How about a break from the 310 sensationals and an entry into a murky world where you get to be PRAYED for,by a Man of God,to succeed in your chosen career as a prostitute? Sounds progressive right? Right. Because that’s exactly what’s happening in some rundown church in Dandora as we speak right now.
As if the Kanyari 310 theatrics weren’t already abhorrent enough,as if the Pastor Nganga hit and run incidences weren’t already depressing enough and as if the Pastor Deya child-trafficking syndicates weren’t repulsive enough,we now have another Man of God whose primary business is to ‘pray’ for desperate ‘Church’ women in order for them to have a successful life as prostitutes. And attract even more clients in their nocturnal commercial trade.
Back in the day,when God was still God and when an afternoon Bible study meant just that,people actually did have actual stuff to be prayed for over. Women would petition God over their errant husbands and kids. And men would make supplication for the general home and society. But those days are long gone. It’s 2016 now. And people have to survive.
Early last week,someone tipped us off about some Man of God in Dandora who had set up a Church in which more sin would happen than in a typical Las Vegas stripper joint
We were told that Pastor John Muraya who runs the Glory to God ministries is also a man who runs the careers of many a Luthuli Avenue prostitutes and that he specifically prays for these women so that they can have wonderful business and attract more men when they hit the streets at night, prowling,for a man of sex.
We were also given the phone number of one of the women who attends that Church regularly and is also an avowed adherent of the Pastor and also one of the Church’s most accomplished prostitutes. And true to those claims, the woman actually is a prostitute and she goes to be prayed for in the said church. Listen to her here:
In the email sent to us,our source also told us that the female flock of that Church frequents Salama Hotel along Luthuli Avenue,right opposite Kenya Archives and that they have rooms from where they converge to prostitute themselves after a good,jolly service at Pastor Muraya’s Church.
My editor and I then decided to pay the Salama Hotel a visit. And as we walked in,it looked more like a place that houses broke alcoholic retirees than a brothel. And sure,we did meet some bunch of chaps who did look like broke,alcoholic retirees swigging on some lonely beer bottle,engaged in low,boring chatter.
We sat at the hotel section and hollered at a waitress who looked every inch bored of her job and in a dire desire to quit and have a vacation. She dragged herself over,looking tired and sleepy and uninspired.
I launched straight to the business.
Feigning a Coastal Swahili accent,I asked,’Sisi ni wageni hapa Nairobi. Hii jiji kubwa kweli. Tumeambiwa hapa ndipo tutawapata wasichana wa kujiburudiaha nao. Si unaelewa? Wale wasichana wa usiku wale. Tunataka kila mtu wake. Tumetoka Pwani na hapa Nairobi kweli tunaona mna raha. Tumeambiwa hapa Kuna wasichana wa kulipa. Kweli wako ama washaatoka? ‘
The waitress gets surprised and confused. She normally doesn’t take orders involving prostitutes and commercial sex. She’s used to serving tea,it seems.
‘ Hmmm hakuna wasichana kama hao hapa, ‘ she says,sounding dead convincing.’ Sio hapa… Hii ni Hoteli… Mimi sijasikia wasichana kama hao… ‘
She leaves. And then comes back less than three minutes later.
‘Poleni,’ she starts,smiling awkwardly. ‘Unajua sijakaa hapa sana. Anyway,wako. Tumeambiwa wako. Kujeni niwaonyeshe…’
We followed up the waitress to the reception and the lady at the reception asks us to sit at the old-fashioned chairs and wait. Wait takes forever.
Finally,someone comes to pick us up. And we are taken to the third floor of Salama Hotel.
‘Endeni Room 74…’, we are told.
We walk over and knock. The door opened to a room reeking of cheap perfume,stale odors,a concoction of Nice and Lovely lotions and fetid liquor.
A lightskinned girl stood at the door and said, ‘Mmoja tu… Siwezi hudumia wawili…’.
Irari (the Editor) and I debate on who gets to go first. Or go at all.
The girl,with a cheap,old weave and a little white top looks uneasy.
Her whole body has been unevenly bleached leaving ugly patches that make her look like a vitiligo survivor. She has little blue sandals and the room is sort of tidy and a bed that looks like it has been freshly made and a tired,emaciated pillow struggling to bedeck the upper part of the old 4×4 bed.
I went in and she made it expressly clear ‘Massage ni 1500. Extra ni 1000….’
So this is Salama Hotel. The second home of the Glory to God female adherents.
I asked where the other girls were and I am told they’ve left for home.
‘Kuja kesho utawakuta. Hizi room zote huwa na wasichana… Zote. Wa type zote… Kesho utawakuta kutoka six … ‘
‘ So,massage ama Extra!? ‘
Mission accomplished. We had already determined that it’s actually true,this hotel does house these girls.
Following day we set off for Dandora to try and locate the Church.
Our Uber takes us to Outer Ring Road but the traffic,as usual,is headache-inducing. We turn around and decide to use the Baba Dogo Road. We drive past Huruma slums to finally join some road that leads us to the Roundabout and finally to the Dandora road,adjoining the Kariobangi South Junction and down that road through Civil Estate.
We arrive at the Glory to God church to meet very little activity. There’s no one. Just some bored guy manning the door in a cheap,grey suit and some shoes that had seen better days.
With a coached girl whom we brought with us,who would then approach the Pastor to ask him to pray for her ‘Prostitution business’, we walk through the rickety blue gate. A gate so weak you can chew it away.
We were ushered into the largely empty church hall,with carelessly arranged chairs and a podium that looked like the setting of a cheap Indian wedding.
We sir for hours before some lady dressed in red comes over to ask us how we would like to be helped.
‘Tumekuja kuona Pastor… ‘, Sheila,our ‘ coached’ girl starts. ‘Tunataka kuombewa…’
The usher told us in our face that we couldn’t see the pastor because we were late. And also because if we needed to see him earlier,we’d have come from 8-3pm,his usual ‘huduma’ time.
‘So? Tufanyaje sasa!? Hatuwezi muona kabisa kabisa? Aki tunataka kuombewa… ‘ Sheila persists.
And then the clincher is dropped.
‘ OK,Iko hivi eeeh… ‘ The usher starts,’ Kama mnataka kuona Pastor sana sana,mtalipishwa Mia Sita… ‘
I almost drop. Irari’s mouth is ajar and Sheila scowls.
‘Yes,ukikuja past time ya Huduma,utalipa 600 kuona Pastor…. ‘ Here is a recording of her saying it:
‘
Na kama mtu hana kazi na anataka aombewe apate kazi sasa atatoa Mia sita wapi? ‘
My question is not duly answered. The usher is called by the Church secretary,some 50-something year old lady,and she leaves in a huff.
Usher comes back some half and hour later,unapologetic.
‘ Kuja’, she says pointing at Sheila. Sheila then leaves for the Pastor’s cubicle only to come back some minutes later and beckon us,
‘Kujeni… ‘
We walk over to the Pastor’s office.
At the entrance we are duly told to strip off our shoes. We are entering a righteous environment,clearly.
We walk up some few stairs and into yet another room in which sits the burly man of God.
The office is small and squeezed with a little plasma TV at the corner,bunch of old,tired books,a huge black Bible on the table,bunch of more books and old newspapers,some pens,more newspapers,old little calendar flicking in the wind,a low roof and with walls fully covered in red velvet material from edge to edge.
Office looks more like a Nigerian occult shrine than a Pastor’s office.
We sit at a bench across the man of God and he’s welcoming and airy.
He’s huge,the size of a little hill and sits across the table like a Romanian King,with a huge sweaty face and a tight-fitting gray suit that didn’t cost much to purchase. Add a red tie and a gray windbreaker and you have the full regalia of a man of God who is not doing very well. Financially.
We tell him why we are there. And he picks up his bulky Bible to browse through random Bible verses,read them out to us and processed to launch a 10-hour random prophetic treatise.
We are bored to death. But he rambles on. And on. And on.
Finally,Sheila says that she needs the two of us to walk out of the stuffy room because she has a ‘secret prayer item’. We exchange glances and stand up to leave.
‘Kabla mtoke wacheni niwaombee…. ‘
Pastor Muraya says before standing up and dragging his weight over to us,splashing onto our foreheads some slimy vegetable oil sort of an ointment and then praying for us. Very seriously.
We walk out. And everyone is given a bottle of the ‘ anointing oil’.
‘Mukifika nyumbani muipake kwa ukuta za nyumba… Na kila asubui mkienda kutafuta kazi mnajipaka… Ili muweze kufanikiwa… ‘
I am dying to leave.
Sheila is left in the room. And after telling the man that she’s a whore,and needs to be prayed for,to find more clients and for her’ business’ to ‘expand’,he advises her accordingly and even hovers over her and prays for her fervently.
‘Musiaidie apate Wananume wengi Baba… Na biashara yake ipanuke… ‘ Here is a recording of their conversation; it starts getting interesting from the 7th minute:
The world needs to stop. Now!
A