Its a Night Job

You have to understand, I did not to choose this life - it chose me. My childhood had somehow prepared me for this job – if you can call it a job that is. My mother had the same job and her mother as well. I guess I couldn’t escape it. It’s a cold evening, and it's around 7 pm. I’m sure it will not rain today. The rain cuts business down almost to zero. You see, the street side is not a place to be during a downpour. The sky is a dark blue with a few stars spread out, that’s how I know it will not rain. I’ve been told stars are a sure sign that the skies will hold back. Thank God! I’m wearing the white dress, the stretchy one that shows the curve of my hips clearly. White is a good colour when you’re trying to be noticed among several other girls, especially when your complexion is as dark as mine. My make-up has been applied. My mum taught me how to wear make-up. Maroon lipstick (red was for the light skinned ones) and a bit of eye shadow. I’m wearing six inch heels, not so much for fashion but more to be noticed easier. At 5’ 1”, I am one of the shorter girls here. I’m not wearing any underwear; I have learnt that sometimes the only way to get customers is to give a preview of what’s to come. I’m standing on Burton Street, the small stretch before the roundabout to Yusuf Lule road. Most of the girls are already there. This street has no lights at all. I like that about it, any sign of lights means we have a potential client. The buildings on this street are homes that were turned into offices. They have domineering gates with large signposts at the entrance. There isn’t a sound from them at this time. Lights. I quickly bend over, enough to give the driver a glimpse of what he will be getting if they choose me. I manage to bend yet still twist my body so they can see a bit of my face. I’m smiling. I’m good at that now. It comes with practice; I don’t have to be happy to smile. I can conjure up a smile at your slightest bidding…it’s one of the requirements of the job. A white corona slows down next to me, I can tell by the car that this client might not pay as handsomely as I would like, but I learnt a long time ago not to pass up any offers, you might go hungry if you do. A dark face is staring at me all I see are wide eyes and sparkling teeth. “Get in,” he shouts with impatience. He has to drive off before anyone sees him. I jump in, still smiling, I’m not sure where we are going, but I have to be clear on my prices. “Long or short?” I ask loudly, with my eyebrows raised, it’s something I always do. “Long, how much?” he shouts out. This might be a difficult one, I think to myself. “Fifty thousand,” I say. “Okay,” he blurts out as we drive off to what I assume is Ntinda. Getting home won’t be too expensive, I stay in Naalya and that’s pretty close to where we’re going. We pull up at Max’s motel. Everyone that stays in Ntinda uses this spot. We come out of the car and he rushes out. I follow after him like an unwanted puppy. They always act this way at first, like they’re doing you a favour. I hate this part! We get to the room and he wastes no time taking off his clothes. He lays there on the double bed covered with a thick brown blanket. Everything about this motel is dull. Ugly brown curtains to match the blankets, cream walls and basic furniture, everything looks as if they were dragged out of the nearby primary school.