In the three weeks or so since I updated this blog, three people I treasured passed away.
The first was D, the girl who gave me the final push to start this blog. D was not in my kind of trade; rather, she ran a relatively successful small business in the city centre. By the time she died, there was so much tension between us. She had started referring to me as a “prostitute”, a reference I don’t mind in any other circumstances, but which hurt so much coming from her. I am not sure why. Since I knew she was not dating and slept with a different man almost every month, I called her a prostitute too, an “old prostitute,” because she was a year older than me. Yet I knew very well that, unlike me, she wasn’t in any sense a prostitute; she slept with men for pleasure and not money. She got very mad . She threatened to post my photos on the internet in addition to revealing the true nature of my work to my family, most of whom she knew. For a moment there, I was scared. But she committed suicide before she made good on her threat.
D swallowed an overdose of sleeping tablets, then probably had second thoughts because she called her mother for help. In better times, I think she would have called me. Help arrived too late; she died before she got to hospital. D didn’t do the classical suicide act of leaving a note, so her mother, who I am quite close to, keeps asking me what made her daughter kill herself. I have no clue.
I only hope D killed herself for a good reason. She reminded me of the song Suicide is Painless, which I heard sometime ago:
Through early morning fog, I see
visions of the things to be
the pains that are withheld for me
I realise and I can see…
That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please.
I try to find a way to make
all our little joys relate
without that ever-present hate
but now I know that it’s too late, and…
That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please
The game of life is hard to play
I’m going to lose it anyway
The losing card I’ll someday lay
so this is all I have to say.
That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please
The only way to win is to cheat
And lay it down before I’m beat
and to another, give my seat
for that’s the only painless feat.
That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please
The sword of time will pierce our skins
It doesn’t hurt when it begins
But as it works its way on in
The pain grows stronger. Watch it grin, but…
That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please
A brave man once requested me
to answer questions that are key
‘is it to be or not to be’
and I replied, ‘Oh, why ask me?’
‘Cause suicide is painless
it brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please.
…and you can do the same thing if you choose.
The next person to pass away was Kanini. She was a colleague who didn’t hide her ambition of growing her career on the Street. She came to the street about five months ago with an attitude that hinted at naivety rather than strategy, but when I think of it now, it could have been the latter. At first, Kanini only spoke in English using a funny accent, which was supposed to be American. And in a rather rude manner, she dismissed our cheapness—the plastic drinks, our perfumes, and inner wear. Well, that might have been her real self, but it’s very easy for us to hate such a character. And so we did.
Once in a while Kanini used to carry a copy of True Love magazine to the street and would sit on the pavement reading and making loud comments. It made us hate her more. Though my grammar is not great at least my pronunciation is. So one day, when I heard her pronounce the word ‘furore’ wrongly, I corrected her. Of course we argued but we soon became friends—good friends. I told her to change her attitude; otherwise, she wouldn’t make it on the Street. She was too proud to make a change and instead opted to shift to a lane near Yaya.
On a Sunday not more than three weeks ago, she was found by the roadside bleeding from the nose. What happened before and after is still not clear. But there was talk of internal bleeding and injury. I tend to think she got into a fight with a client or some girls fixed her with thugs. She was buried in Machakos. Last and dearest was Mum. We buried her last Friday. I hesitate to say much about her lest I give her identity and mine away. Anyway, for the larger part of this year, she has been in and out of the hospital. I being the child who was physically nearest to her In the last two months I have spent many days with her, being the nearest of her children. I am also the only one who is self-employed, so I could take time off my business liberally. I loved Mom and looked forward to the day I was to tell her the truth of what I actually did for a living.
She saw her death coming, and at many points when the pain was too much, she wished for it. As a family, we knew she was to die sooner than later and thus prepared ourselves psychologically. Though thus prepared, I still shed some tears for her. I comfort myself by saying at least now I have a close dead person to pray to. Yes, someone told me the most effective prayers are those to the dead. Somehow I believe it.
————————————————————————————————————-
I am past mourning. I have shaken off the gloominess and disorganisation that have been with me in the last three months or so. I have regained my spark and will be hitting the Street later in the week. For now, let me rethink this whole brand-building exercise. I am also aware I have hundreds of emails, messages, questions and book requests to respond to. I will do that, hopefully by the end of this week.
