally sing along. It calmed her. It made her feel in control of her thoughts. She would imagine Geoffrey singing to her ear in his rough and rugged voice. She loved to hear his distorted rendition. Pleasant ripples went through her body at that very moment. She smiled to let the memory go away.

She checked her phone again and again. All she could see were messages her girlfriends inquiring if there was a party they would get crash or she’s been invited. She hated replying back with a negative. She has always been the girl they looked up to when it got to having fun−drinking and dancing till dawn without parting with a single cent. They would admit that it was dangerous but would brush it off with ‘we have only one life’ or ‘soon we will be married.’ The only had one chance and it was while they still studied. Tracy, like most of her friends, was post graduate students at the University of Nairobi. Her niece, Stacy was also a student at the same institution.

At the very instant of thinking about Stacy, she knocked on the door with a smile on her face. She couldn’t recall a day she wore a frown on her chubby face.

“What kept you that long?” Tracy asked, just to talk to her. She was not interested in her answer.

 “I met some friends who kept me long, regaling stories of what they’ve been up to…..by the way they invited me to a party that they’ve invited to………”

“Where?”  She cut her short.

“Renault Apartments, rumour has it that a prominent politician will be in attendance,” Stacy said with a blush.

“Can I…..”

“Will you accompany me?” Stacy jibed in with a giggle that revealed a dimple on her left cheek.

The process of making up their already good faces began. Tracy hated it. She hated staring at herself in the mirror applying chemicals on her face. She hated the rigour that accompanied choosing attire for a night out. But she had to look good, perhaps better than any lady in the house that night. It came with many goodies: spanks, stares, complements, cheers and the most coveted of all, drinks from the richest and handsome.

At the end of the evening she had settled on a tight fitting black polka dotted dress that went way above her knees. Her niece had settled for a pair of jeans and a purple top. They were all ready went a cab pulled into their apartments parking lot. It was deserted, silently proclaiming that the tenants were already out having fun.

“Good evening hookers?” The cab greeted them in a heavy Kikuyu accent.

“Were you sent to insult us?” Tracy fumed.

“That was not an insult. It’s a whole world of truth. Do I suppose you are the Mheshimiwa’s daughters, eh? Beauty will ruin you girls.” He said as they settled uneasily into the back seat. Tracy looked into the mirror and caught him staring may be her thighs.

“Shut up and drive!” a visibly agitated Stacy fumed.

Quite moments ensued as the black saloon car eased into the light Nairobi traffic−people had been forced by brokenness to take their cars off the road. Everybody seemed engrossed in their thoughts, desperately hoping that somebody will break the silence. Tracy stared at the tinted cars wheezing past them. She felt like asking the driver to press the gas pedal much harder but checked on herself when she recalled the sneers they had to contend. She seemed to be the only lady who loved speed. Her friends had joked about her being so early for her own funeral days before she died. Stacy sat silently. She was calm and seemed unbothered. She loved her life the way it was. She was busy on her phone, sexting perhaps as Tracy observed they way she would broadly smile periodically before hitting the send button.

The cab pulled up in an exquisite parking lot of the Renault Apartments. Everything spoke of affluence: a beautifully manicured lawn, expensive cars parked and a certain kind of fragrance that had a close affiliation with wealth. This is where sinners converge to multiply their transgressions. This is where married men sought solace in the ever open arms and legs of university students without worrying of cameras and their hawk eyed wives. This is where married men regained their masculinity among university lasses. It was secure too: there was no chance of being blown up by terrorists as had become the norm in this part of sub-Saharan Africa.

They alighted. Tracy adjusted her dress. A uniformed guard rushed to their side and asked them to register before proceeding to where they’d be hosted. Tracy tried to protest but her niece exhorted her to comply with the directive. They strutted to the miniature shelter that housed the watchman. Tracy was visibly annoyed by the idea and she didn’t hide her anger.

“We are not about to blow this place or make away with anything. Kwani where do you have to register to have fun?”

The guard entered their names and identification numbers in a register. It was new and their names appeared third and fourth in the register. Tracy peered and noticed that all the names were feminine. It still safe now, she thought as Stacy took directions from the watchman as she texted. Tracy was all of sudden bored and she seemed to contemplate why she had hoped into a party which she wouldn’t even explain without arousing suspicion. She fell low on the list. She even failed to understand how they would be chauffeured into a party where a friend invited a friend who invited a friend and that friend asked her to come along. Now they were are in Renault Apartments, earlier than those who asked them to come along.

Aunt and niece took the steps one at a time. Their stilettos struck the marbled stair case in unison. Tracy kept quite. She seemed she hadn’t gotten over the altercation between her and the watchman. Stacy on the other hand looked more composed than her aunt. She seemed older and more mature, from the dressing to the facial expression. On the first floor they met a young woman out to hang clothes. She looked at them with spiteful eyes. It wasn’t anything new. Both of them had gotten used to such stares from the fairer sex –their fellows. Those who perceived themselves in the higher class looked down upon those who were the lowly and the lowly despised those in the higher class. A woman is an enemy of her own. Gender parity is a thing that should start with the women appreciating themselves first and working together to tame the men, or at least have the remotest ability to.

They reached the third floor and turned right as they had been instructed. Slow music welcomed them from afar. House number three hundred and four was the destination. A slim young woman in her mid twenties ushered them in. She was clad in a cheap black skirt that went slightly above her knees and a floral filled purple top. She shopped in deplorable places such as Gikomba or Muthurwa, Tracy thought as they settled on white leather couch. Tracy pulled her dress. It showed too much of her thighs and they were no men around to admire them. There were only four ladies in the spacious living room; two others and them. Stacy sat on her right. Everything spoke of opulence: diamond encrusted chandeliers, thirty two inch plasma television, a home theatre (the origin of the music), leather seats and artifacts that hung on the wall−they were souvenirs from around the world. A picture and a calendar hang conspicuously at one end, dwarfed by the artifacts. The decoration would surely make a lady to go on one knee and beg the owner of the house (not the landlord but the tenant) to marry her. It was awe inspiring and breathtaking.

The lady who welcomed them came back. It seemed she was satisfied that they had made themselves at home. Or had had the opulence exhibited by the owner of the house sink into them. She came with a request that had become too familiar to them.

“Whisky or wine?” She asked with a contempt filled voice.

“Wine,” Tracy answered. She didn’t bother to know what Stacy preferred. It wasn’t her who had the same problem. Many have always assumed collective preference for drinks wherever two people sit. Stacy would have loved to complain had it not been her choice too. And they being strangers invited by third parties.

Minutes later she appeared with a tray. She carefully placed two glasses on glass table. They looked at the drink, each waiting for another to pick it first. The silence that ensued, save for the Michael Bolton sounds coming from speakers placed at the corners of the room, was disturbing. Tracy took a sip from the glass. Her niece followed suit before her glass embraced the table. They sipped slowly at long intervals. They didn’t want to get tipsy before the party started. 

As the clock chimed at nine, people started streaming in. Majority of them were girls. Slim. Fat. Light. Dark. Happy and sad. All trooped in bubbling with contagious excitement.  Tracy would spot only two men glad in black suits. Their eyes darted from girl to girl desperately longing to frisk them. May be they were part of the security detail belonging to the dignitary they were to entertain. How would ten of them or more entertain one man? There sure were his friends and psychos who hang around him like a moth to source of light. Most of the girls were half clad. They dresses desperately clung to their bodies in an attempt to conceal the areas around the loins. The furrow on their breasts ran until it disappeared in their stomachs. Their faces were heavily made up. It outshone the bulbs that hung on the roof. Tracy and Stacy looked like they were headed to church. Judging by the precedence set by the other girls; theirs was decent by astronomical proportions.

The party started immediately. The girls chatted animatedly, giggling and clapping, toasting and ordering more. Tracy and Stacy were joined by another girl, a friend of Stacy. She was the one who asked Stacy to come along. They were the silent ones. They watched the lone waiter struggled to cope with their unruly behavior. Drinks flowed swiftly from where they were stored. It became apparent that soon men would have a good time without effort. They hadn’t even arrived except the two men in black suits who were already trying to resist erotic glances from the drunken girls.

Tracy and her company were busy discussing the latest trend in the fashion world that they hardly noticed a man join them. He was clad in a loosely fitting pair of blue jeans and a white shirt. He was clean shaven. He enchanted them with compliments before asking to share the table with them. They obliged. He then called the waiter who hurried to their table. Judging from her posture this was ‘the’ man. He called the shots. The lady went back as the drunk girls escorted her with slutty insults. Obeying the master was worth all the insults. She came back with a bottle of whisky and four glasses. She wanted to pour it into the glasses but the man excused her. He poured into the four glasses and requested a toast. All the girls lifted their glasses and then took a sip simultaneously. Tracy noticed more men in the room. All were busy groping the drunken girl’s breasts some even their loins. They didn’t show any act of resistance. All forms of it had been drained by one too many drinks. She knew it would escalate and soon they would strip and quench their concupiscent thirsts right under their glare.

One more toast….and another. She tried to resist and the man gave her that ‘I said so’ look. All of them obliged begrudgingly, before stupor gave away their inhibitions. Tracy began shouting for more alcohol. She rose, staggered around breaking glasses and hurling expletives at any one that tried to stop her. She was very unruly and had extraordinary strength. Stacy tried to calm her to no avail. The man that they had been drinking with (they didn’t even ask his name) was visibly angry. He mumbled something into the ears of one of the men in black suits then disappeared. No one saw where he went to.

The men in black swiftly approached Tracy. They grabbed her and forced her out. She screamed as kicked but her resistance was no match to the muscular men. They shoved her out of the door and came back. They sighed having executed their master’s orders successfully. Tracy and her friend rose and headed for the door. They were aware of the dangers Nairobi posed especially at that hour of the night. The men in black told them point blank that the boss had said they were not leaving. Stacy begged tears welling in her eyes. It met a resolute no from one of the men. Stacy asked them to consider the safety of their friend at those wee hours of the morning. One of the men told whispered into the ear of his colleague.

“The boss wants one of you. We are going to bring her here and the remaining two of you belongs to us for the night.”

They quickly agreed. They opened the door and locked from outside Stacy wanted to ask why but the thought of her aunt restrained her lips from parting. They hurriedly descended down the stairs. In no time they were done. The watchman at the gate told them that Tracy turned right and went retreated into his shelter. There was no figure or even a silhouette of a woman in the flood lit road. They ran a few metres before the men asked them to stop.

“She isn’t around and the boss will be furious if he finds us missing. We can’t go any further,” one of them said in a deep solemn voice.

“Please lets go just a little distance, she might be around,” Stacy pleaded.

“NO! Let her be a meal to starved Nairobi savages. You must honor our deal,”

“But…”

“Shut up young girl!” she was cut short. One grabbed her and the other her friend. Both were similar in appearance, from the mode of dressing and their facial features. They well built with muscular arms and broad chest. They grabbed them and dragged them into the ditch which wasn’t well lit and had their way into them. It was more of a quickie and the men buckled up their trousers and zipped them and asked them to rise. Tracy had a difficult time pulling her tight fitting trouser up her thighs. Her thoughts were on her aunt and not on their rape. At least they were safe in their arms or so she thought. At last it made through and she zipped as they made their way back into the den.

They stepped back into the room to a cigar stained air. It was smelly when they left. A furious ‘boss‘greeted them at the door. He demanded to know why he was deprived his status as a very important person to a deplorable prisoner and worse still in his own house. The security aide cowered under his breath. Though they were more muscular than he was they dared not challenge him and suddenly one blurted:

“These sluts tried to escape…we….we captured these two but one managed to escape…..”

“What!!!??? You mean after taking my expensive liquor you try to run away? What’s your name?”

“Stacy.”

“That’s not a name. Your second name,” he thundered.

“Jeptum,” Stacy cowardly replied. He pointed at her friend by elongating his lips.

“Chebet,” she barely whispered.