Another woman, seated near the door, leaned toward me as I passed, her fingers lightly brushing my arm. “Unakuja kunywa au kukaa na sisi?” she asked, a sly smile playing on her lips. The invitation was clear, and for a moment, I froze, uncertain of how to respond. Her cheap perfume was overpowering, a sweet, cloying scent that made my head spin.
“A..a…apana… nimekuja tu kulala,” I stammered, finally managing to extricate myself from her grip. Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of mild disappointment, but she let me go, turning back to her drink with a shrug.
I kept moving, weaving my way through the maze of tables and bodies, feeling the stares follow me until I reached the back of the bar. The staircase leading up to the rooms was tucked away in a shadowed corner, narrow and dimly lit. Each step creaked beneath my weight, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the entire structure might give way at any moment. As I reached the third floor, I found a small, dingy reception desk. The man behind the counter was half-asleep, barely lifting his head as I approached.
“Room moja,” I said, handing him the crumpled notes from my pocket. He glanced at the money, then at me, his expression unreadable.
“Kwani ungelala kwa room mbili wewe waria?”
“Pole mzee” I said respectfully.
“Mzee ni babako?” He grunted, took the money, and slid a key across the counter. “Hapo juu mwisho, toka hapa!” he mumbled, pointing lazily down the hall. His disinterest in me was almost comforting after the unsettling welcome I had received downstairs.