Fatima introduced the new girls and said: ‘If you do as Jadda tells you, you won’t go far wrong.’
The house door was a sheet of corrugated iron nailed to a timber frame, not an unusual design in N’Djamena. Inside was a series of small bedrooms and a communal shower. The upper floor duplicated the lower. Each room had two narrow beds with a space between them just wide enough to stand up in, and two small wardrobes. Most of the residents were getting ready for the evening’s work, doing their hair and putting on their waitress uniforms. Jadda announced that they were expected to shower at least once a week, which surprised the new girls.
Kiah and Zariah were given a room together. Their uniforms were hanging up, one in each wardrobe, along with European-style underwear, brassieres and skimpy panties. There was no cot: Naji would have to sleep in Kiah’s bed.
Jadda told them to get changed immediately as they would be working tonight. Kiah fought down panic: so soon! With Fatima, it seemed, everything happened faster than you expected. Fatima asked Jadda: ‘How will we know what to do?’
‘Tonight you’ll be paired with an experienced girl who will explain everything,’ the chaperone replied.
Kiah took off her outer robes and her plain shift underdress and went along to the shower. Then she put on her uniform and found Ameena, who was to be her tutor. In no time, it seemed, she was entering the restaurant, which was quickly filling up. A small band was playing and a few people were dancing. Although everyone was speaking Arabic or French, Kiah failed to recognize half the words, and she guessed they were talking about dishes and drinks she had never heard of. She felt like a foreigner in her own country.
However, as soon as Ameena started to take orders, Kiah began to understand. Ameena asked the customers what they would like, and they told her, sometimes pointing to items on a printed list, which made it easier to be sure what they were saying. Ameena wrote down their choices on a notepad, then went to the kitchen. There she called out the orders, then tore the sheet off the pad and put it on the counter. The drinks orders she repeated to the taciturn barman. When the food was ready she took it to the table, and the same with the drinks.
After watching for half an hour, Kiah took her first order and made no mistakes. Ameena gave her only one piece of advice. ‘Wet your lips,’ she said, licking her own lips to demonstrate. ‘Makes you look sexy.’
Kiah shrugged and wet her lips.
She gained confidence rapidly and began to feel pleased with herself.
After a few hours the girls took turns to have a short break and a snack. Kiah hurried to the house and checked on Naji. She found him fast asleep. He was phlegmatic, Kiah thought gratefully; change interested him more than it scared him. She went back to work reassured.
Some customers went home after they had dined, but many stayed, and newcomers joined them for drinks. Kiah was amazed at how much beer, wine and whisky people imbibed. She herself did not like the feeling she got from intoxicating drinks. Salim had enjoyed a glass of beer occasionally. Drinking was not prohibited – they were Christians, not Muslims – but all the same it played no big part in their lives.
The atmosphere began to change. The laughter got louder. Kiah noticed that the clientele was now mostly male. She was taken aback when men would put a hand on her arm while ordering drinks, or touch her back as they passed. One rested a hand on her hip, briefly. It was all done in a casual way, without leering smiles or murmured remarks, but it disconcerted her. Such things did not happen in the village.
It was midnight when she found out what the stage was for. The orchestra began to play an Arabic tune and the curtains opened to reveal an Egyptian belly dancer. Kiah had heard of such people but had never seen one. This woman wore an extraordinarily revealing costume. At the end of her dance she somehow slipped off her halter top to show her breasts, and a second later the curtains closed. The audience clapped enthusiastically.
Kiah did not know much about city life but she suspected that not all restaurants had entertainment of this type, and she began to feel uneasy.
She checked her tables and a customer waved at her. It was the man who had put his hand on her hip. He was European, heavy-set, wearing a striped suit with a white shirt open at the neck. He looked about fifty. ‘A bottle of champagne, chérie,’ he said. ‘Bollinger.’ He was a little drunk.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Bring it to me in the private room. I’ll be in Number Three.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Bring two glasses.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Call me Albert.’
‘Yes, Albert.’
She put ice in a silver-coloured bucket and got a bottle of champagne and two glasses from the barman. She put them on a tray and the barman added a small bowl of dukkah, blended seeds and spices, and a plate of cucumber batons to dip. She carried the tray to the back of the restaurant. Another big guard in a black suit was standing by the door to the private corridor. Kiah found room Number Three, tapped on the door, and walked in.
Albert was sitting on the sofa. Kiah looked around the room but no one else was there. That made her nervous.
She put the tray on the table.
‘You can open the champagne,’ said Albert.
Opening bottles of wine had not been part of Kiah’s training. ‘I don’t know how, sir, I’m sorry. This is my first day.’
‘Then I’ll show you.’
She watched carefully as he stripped away the foil and loosened the wire closure. He grasped the cork, twisted it a little, then pressed down on it to let it come out slowly. There was a sound like a breath of wind. ‘Like the sigh of a satisfied woman,’ he said. ‘Only you don’t hear that often, do you?’ He laughed, and she realized he had made a joke, so she smiled, although she did not see what was funny.
He poured two glasses.
‘You’re waiting for someone,’ Kiah said.
‘No.’ He picked up one of the glasses and offered it to her. ‘This is for you.’
‘Oh, no, thank you.’
‘It won’t do you any harm, you little idiot.’ He patted his meaty thigh with his hand. ‘Come, sit on my lap.’
‘No, sir, I really cannot.’
He began to look annoyed. ‘I’ll give you twenty bucks for a kiss.’
‘No!’ She did not know whether he meant dollars, euros, or something else, but in any currency it was a ridiculously large payment for a kiss, and she felt instinctively that more than that would be demanded of her. And she feared that, even though he seemed nice, he might become insistent and try to force her.
He said: ‘You drive a hard bargain. All right, a hundred for a fuck.’
Kiah ran out of the room.
Fatima was right outside. ‘What happened?’ she said.
‘He wants sex!’
‘Did he offer you money?’
She nodded. ‘A hundred. Bucks, he said.’
‘Dollars.’ Fatima took Kiah by the shoulders, leaning close, and Kiah breathed in her perfume, like scorched honey. ‘Listen to me. Have you ever been offered a hundred dollars before?’
‘No.’
‘And you never will, unless you play the game. This is how you earn tips, though not all our customers are as generous as Albert. Now go back in there and take off your panties.’ She took a small, flat packet from a pocket. ‘And use a condom.’
Kiah did not take the condoms. ‘I’m very sorry, Fatima,’ she said. ‘I don’t like to go against you, and I really want to be a waitress, but I can’t do what you ask, I just can’t.’ Kiah was determined to keep her dignity, but to her dismay tears began to flow. ‘Please don’t try to make me,’ she begged.
Fatima’s face took on a determined look and she said: ‘You can’t work here if you don’t give the customers what they expect!’
Kiah found she was crying too much to reply.