Three Nights, Three Hookers

Comical but frustrating, is how I silently summed it up, sipping a warm beer at Club Nightriders late last night. Three scantily clad, beautiful women stood arguing in Kiswahili 4 feet from my spot, I was sure the claws would come out soon.

Last Sunday, upon my return from Zanzibar, and at Bill, our African Chief Pilots request, he, Ed McConnell (my Idahoan roommate in South Africa) and I went out for a beer. It had been 4 months or so since I'd seen Ed so it was hard for me to say no, despite being tired and feeling ill. We headed to Jeremiah's, a local drinking establishment where you'll find having a white epidermis makes you very much the minority...as most places will in Uganda. We sat outside next to a steel drum barbeque which was cooking various random meat parts and discussed our different flying stories accrued since Ed and I saw each other last. After an hour or so the table next to us filled up with three girls, all dressed to attract attention from the male species. It wasn't long before I started hearing whispers and faint whistles coming from behind me, so, hoping I was doing it discreetly, I turned and found three sets of lusty eyes locked on all of us. Immediate thought: COOL! One of the three after a minute got up and shimmied her chair over next to mine, and upon sitting back down frankly introduced herself: 'hello, how are you? (PAUSE FOR ANSWER) My name is #@$%. Do you like blowjobs?'. Following thought: SHIT. How's that for an introduction? I've yet to get that one in Steamworks or Carvers back in Durango, hmmm.

I laughed and it bothered her, she squirmed towards me and grabbed my shirt, directing her piercing eyes right at mine which were doing their best averting job. "Why you laugh? What's so funny?" When I explained that not many conversations in the States are started with such...directness...she seemed not to understand, and followed with a second contemplative question: "well do you? How about massage and then one?". I replied with another nervous laugh, trying to buy time, hoping for assistance from Ed or Bill, who were not being of much help. Looking up I found the other girls sitting next to both of them, asking similar straightforward, blush producing questions for us sexually conservative Americans, as I was once told by a Dane. It took a good 30 minutes or so to convince these girls that we were not interested in taking them back to our houses, hotels or tents, and that we were all happily...married, engaged, dating, priests, gay, into bestiality, or anything...anything that'd make them leave us alone. They got the hint, and slowly unlatched the GI Joe Kung Fu deathgrips that held us at bay, but not before my new found friend grabbed me again by the shirt and hopped on my lap demanding I "kiss me hard now!". Again, wow. What does one say?

Even if I had thought of something smart to say, I was not allowed enough time to vocalize it. With mouth firmly closed, lips puckered inwards, and hands pushing her softly away, I had the outside of my face slobbered up and down, I think a tongue may have even entered my nose at one point. "Ok, thank you for the...the...face washing?" I said, wiping my cheeks, chin and mouth on my shirt, Ed and Bill doing their best to fend off similar attacks. "Call me!" came girlishly bellowing out of the car from three different voices, simultaneously, as if practiced, to us three different guys, as the car sped off down the banana tree enshrouded road. I stood silent for a moment listening to the tree frogs thinking I just got molested by a prostitute. I had to laugh.

Another two nights later found me riding around on my loaned bicycle and stopping at a drugstore for something to make me feel better as I was quite sick. As I exited, I was greeted by a sensuous 'hello' again, only to find another attractive woman batting her eyes at me. As before, the conversation cut right to the chase and I made a polite refusal before escaping like a nerd on my bike down the street. I felt like a little boy hopping on his bike to run away from a little girl.

Then came last night. Leo, a Costa Rican engineer and extremely funny guy, Royal, our Director of Ops, and I sat having a gin and tonic at the hotel bar where we are staying. Bill called. "Cmon, you, Leo and I will go to Nightriders for a little while". I didn't fight, though I was tired, secretly I hoped someone else would protest. They did not. We wound up at the underground club with deafening base blasting from the large speakers everywhere, and immediately all the stains on my shirt were noticeable from the black lights that were mounted overhead. On the stage danced a mix of beautiful Ugandan girls and some fit Ugandan guys, all lip syncing in turn to different popular songs from the region. It was my second time here, making a stop last visit to Entebbe. Most of the music was great, beautiful and invigorating African beats and guitar, rhythmically being pulsed through you by the 12 foot high speakers behind and all around. Then she came.

A tall, thin and dark girl came up to our table, said hi to Bill and Leo and then proceeded to sit on my lap and introduce herself. She spoke broken English, was from Goma, in Democratic Republic of Congo, and was 'just visiting' friends in Entebbe. Mmm hmm. I spent the better part of the next 20 minutes trying to politely push her away, as she undressed herself, and me in front of a crowd 300 strong. "Umm, yeah I'm not all that up for public nudity night in Uganda today, thanks." I explained numerous times I was engaged (I'm not Mom) and that I had to go, to which she responded "SHE IS NOT HERE!!!, WE GO NOW, COME!". Thank God I'm not too easily manipulated, I think. With the intent of breaking away from her towards the door I let her lead me by the hand thru the crowd towards the exit until a comical 'salvation' hit us.

"Why haven't you called!!!??" boomed from behind me, after a tap on my shoulder. I turned to find my first prostitute friend beaming at me from behind.
Before I could answer, "Who is this?" was the response from my new Congolese escort.
Before anyone could answer, another hand slipped around my waist and pulled me backwards too intimately to be Bill or Leo. Swiveling I found my drugstore friend smiling at me. Oh God, here we go.
"Who are you?!!!"...the rest was lost to me, as my Kiswahili is nonexistent.

The melodic African sound waves filled the dark, humid room, but between beats the ensuing argument was heard. I giggled and forgot about my intended getaway as three hookers argued over who's man I really was. Comical but frustrating, but more comical than the latter I continued to think before noticing Bill and Leo waving me towards the door. It is easy to spot a couple white guys in here flashed inside. I placed my beer on the bar behind and with a quick swivel-turn-jump-step, leapt between a few other guys and was out the door and free, my ego beaming with delight before it hit the wall.

As we walked down the pitch black street towards our vehicle, the cartoon like light bulb illuminated inside my skull. 'Wait a second, it wasn't me they bickered about...it was my money.' The ego slowly deflates back to normal and I spent sometime wondering what economic and emotional hardships would cause these beautiful women to take up such a horrible career choice. What I was just 3 minutes earlier finding as amusing was actually probably not. Statistically speaking, and most likely enough, each one of those three women who flirted with me and batted their beautiful eyes my way will be dead soon enough from AIDS.