hookup

I’m sad! Very much so.

Sadness the size of a whale plagues me.

I didn’t feel like writing today, but hey, I have to do my work.

I have been sitting in front of the computer for over an hour.

Staring at the screen like an insipid idiot.

Looking like I was memorising the icons.

My editor has told me several times that I cannot and must never allow my emotional troubles to affect my job.

What do I write about today?

My mind is blank as a slate wiped clean.

Perhaps I should finish the issue on Buratanshi and Magun? No, maybe next week.

Getting curious about why I’m sad?

No? Okay, I will not burden you with my troubles.

Let’s talk about Port Harcourt (PH) and its pretty collection of damsels.

 

The first time Glory told me about such a place in PH, I couldn’t believe it.

I mean, who in his right senses, would want to throw away N50,000  just because of a honey well?

A mere few minutes’ pleasure? Now we know there are crazy sons of bitches that don’t know what the heck to do with their money!

Perhaps not even hard-earned. Abi the babe get a diamond inside there? Could be.

Anything is possible in Naija! Perhaps it is John Thomas’ job to dig out that hidden treasure. Nonsense!

You guys know me. I don’t accept such things at face value. Though I know Glory could not have been trying out an April fool on me.

But just for the sheer hell of it, I decided to check out the place. It was a dream of a hotel. Tall and magnificent. Beautiful to behold and stainless.

Old-school music wafted through the night air. Any babe that comes alone would not be allowed to enter the premises except if she is one of those on the “short time” business list.

A familiar face. Do you know what I mean? The reception was a vision in marble. Natural palm fronds everywhere. A dip or swim in the pool costs N1000. I asked what sort of water was in the pool. Was it the type that cured Namman in the holy book of leprosy? If I defecate right now in my panties and there was only that swimming pool, I wouldn’t be found dead in it! N1000 indeed.

Shay money na paper?

My pal, Lagbaja stays in PH. He knows the place. He took me there. We sat close to the swimming pool. We ordered suya. It was tasteless.

But even at that, a stick of it, housing three pieces of dried sorry looking charred meat was N700.

Can you beat that? A good one hundred-naira note into seven places.

Shit!

Walahi! If a soothsayer had told me those three pieces of meat would take me to heaven, I still would not have bought it.

I gasped at the price. I made my feelings plain to Lagbaja. He only smiled.

 

Lagbaja said: “Na Oyinbo dey do the suya Ohh! Shay na small thing? When Oyinbo begin dey do Suya for black man, you no no say e get as e be?”

When they brought a strange-looking bread, called a club sandwich and said it was N1,000, I almost fainted.

 

But the cutlery skill of the hotel was not my quest. They call the hotel Bougavill something. I also noticed that most of the white women were old.

Most of them had young, handsome black men with them. The white men there each had Nigerian babes hanging on their arms. These babes each had car keys dangling on their elegant fingers.

But guess what? They are not the short-time N50,000 babes, they are the small fries.

Some of the small fries, wearing seductive clothes, would stroll from seat to seat. If their eyes caught those of a guy, whether he was with another babe or not, they would give him a wink.

A come-on sign.

Daring him to look for a way to ditch his babe and come strike the devil’s bargain with them. My informant told me the small fries charge N6,000 upward.

I saw many daughters of Eve, puffing those giant cigars furiously.

Gesticulating serenely while their mouths emit smoke like chimneys. I went there on a Saturday night. I later learnt that the buzzing days were usually Fridays when everywhere would be crawling with Nigerian babes and white folks.

The game there was money, sex and sin.

Not a place for a good girl like me abi?

Why that sceptical look?

You don’t think I’m a good girl? Say it loud let me hear you. Did you say I’m not a good girl?

I didn’t think you did!

But I saw the N6,000 upward girls. Aside from catching your man’s eyes and ensnaring him with tricks to come and get them, they sometimes make use of the waitresses.

How? We all know a waitress’ job is to serve. But these special waitresses, while serving also link customers to the small fries.

That is if the customer is interested. The customer must be the one to make the first move by asking any of the waitresses to connect them.

For their pains and time, the waitresses collect a commission. Imagine a situation where the waitresses are mostly graduates and you get the picture of how much they make per day.

Aside from their job, I heard some of the waitresses were also into part-time “short time” business.

 

I desperately wanted to catch a glimpse of the N50,000 short-time babes, but I was told they rarely come out.

They pay for a room in the hotel. A room fully rugged and well air-conditioned. I tried to ask a man about them. He looked at me as if I had just escaped from an asylum and needed to be bundled back.

I was embarrassed. He said there was nothing of such happening there. He said he was a customer and comes there almost every day.

He asked me if I believed any man could be stupid enough to part with N50,000 for a moment roll on the bed and a bold goodbye the next day.

I didn’t know what to say. But Lagbaja insisted the babes were there. He was sure of it. Who would tell me more about this mystery?

Yes! A staff. I called one. Became friendly and bingo, I got my answers.

It was actually Lagbaja who asked the question. He had cunningly asked “what about those girls in the rooms? How much do they charge?”

 

The informant said “Ha! Dem cost Ohh! Their money dey start from N50, 000.”

There now! Jeez! Fifty freaking K! I refused to calculate how many months’ salaries that could cover me. I was not happy to leave there without catching a glimpse of them.

Short of walking to the hotel manager to demand a tour of the girls’ rooms, there was nothing I could do.

But I heard they were real beauties. Sights for sore eyes. They usually stay cocooned in their rooms until rich customers specially request for their services.

The small fries respect them.

A reliable source told me that though unemployed, the babes have landed property scattered about the country. They have built houses and have a nice nest of money, resting in various accounts.

I later discovered that the man I initially spoke to have a babe stashed away in one of the rooms. He collects a percentage of her earning. Pimp?

Please don’t ask me what he does for her. I didn’t ask. I don’t want it to seem as if I was prying.

 

This discovery goes to show that there are surely men who think with their balls. I recollect a story I heard. How true it is, I don’t know. But I’ll tell you guys anyway.

 

A Hausa man came to Lagos in search of greener pastures. He got one pushing a cart in Mile 12.

A few months later, he felt he had achieved a lot and needed to celebrate it by banging a babe.

Agro held him in a tight grip. Can’t blame him. It’s been months since he left his young wives, and his balls were full and rearing to go full blast like a faulty water faucet.

He had made friends. He told them his plight. They directed him to a brothel.

When he got there, he picked a babe and went into the room. She undressed. He asked how much for short time.

She said N2,000. Our brother gasped in shock and said: “N2000 for abunna? N2, 000 for ordinary abunna? Oya close am! Close am! He no do am again! Your durin na gold ni?”

His alarm mirrors my sentiment. How can people-men-pay such a whooping amount of money for sex?

It’s preposterous!

These men need to see a shrink! And I bet many of the men are married.

Imagine the number of girls that will start trooping out to become prostitutes if they get wind of this.

Indeed, how many decent ladies would want to work, when they could easily make N50, 000 at a roll in bed?

The solution to this problem lies in the hands of the men. Say a fat no to N50, 000 for sex.

Say no to prostitution, period!

If you don’t, it could be your daughter tomorrow. Remember that a prostitute does not take permission from her parents before commencing the job.

The urge by many to live above their means and income could lead to taking up such jobs.

Some start from universities. Outside the influence of their parents and guardian.

So, when next you mount that young lady in that flamboyant or seedy hotel room, ask yourself what if she was your daughter? Niece? Sister?

It appears PH is full of sin.

We drove past a place called Charlie’s three times. Despite my sitting beside Lagbaja, some ladies still had the guts to draw close to the window of the car, saying “Uncle good evening” in a throaty voice.

A voice that could make a guy’s toe curl and make him imagine sensational things happening to him in a four-poster bed.

At another angle of the area, we heard two young damsels discussing “Shay na short time? from short time, he enter full time and he no go wan pay?”

God, what a life!

The oldest among them couldn’t be more than 25 years. Prostitution is a cutthroat business.

No place for those in their thirties. I asked, “Where are their parents?

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