A massage parlour is supposed to be an establishment that offers therapeutic massage whereas a brothel is a place where people go to engage in sex with prostitutes. But you see, in many countries prostitution or the operation of brothels is illegal, so some establishments attempt to disguise their involvement in prostitution by referring to their business quarters as massage parlours, spas and even bars.
A massage parlour is supposed to be an establishment that offers therapeutic massage whereas a brothel is a place where people go to engage in sex with prostitutes. But you see, in many countries prostitution or the operation of brothels is illegal, so some establishments attempt to disguise their involvement in prostitution by referring to their business quarters as massage parlours, spas and even bars. When I first heard that some establishments right here in Kigali also dealt in commercial sex while masquerading as massage parlours, I dismissed it as idle talk.But like they say, there’s no smoke without fire. So I hatched a plot to go undercover to confirm or dispel the rumours.First, I had to zero down on one of the rumoured places. To my surprise, almost everyone I asked had either heard about this ‘sneaky business’ or knew an ardent client. Personally, I’m not a sauna or massage fan, as I find it too foreign or tend to think that they are meant for loaded folks with nothing better to do with their money! Posh cars at the entranceI looked for and discovered a middle-class sauna & massage parlour in Kanombe and was good to go. I say middle-class because apparently rich people shun expensive ones because they are likely to meet many people they know or who know them. So the majority opt for shadier looking joints for their escapades. I reached this place at around 7:40 PM. Judging by the look of the building, it’s the kind of place that would make you tighten the grip on your wallet, and seeing the number of expensive cars in the parking lot only confuses you even more. What could all these fellows be doing in here?I tried to strike a conversation with the guard I found listening to a soccer broadcast on a tiny radio which seemed to be glued to his left ear. I asked, "Where can I buy some cigarettes?” I immediately knew he smoked from the excitement that flickered in his eyes. "Boss, give me money and I go buy for you.” I waited for him while I scouted the place and ignored the tiny voice deep inside me suggesting that I chicken out and abandon the investigation. He handed me the packet of Intore cigarettes and I told him to keep the change which made him even friendlier; we become instant pals. "What are these people doing in there, what’s so special about this place?” I asked casually while pointing at the parked cars he guarded."Boss you ask like you don’t know,” he said. "I truly don’t,” I lied a little. When he realised I was determined to know, he took a step back like he had suddenly realised I was a leper or infected with the plague. I acted like I didn’t notice his reaction and asked him if he was allowed to drink while at work. This renewed his trust. "Yes, I can do whatever I want, this is my territory,” he confidently bragged. I handed him a two thousand note and he filled me in about the shady happenings. "Big men and I mean really big men, mostly married ones, come here to cheat on their wives,” he said in a whisper. I almost laughed, because he had a really hilarious way of putting it – like their primary goal was to cheat on their wives! You are such a bad boy"I hear Maliza, (not real name) the light skinned babe is everyone’s favourite,” he saidwith a wicked wink as I stood up from the wooden stool he had offered to enter the compound of the house of sin that seemed to have been a residential building.Armed with this information, I felt the knot in my tummy tighten. As I entered, on my right behind the counter stood two beautiful ladies in their mid twenties, one was clearly flirting with a huge man who had came out of the sauna with water dripping down his body. The towel around him looked like a napkin on Goliath."Yes boss, what will it be today?” The other girl asked with a flirty glint in her eye. Caught off guard, I decided not to act coy but to go with the flow! "What would you go for if you were me?” I asked in the same laid-back tone praying she didn’t hear the quiver in my voice. "Ooh! You are such a bad boy,” she giggled. She then leaned closer and whispered in my ear some dirty unprintable words that still echo in my ears.She promised to handle me herself! She showed me the changing room, and when I went into the sauna, I looked like a lost puppy! The sauna was filled with men mostly in their mid-forties and above. The chat in there itself is a story of its own. The dim light gave patrons in the sauna confidence to say whatever was on their mind without a worry in the world. After the sauna, I found the lady who promised to ‘punish’ me for being naughty ready with a towel. She asked me if I wanted a cup of herbal tea, to which I nodded in confirmation. I sipped the bitter tea and told her to get a drink of her choice too. She chose Red Bull. We talked a while till she told me it was time to take a shower and get on with the massage.Apparently, they offer ‘massage’ and massage speciale. The normal massage costs Rwf3000 while the special one costs a basic Rwf5000 and the rest is up for negotiation between consenting adults. The body massage usually takes about 60 minutes, but can last as long as two and a half hours if your masseuse is happy with the way you treat her. I was subjected to an hour long massage, but honestly my masseuse was not as good at massaging like she was with her words. Especially the ‘big words’. I suspected it was her speciality. With the door shut firmly behind me, I had nothing to do but beg her to be nice and slow, a thing that tickled her and made her call me impious names.After a while she asked me if I was in for a plain massage or a massage with the variation of a "happy ending,” (the massage parlour term for having sex or whatever else the customer might ask for). "Who do I pay for the ‘real thing, you or the cashier?” I asked. "The cashier will only get three thousand francs, the rest is mine. All I’m required to do is do whatever pleases the customer,” she said. We bargained from Rwf30,000 she wanted for the ‘adult ride’ down to Rwf6,000. Owners turning a blind eyeAt this joint, the parlour owner doesn’t tamper with his workers side-cash or tips because he knows if the customers are satisfied, they will always come back and probably bring others with them and that is business.In plain and simple terms, many of these places are prostitution dens hiding behind the facade of a legitimate business. Commercial sex is the oldest trade in the world and it doesn’t show any signs of going away ever. So, you want to know what happened after the negotiation? Well, after pretending that I needed to use the wash room, I quickly put on my clothes and fled the premises. But I won’t pretend and say that I didn’t think about staying to find out about her ‘customer care’!