Hidden in plain sight: the complex reality of sex work in Nairobi
TITLE: NaiRobbery Cocktail
AUTHOR: Empress Ciku Kimani-Mwaniki
PUBLISHER: Mvua Press
REVIEWER: Tracy M. Ochieng
AVAILABILITY: shop.eKitabu.com and ‘On eKitabu’ app
PRICE: Ksh1,200 (Print).
Driving through Nairobi’s bustling uptown roads, one cannot help but notice the omnipresent billboards advertising "massage parlours". These advertisements often feature women with voluptuous behinds, heavy bosoms and impossibly tiny waists drawing attention to more than just the “massage services” on offer. These billboards have become so normalized within the city’s landscape that people have either stopped caring about what is happening right under their noses or are afraid to question the activities that truly occur behind the closed doors of these establishments.
While the Kenyan penal code does not criminalise sex work, it does criminalise third parties who live on the earnings of prostitution, according to the Kenya Sex Workers Alliance. In America, these third parties are what would be referred to as pimps.
Queen, a central figure in Empress Ciku Kimani’s NaiRobbery Cocktail, was one such pimp or landlady tactfully running her whorehouse right under the nose of the authorities. Her clientele included powerful men who offered her protection and she, in turn, ensured their carnal satisfaction. Desperate women who had reached their wits’ end sought asylum at Queen’s mansion and they lacked for nought; the only requirement was to make her clientele happy and bring in the money. Beneath this facade lay darker realities of exploitation marked as opportunity.
Like Engonga and Sean “Diddy” Combs
One thing Queen and figures like Sean “Diddy” Combs have in common is that they understand the dark world of sex trafficking. Like a sinister playbook, there seem to be unwritten rules that govern this world. During a brief interview with the NaiRobbery Cocktail author on the ins and outs of brothels, she confirmed that these are the rules of the game.
Rule one: offer your victims an illustrious opportunity.
Rule two: always make sure to record your clientele in compromising positions when they eventually visit the whorehouse—these recordings become powerful tools for blackmail, safeguarding the establishment against betrayal.
“Don’t look at me like that! I only record their first day purely for insurance, not entertainment,” said Queen to a sceptical Naliaka who was just 17 years old when she started at the mansion, with little understanding of what awaited her.
In the real world, the use of such recordings extends beyond brothels. Take, for instance, the case of Baltasar Ebang Engonga, a senior official from Equatorial Guinea. In November, over four hundred intimate videos involving him and the wives of senior officials in the country flooded social media, sending shockwaves in the country and beyond. What is unbeknownst to some, given the rate at which the world is sometimes treated to “sex tape leaks” is that there is always a motive behind this and the “leaks” aren’t by sheer coincidence.
While Engonga didn’t run a brothel like Queen, keeping this collection of visual recordings fits perfectly in the political power dynamics played behind closed doors. However—and this is purely speculative, considering Equatorial Guinea's tightly controlled media environment—it appears that someone turned the tables on him first.
Ladies of the night in a man’s world
“Do you remember when you gave me the speech of men using me anyway, and it would be better if I had a say in how they would use me?… I think you do great for a lot of women…” said Naliaka to Queen on her deathbed. While Naliaka’s reality in the NaiRobbery Cocktail universe may not apply to many women involved in the sex work world, her story makes us appreciate the humanity in the trade. A BBC documentary on sex workers in Sierra Leone exposed the grave dangers these women face—kidnappings, mutilation and sex slavery—but also the sisterhood that binds these women together.
For many, women like Queen would be lauded for doing “God’s work” by providing security and a controlled environment for these women. Often, society ostracizes these women without understanding their stories. What would compel someone to choose to get involved in sex work knowing that the risks outweigh the benefits? This question, beyond excusing certain vices, offers us an opportunity to have compassion and empathy—and to see the bigger picture.
A tale as old as time
This imbalance is not new. John 8:3, a text in the Bible, showcases the magnitude in which we experience inequality of the sexes:
The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought a woman “caught” in the act of adultery before Jesus Christ, claiming that the law demanded that such a woman be stoned to death. This was all in an attempt to test Christ. After rebuking them and challenging those who thought themselves clean, Jesus tells the woman to go and sin no more. The man involved was conveniently absent from the narrative.
The hermeneutics of this text might be debatable but one thing stands out: women have historically been scapegoated and spotlighted in ways that excuse or obscure the culpability of their male counterparts.
The conversations that matter
“He who looks at people with knowledge hates them; he who looks at them with reality forgives them.” Italian proverb
Sex work is the oldest profession and remains a multifaceted issue. Oversimplifying it or entirely vilifying it perpetuates stereotypes, discrimination and exploitation that hold to this day. Exploring fictional stories like Empress Ciku’s NaiRobbery Cocktail or real-world examples from as far afield as Sierra Leone and the streets of Nairobi, lined up with women catcalling men at the entrances of dingy lodgings during the day and night, allows us to start peeling the layers of stigma. We can then address the intersection of societal failures and individual resilience. When authors humanise characters who have been marginalised and mistreated, just to be clear not the “Diddys” and “Epsteins” of this world, perhaps we can shift these conversations from condemnation to compassion and start seeing the women in the trade as survivors.
Tracy Ochieng is a staff writer with Books in Africa. Email: tracy.ochieng@ekitabu.com
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Hidden in plain sight: the complex reality of sex work in Nairobi
TITLE: NaiRobbery Cocktail
AUTHOR: Empress Ciku Kimani-Mwaniki
PUBLISHER: Mvua Press
REVIEWER: Tracy M. Ochieng
AVAILABILITY: shop.eKitabu.com and ‘On eKitabu’ app
PRICE: Ksh1,200 (Print).
Driving through Nairobi’s bustling uptown roads, one cannot help but notice the omnipresent billboards advertising "massage parlours". These advertisements often feature women with voluptuous behinds, heavy bosoms and impossibly tiny waists drawing attention to more than just the “massage services” on offer. These billboards have become so normalized within the city’s landscape that people have either stopped caring about what is happening right under their noses or are afraid to question the activities that truly occur behind the closed doors of these establishments.
While the Kenyan penal code does not criminalise sex work, it does criminalise third parties who live on the earnings of prostitution, according to the Kenya Sex Workers Alliance. In America, these third parties are what would be referred to as pimps.
Queen, a central figure in Empress Ciku Kimani’s NaiRobbery Cocktail, was one such pimp or landlady tactfully running her whorehouse right under the nose of the authorities. Her clientele included powerful men who offered her protection and she, in turn, ensured their carnal satisfaction. Desperate women who had reached their wits’ end sought asylum at Queen’s mansion and they lacked for nought; the only requirement was to make her clientele happy and bring in the money. Beneath this facade lay darker realities of exploitation marked as opportunity.
Like Engonga and Sean “Diddy” Combs
One thing Queen and figures like Sean “Diddy” Combs have in common is that they understand the dark world of sex trafficking. Like a sinister playbook, there seem to be unwritten rules that govern this world. During a brief interview with the NaiRobbery Cocktail author on the ins and outs of brothels, she confirmed that these are the rules of the game.
Rule one: offer your victims an illustrious opportunity.
Rule two: always make sure to record your clientele in compromising positions when they eventually visit the whorehouse—these recordings become powerful tools for blackmail, safeguarding the establishment against betrayal.
“Don’t look at me like that! I only record their first day purely for insurance, not entertainment,” said Queen to a sceptical Naliaka who was just 17 years old when she started at the mansion, with little understanding of what awaited her.
In the real world, the use of such recordings extends beyond brothels. Take, for instance, the case of Baltasar Ebang Engonga, a senior official from Equatorial Guinea. In November, over four hundred intimate videos involving him and the wives of senior officials in the country flooded social media, sending shockwaves in the country and beyond. What is unbeknownst to some, given the rate at which the world is sometimes treated to “sex tape leaks” is that there is always a motive behind this and the “leaks” aren’t by sheer coincidence.
While Engonga didn’t run a brothel like Queen, keeping this collection of visual recordings fits perfectly in the political power dynamics played behind closed doors. However—and this is purely speculative, considering Equatorial Guinea's tightly controlled media environment—it appears that someone turned the tables on him first.
Ladies of the night in a man’s world
“Do you remember when you gave me the speech of men using me anyway, and it would be better if I had a say in how they would use me?… I think you do great for a lot of women…” said Naliaka to Queen on her deathbed. While Naliaka’s reality in the NaiRobbery Cocktail universe may not apply to many women involved in the sex work world, her story makes us appreciate the humanity in the trade. A BBC documentary on sex workers in Sierra Leone exposed the grave dangers these women face—kidnappings, mutilation and sex slavery—but also the sisterhood that binds these women together.
For many, women like Queen would be lauded for doing “God’s work” by providing security and a controlled environment for these women. Often, society ostracizes these women without understanding their stories. What would compel someone to choose to get involved in sex work knowing that the risks outweigh the benefits? This question, beyond excusing certain vices, offers us an opportunity to have compassion and empathy—and to see the bigger picture.
A tale as old as time
This imbalance is not new. John 8:3, a text in the Bible, showcases the magnitude in which we experience inequality of the sexes:
The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought a woman “caught” in the act of adultery before Jesus Christ, claiming that the law demanded that such a woman be stoned to death. This was all in an attempt to test Christ. After rebuking them and challenging those who thought themselves clean, Jesus tells the woman to go and sin no more. The man involved was conveniently absent from the narrative.
The hermeneutics of this text might be debatable but one thing stands out: women have historically been scapegoated and spotlighted in ways that excuse or obscure the culpability of their male counterparts.
The conversations that matter
“He who looks at people with knowledge hates them; he who looks at them with reality forgives them.” Italian proverb
Sex work is the oldest profession and remains a multifaceted issue. Oversimplifying it or entirely vilifying it perpetuates stereotypes, discrimination and exploitation that hold to this day. Exploring fictional stories like Empress Ciku’s NaiRobbery Cocktail or real-world examples from as far afield as Sierra Leone and the streets of Nairobi, lined up with women catcalling men at the entrances of dingy lodgings during the day and night, allows us to start peeling the layers of stigma. We can then address the intersection of societal failures and individual resilience. When authors humanise characters who have been marginalised and mistreated, just to be clear not the “Diddys” and “Epsteins” of this world, perhaps we can shift these conversations from condemnation to compassion and start seeing the women in the trade as survivors.
Tracy Ochieng is a staff writer with Books in Africa. Email: tracy.ochieng@ekitabu.com
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