October 16, 2012
I've had two experiences with prostitutes in New York. Both in the early 2000's. The first, I was walking somewhere in Manhattan with some friends when a woman came up to us and asked if we wanted to party. We said no. The second (and to be honest, I'm not really sure if this lady was a prostitute or just weird) came up to me on the street because she thought she saw me at the party she was just at, and then proceeded to talk to me about something or other and suggested that we go to the nearby bodega, get beer, and go back to my place. I told her that I was only buying orange juice and going home, but she was insistent and followed me all the way until I actually paid for the orange juice, after which she left without a word. The irony of it was I actually had intended to buy beer and I had to go home with just the juice.
But today on the way home from work, I went to the place where I pick up the matatu (vans used for public transportation that I'll elaborate more on in another post). When I asked which one was going Agha Kahn (the stop near my apartment), I was told to go to one with only two women sitting in it. They started chatting me up, asking me where I was from, what I was doing here, what my name was, etc. This kind of interest in me from Kenyans was uncommon, but I was polite and answered their questions.
Then a guy came up to the side of the matatu and asked me if I liked his girls. "Are these your girls?" I asked. The three of them laughed. "This isn't going to Agha Kahn, is it." They laughed again.
"What, are you married or something?" the guy asked me. I told him no and got up to leave the vehicle, but someone from the other side shut the door. I couldn't reach the handle and it was one of those "now I'm in trouble" moments, but one of the women opened the door for me, and nicely showed me to the correct matatu.
Posted by Will at October 16, 2012 1:24 PM