My Brothel Life.

Bringing my thoughts together to come to terms with my present state is humbling yet revealing. You mean I’m here, lost in thoughts only punctuated by chain-smoking and drinking. How dare she ask me such a question? Such heart-wrenching – soul searching- truth revealing question.  I have never been held to such accountability in my life.  Making the mental calculations to ascertain the volume of ’business traffic‘– the figures are baffling! Could this be me?  Looking into the minutiae can only reveal nothingness and passage of time. The image of me in the minds of my friends must be so far from the figure sitting here drenched in booze.

It was the year of the pandemic. Tough on all fronts, still we had one simple duty-keep alive! Keeping alive has never been so tough. One just has to be involved in one of those jobs termed essential services to have a sense of service in these times. In our society, most of what you get to enjoy is provided by self-service. Feeding is a project, and the simple things of life become very daunting and tedious to accomplish. When mere breathing is a challenge, what do you do? What does society compel you to do? Is it possible to develop options different from what the social system offers?

The blaming game begins with me. Why was I born a tad shorter than the other lady?  Why isn’t my family nearly as rich? It starts by questioning the natural occurrence and the sequence of the natural course of events that carved our existences. The endless thoughts on how disadvantaged my life is, become accentuated by the perceived attitude of people towards me. I felt the pain inflicted by the things I could not afford. The places I could not gain entry into just by being me. It always felt like just being a human being is not ticket enough for the basic things of life.

Bad Influence is usually the culprit! We claim to have been influenced by friends who were influenced by bad friends. Some were victims of circumstances too personal to recount. Others were influenced by self-pride, ego too big to ask for help. There are some whose capacity to accept and process a brutal NO was just too low to muster up the courage to go a-begging again.

Fate maybe? Or why are we all here? Hustling from brothel to brothel. Party to party. Happy (seemingly) not a shred of shamefacedness. Plying our trade with the most audacious swagger. We pretty, hot thangs. Teenagers, twenties, thirties, and even some in their forties. Some of us mothers! Of the mothers amongst us, some dared to bring in their female children to the brothel. Right before our eyes, we were witnessing trans-generational trade. It’s the only life some of the girls have ever known!

Never alone. Never does being a sex worker come alone without the attending vices. The smoking, drugs, the vulnerability to diseases (curable and not), and the ‘plus’ side of life- whether as users or as victims.  Just so that we are not speaking in vague terms the ‘plus’ is engaging dark powers to carry out money-making activities which are ‘passable’ means of livelihood. To deaden our senses, we do drugs. It takes some kind of brazenness to make up to 5,000 a night when the charge is 500 per climax. 

The mirage of growth within this lifestyle is palpable. The brothel is the lowest rung on the ladder. Usually found within the lowest and the dirtiest of places. The clientele of all sorts- it only requires your ability to pay – to be a client. Take a guess on those people who are sure to make a living daily… yes, those are our clients. There are those whose job takes them on a long journey away from home, beyond selling food at the motor parks, is the very lucrative business of providing ‘hospitality’. A business so well organized that you must be an insider to decipher. It’s a thing of pride to grow to become the chairwoman, the madam, the boss lady who collects a portion of what the girls hustle for every night.  A chalet with 20 rooms earns 20,000 Naira daily. I had to become good with figures to plan my growth.

The vicious cycle is indeed vicious. Saving money is not a way out. Just walking away is hard… not enough to walk away, what do I walk into? The very same situations that drove me in here? Now I’m even endowed with the ornament of stigmatization.  My brazenness can only hold within the confines of my forte’.  Better to stay put in hope that someday I meet a man who will find my services good enough to put me on retainership. That way, I can transition into home services, finally bid farewell to the brothel life…hopes built on chance meeting ... Why wait? Why not try the ‘plus’ side of life? Most of the girls who ‘quit’ have merely had their status elevated. They’ve become owners of beer parlours, one-customer practitioners whose services are reserved for the one client who cleaned them up, however, there’s usually the string of few other clients should the one customer fail. Some others become proprietors of women empowering NGOs. Few there be who quit altogether.

Boys on the fast lane, who act as liaison personnel, organize parties for the ‘aristos’. We looked forward to these events but not anymore. This market has been run over by bourgeois girls who are not afraid to run into their fathers at such gatherings. The romp in these parties cannot be described in printable words. What’s even more disturbing is that some of these get–together are not bereft of activities of the underworld. Some go missing having been betrayed by a friend or used by a sugar daddy.

The way out, if only wishes were horses, I’d have met my destiny helper- the knight in shiny amour. Who am I fooling? If there was a way out, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. This is my way out! I work for what I earn. I do not have to beg any friend or family. I use my nature-given resources, I pilfer at times. It’s the streets. We are the real hustlers. Being of the feeder community at the bottom of the pyramid, it’s hard to see one’s self as prey. The false vibe that we ‘run things is only a transient feeling. In my head, the cycle continues……

Jolted back to reality only by the empty cup I’ve just lifted to sip from. Can I really blame anybody for my situation?  You are responsible for your choices, no doubt, is it possible that the dip in the societal value and the flagrant display of wealth may be responsible for pressing some choices on people? The long-range of exploitation of the girl child- from child bride to being lured into Escort services and domestic violence remains rampant within the society. Vices a-plenty for both male and female and indulgence is high among the youth.   What percentage of the population within the feeder community transit from the bottom lower class to the higher rung of the societal ladder?  How quickly is it to slip lower? What should be the gains of education and political will in society?  Improved quality of life, with an array of dignifying options maybe?

For me, it’s been my brothel life.