Exposed: The rise of ‘erotic excursions’ in Nairobi's upmarket locations

It is in a gated apartment block [Photo: Shutterstock]

Paying for pleasure is said to be the oldest profession and in a city like Nairobi, far from the clichéd seedy backstreets. Tucked incognito in an uptown brothel, one does not need to hassle up and down like a whore's drawers.

You will not find any public advert for a ‘sex bash’ in Nairobi, not even online (unless your idea of a sex party is a seedy masseuse who offers ‘happy ending’ as the climax to the sex-ction).

That doesn’t mean there are none - and last weekend, this writer was invited to one by an old pal, an excellent couples’ sex therapist in her 30s whose side-hustle is organising these ‘erotic excursions’ once a month in upmarket locations.

Let’s call her Virginia.

The way it happens is she sends a poster via WhatsApp (with a randy raunchy poster girl, bare-breasted, bedroom-eyed, bums up-in-the-air like the tail of a tigress, you get the picture).

The poster only says ‘KILIMANI’ and asks that you send Sh10,000 (men), Sh2,500 (women) to a certain mobile number that belongs to ‘Erotic Erica’ ...

Once you do, Erotica Erica calls and says she’ll call you on said Saturday at about 6 pm to give you the exact location of the ‘excursion.’

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Which is how, come Saturday, I am in the general Kilimani area, enjoying a pint and a football game at one of those lovely lounges that dot that area code, as I wait for Erotic Erica to call.

At exactly 6:27 pm., she does, and for sure her voice is sultry!

A deliberately breathless voice that conjures up images of whiskey and weed in that California King-Size bed that Rihanna sang about sometime back.

It is in a gated apartment block [Photo: Shutterstock]

Erotic Erica not only gasps me directions, but she also breathes in that near pant-of-a voice - (designed to get pants off fast) - a few house rules, before one goes for the party, which starts at 9 pm.

“Three things, sweets,” she says. “PYOP ... and that’s not a shrub for BYOB. It is Pick Your Own Protection – rule one. Two, BYOB – Bring Your Own Bottle. We only provide juice, soda and water to re-hydrate at the party.”

“Three, BBI,” I joke. “Bring Breasts Intact.”

“Actually, three is come hungry only for flesh,” she says. “Kama hujakula dinner ...”

I heed her advice and order nyam chom, then watch the Liverpool versus Bournemouth late clash – before finally heading for the secret location where the party is at, at about 10:30 pm.

It is in a gated apartment block, where the guards at the gate wave us in when we say “tunaenda kwa Virginia”.

“Kwa party, eh?” one young guard asks, and drops us a lewd wink.

“Lift. Seventh floor. Number F5 ...”

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We ring the bell of the polished hardwood door of F5, and I imagine the eye on the other end, peeping at us from inside the flesh fishbowl, before she opens it.

I find myself face-to-face with Erotic Erica (I know when that voice says ‘Karibu party ...’)

She is not that picture in your head of a skinny scantily-clad bimbo, with bedroom eyes, short shorts that hug her buttocks and a long yellow weave that looks like the tail of a racehorse.

In-fact she is chubby, has braces and glasses, but with a butt to die for and fishnet top that pops her big boobs out.

Campus, I can tell.

Nairobi is truly a village! [Photo: Shutterstock]

And in fact, there are about half a dozen young ladies here who look like they are in college, three in their 30s who look corporate (and are huddled together), a lot of artsy looking mid-20s to 30s ladies (they look straight outta that Pombe Sigara video by Nvirii) and three others who are definitely tarts, or ‘escorts,’ to spice up the sex bash.

A quick eye-estimate puts the females here at about 24 in number, with 12 to 15 guys.

Nairobi is truly a village!

Of the dudes, I recognise a popular legal commentator (newspapers), an NGO guy who goes out of his way on social media to appear uxorious to his wife, and an MP who likes TV presenters (and was, in fact, once married to one).

There is a makeshift bar area in the living room, but the main action is a sex show on the carpet, where two young lipstick lesbians are nude, and going down on each other, as people watch or chat casually, excitedly, and music from a hired DJ plays some soft R&B songs.

The apartment has a big outer balcony where, as Erotic Erica explains, there is a dealer called Sue who can get you “weed, ecstasy, coke or Viagra to relax you.”

“I’m relaxed,” I say. “You mean Sue has all that on her, like a human supermarket for s**t & isht?’

“It’s 2020,” Erotic Erica tells me. “You order, pay, she gets it delivered here on speed dial ...”

“Even speed?”

Away from the living room, there is a corridor that leads to the bathroom, and three bedrooms.

Other than the lesbo shows to get peeps in the mood, that is where ‘all that is good’ goes down – the living room is just the drinking and hook-up area of this apartment party.

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As midnight comes and goes, more and more people keep disappearing in twos (one of the corporate women goes with two guys!) to the rooms.

If there is any wailing and yelling, it is drowned out by the now deliberately thunderous cacophony of the music, an anomaly, when you reckon it’s R&B.

A stranger walking in would just think it a local party gathering, but for the three white guys and two white women (and one Chinese), the foreigners are not together – who all vanish at different points of the night into the bedrooms that lie beyond the pale.

A stranger walking in would just think it a local party [Photo: Shutterstock]

There are more rules, as my pal Virginia tells everyone at intervals, each printed and tacked on the doors.

‘Dispose of condoms in the closed pedal bins in the room, Spread the bed when done; and please DON’T squirt on the bedsheets ...’ It adds a prescriptive air to this party of promiscuity.

No one can spend more than half-hour in the room. Unless they pay another Sh10,000.

From midnight to 3am, we watch people link up in the living room, go to the ‘Seventh Heaven’ rooms, then leave looking dishevelled, many making for the exit (a few rejoining the party for either drinks or to try get someone else to bed, it’s all liberal).

The three keys are left in a basket at the egress to the corridor, perhaps to avoid folk pounding on the door and shouting “Toka! Ata sisi tunataka kuingia ndani!”

At about 1am., someone loses her iPhone and demands everyone be searched (the rule was to leave ALL phones with Erotic Erica to avoid recording and virile virality), so she is swiftly snapped and ejected from the bash and ‘blacklisted’ by Virginia.

The lascivious legislator takes two of the escorts to a room, then declines to pay the extra 10K (Erotic Erica explains that the college lasses and escorts don’t pay to get into the bash; instead they get Sh5,000 from every party screw they do).

“Unatuibia CDF alafu bado unatuibia ****,” one of the girls complains, and mheshimiwa hurriedly leaves, having left his driver downstairs.

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I later learn that Virginia does not really live there.

“I rent the furnished aparto for 30K for 20 hours for these erotic excursions,” she explains, “then send word out to my network of party clientele, who will also have told a trusted friend.”

I later learn that Virginia does not really live there [Photo: Shutterstock]

On a night like last Saturday, Virginia grossed about Sh200,000 on Mpesa.

After paying Exotic Erica Sh10,000, her lesbo sex show performers 20, the guards (five) a thousand bob each, non-alcoholic drinks 10,000 and 15,000 for the DJ (plus the 30k to rent the apartment), she was left with roughly 100 K riding on her money float.

Whatever flirters her eyelashes rocks your boat ...

But as I left the venue, with the promise of Sunday and church and lifelong celibate saints a pink promise on the horizon, I had one question in mind.

Had that been a sex party, really, or just another theatrical act in that oldest of professions, which started on the day that Eve accepted a forbidden fruit, in order to eat the apple seed of an angel of the Morning Light?

Email: [email protected]

-The writer is the author of ‘Nairobi: A Night Runner’s Guide through the City-in-the-sun.’