Sex workers hypnotise the French peacekeeping force
Sep 04, 2003
FRENZY has gripped Entebbe’s popular night spots. The French peace-keeping force based in Entebbe has injected a new dose of adrenaline in the town’s veins, giving the spots a new lease of life.<br>
By Charles Musisi
in Entebbe
FRENZY has gripped Entebbe’s popular night spots. The French peace-keeping force based in Entebbe has injected a new dose of adrenaline in the town’s veins, giving the spots a new lease of life.
On Friday nights, the soldier boys sample the delights of the town with a vengeance, and the sex workers cash in on the influx of the soldiers into the clubs. Driven by a blind instinct to survive, they flood into the pleasure centres to hawk their bodies.
Some sex workers are teenagers, others are as old as the town. The ladies of the night are dressed to kill; tight fitting trousers, see-through miniskirts and flimsy sleeveless tops. They wear long braids and multi-coloured wigs and their faces are bleached.
“The prostitutes come from Rwanda, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and some are from Kampala,†says a night guard at the 4 Turkeys.
Like the gentle breeze from the nearby Lake Victoria, passions blow across the spots, invigorating night revellers.
At 9:00pm, cars line the street next to 4 Turkeys. The bar, on the ground floor of a tall grey building in Entebbe, opposite the Stanbic Bank, bustles with life. It is crammed with French troops smartly dressed in fatigues adorned with black, green and grey colours.
Sex workers trail the soldiers like hyenas stalking their prey. Booming music reverberates in the small dance room and patrons dance like they are possessed. They twist and thrust to Soukous, Ragga and Raggae music.
When Ne’kolera Maali plays, the soldiers and the sex workers dance in a frenzy. A soldier, in his late 20’s, dances with a tall, hefty woman in a tight miniskirt, exhibiting the provocative curves of her hips.
The soldier boy holds her from behind. She bends slightly and pushes her buttocks backwards. He grinds his crotch against her bottom as she wiggles her body.
The man smirks and the woman giggles. Nobody pays attention to them.
The mood is a mixture of ecstasy and potent merriment.
The troops have a passion for the African women and booze. The women have a passion for the dollars. Charged with excitement, they also smooch on the dance floor.
Surprisingly, there are only a handful of African men in the discotheque. Sex trade is brisk at the bar. The prices range between $40 and $100. However, the trade has a downside as Aisha Fatuma, a Rwandese, painfully discovered last Friday.
“A soldier paid me $40. He wanted oral sex, but when I couldn’t all the way, he slapped me and forced me to refund $20.â€
Outside the discotheque, Soldiers mill about on the verandah, clutching bottles of beer and prostitutes pace up and down to lure them.
One of the sluts pats a soldier’s crotch — “Jig, jig, dollars,†she tells the soldier. He clasps her hand and they stroll to the back of the building.
As they proceed, she turns about and says, “Nze ngenda kwekolera sente†(I am going to make money).
“Mukuule! “(detooth him), her colleagues shout.
Not far away, a soldier leans against the wall, his arm around a woman’s neck. He draws her to him and presses his face to hers, then gives her a French kiss.
A few metres away, a group of soldiers and sex workers walk towards the dimly lit children’s playground near the discotheque. Here, bodies twist and thrust.
Moving stealthily through the ground, I find another couple locked in each other’s arms, behind an old block near the grounds. The woman makes some remarks at which both burst into laughter.
In the near distance, other couples stroll towards the field. The children’s playground has become a mating field.
Adjacent to 4 Turkeys, is a narrow, unlit corridor, where the odour of sex and sweat wafts in the air.
The soldiers must be enjoying themselves.
I engage one of them in a conversation.
“What’s the French word for enjoyment?â€
“J’apprecie, jaime.â€
He tries to translate the words into broken English. “Enjoy feeling, enjoy mind.â€
The French soldier has been in the country for two weeks. He came from Bunia.
“What do you do during the day?â€
“We work at the airbase,†he replies in a strong French accent. “Evening we relax.â€
All night long, the bar, the dark corridor and the field bustle with activity.
At about 2:00am, couples stream out of the bar. Some walk to the nearby lodges, others board cabs.
A special taxi driver, John Mwebe, 32, says he charges the soldiers sh30,000 for a ride From Entebbe to the airport. The boda-boda cyclists charge sh5,000.
“Since the arrival of the French troops mid this year, business in booming in Entebbe and Kampala.
The prostitutes are making considerable a fortune, selling their bodiesâ€, remarks Mwebe.
An hour later, the sex workers pocket their gain, board Kampala-bound taxis. The French soldiers too, have now packed up their bags, and let Entebbe regain its usual sombre mood.
in Entebbe
FRENZY has gripped Entebbe’s popular night spots. The French peace-keeping force based in Entebbe has injected a new dose of adrenaline in the town’s veins, giving the spots a new lease of life.
On Friday nights, the soldier boys sample the delights of the town with a vengeance, and the sex workers cash in on the influx of the soldiers into the clubs. Driven by a blind instinct to survive, they flood into the pleasure centres to hawk their bodies.
Some sex workers are teenagers, others are as old as the town. The ladies of the night are dressed to kill; tight fitting trousers, see-through miniskirts and flimsy sleeveless tops. They wear long braids and multi-coloured wigs and their faces are bleached.
“The prostitutes come from Rwanda, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) and some are from Kampala,†says a night guard at the 4 Turkeys.
Like the gentle breeze from the nearby Lake Victoria, passions blow across the spots, invigorating night revellers.
At 9:00pm, cars line the street next to 4 Turkeys. The bar, on the ground floor of a tall grey building in Entebbe, opposite the Stanbic Bank, bustles with life. It is crammed with French troops smartly dressed in fatigues adorned with black, green and grey colours.
Sex workers trail the soldiers like hyenas stalking their prey. Booming music reverberates in the small dance room and patrons dance like they are possessed. They twist and thrust to Soukous, Ragga and Raggae music.
When Ne’kolera Maali plays, the soldiers and the sex workers dance in a frenzy. A soldier, in his late 20’s, dances with a tall, hefty woman in a tight miniskirt, exhibiting the provocative curves of her hips.
The soldier boy holds her from behind. She bends slightly and pushes her buttocks backwards. He grinds his crotch against her bottom as she wiggles her body.
The man smirks and the woman giggles. Nobody pays attention to them.
The mood is a mixture of ecstasy and potent merriment.
The troops have a passion for the African women and booze. The women have a passion for the dollars. Charged with excitement, they also smooch on the dance floor.
Surprisingly, there are only a handful of African men in the discotheque. Sex trade is brisk at the bar. The prices range between $40 and $100. However, the trade has a downside as Aisha Fatuma, a Rwandese, painfully discovered last Friday.
“A soldier paid me $40. He wanted oral sex, but when I couldn’t all the way, he slapped me and forced me to refund $20.â€
Outside the discotheque, Soldiers mill about on the verandah, clutching bottles of beer and prostitutes pace up and down to lure them.
One of the sluts pats a soldier’s crotch — “Jig, jig, dollars,†she tells the soldier. He clasps her hand and they stroll to the back of the building.
As they proceed, she turns about and says, “Nze ngenda kwekolera sente†(I am going to make money).
“Mukuule! “(detooth him), her colleagues shout.
Not far away, a soldier leans against the wall, his arm around a woman’s neck. He draws her to him and presses his face to hers, then gives her a French kiss.
A few metres away, a group of soldiers and sex workers walk towards the dimly lit children’s playground near the discotheque. Here, bodies twist and thrust.
Moving stealthily through the ground, I find another couple locked in each other’s arms, behind an old block near the grounds. The woman makes some remarks at which both burst into laughter.
In the near distance, other couples stroll towards the field. The children’s playground has become a mating field.
Adjacent to 4 Turkeys, is a narrow, unlit corridor, where the odour of sex and sweat wafts in the air.
The soldiers must be enjoying themselves.
I engage one of them in a conversation.
“What’s the French word for enjoyment?â€
“J’apprecie, jaime.â€
He tries to translate the words into broken English. “Enjoy feeling, enjoy mind.â€
The French soldier has been in the country for two weeks. He came from Bunia.
“What do you do during the day?â€
“We work at the airbase,†he replies in a strong French accent. “Evening we relax.â€
All night long, the bar, the dark corridor and the field bustle with activity.
At about 2:00am, couples stream out of the bar. Some walk to the nearby lodges, others board cabs.
A special taxi driver, John Mwebe, 32, says he charges the soldiers sh30,000 for a ride From Entebbe to the airport. The boda-boda cyclists charge sh5,000.
“Since the arrival of the French troops mid this year, business in booming in Entebbe and Kampala.
The prostitutes are making considerable a fortune, selling their bodiesâ€, remarks Mwebe.
An hour later, the sex workers pocket their gain, board Kampala-bound taxis. The French soldiers too, have now packed up their bags, and let Entebbe regain its usual sombre mood.