The Deadly Escape From Dubai Part 24

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Whoever invented the concept of hotels must have been so lost that he wondered why he could not pay for a place to sleep. There I was in South Africa in a well-furnished room, sleek furniture, various bottles of wines, whisks, champagnes, spirits and beers. Ugandans are a typical class of people when it comes to booze.

It was 3 days later that I realized this was never a hotel but rather someone’s residential home. Or should I simply call it a brothel. I saw girls in the room wearing only bras and panties. And the ones who were a bit more descent were wearing patras. It was a couple kind of thing, people were in pairs and more. All this didn’t shock me; I had seen this sorts of things before but heyyyy. in this vey household were who they called the Queen bees.

The heads, and mentors of these young girls. At least I was able to recognize 3 faces of Ugandan Top Female Socialites entangling with very young nice looking and shaped boys. Boys in their mid-twenties. Boys who would be their sons even but as the Baganda say “Sente w’ekuba e’ gonzawo” and it is true. I believe all these boys and girls were doing whatever they were doing because of the love for money.

The house had rules and among them was, NEVER QUESTION, NEVER TELL.

Not be judgmental, I also fell in the same category. I Had left Uganda to Dubai in search for money. I passed through everything in Dubai because of money. And there I was in South Africa because of money. I was chasing paper and freedom and that’s what these young people were doing also. Seeking survival.

It was one Thursday morning after my usually gym visit at the basement of the mansion house that I met Tasha on the stairs. She looked weary, tired and was crying. I got scared. Tasha was like my role model, my boss and my savior. Tasha being in trouble meant I was in trouble. Her problems were my problems and her smile was my joy. Tasha never spoke to me. All she whispered was, BE CAREFUL! Tasha quickly left me, ran upstairs and disappeared. That was the last time I ever saw Tasha.

That evening, we were told Tasha had committed suicide. The truth was later to reveal she had been murdered after a deal gone bad!!

What deal?

How bad?

These and many more questions ate my brain up like a cancer. Not even a month had passed after our arrival in South Africa, and our squad was being taken out one by one. What if I was next?

That night after the new broke out, I went to speak to Mr. Politico only to find him all covered and being caressed by lots of girls, sat watching girls whine, break and twerk in front of him as his sexual urge rose. Oh Mr. Politico the monster. Oh that Monster. Our friend had just been murdered and he sat there unbothered!!!

I rushed to my room to find my passport only to find everything scattered, clothes thrown around, shoes allover and you guessed it, my new passport had been confiscated too. At that point, I knew I was a danger to these people. There I had become useless to them.

But I had grown stronger and tougher by the day, Death was nolonger a fear for me. I had seen many drop dead, many cut into pieces and many laid down, organs taken and their bodies left to rot in the desert. I had really become something tough!!!

With al my years of experience, I had grown to fight for what was mine. Now was not going to be a time to cry!!!

I was gonna face the devil in the eye and burst into flames. I was going to fight back.

The battle lines had been drawn!! Ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment I realized I was actually always stronger than I thought. I had to be smarter, faster and systematic. The arabs had tried to break me and failed. These sons of bitches, these fools could never get to me.

And then, I came up with a plan!!

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