Broke like a church mouse (as usually), I knew that the first thing I had to do in Tanzania was to find a job. A travel agent promised me 5000 Tsh/day ($1 ~ 1700 Tsh)  to do something on computers, but he required me to do a “night interview” so that he could “get to know me better”. $3/day with a creepy boss? I’d rather enslave myself to a rich bald white yacht owner so that at least I could travel around with him.

All the decent places asked me for a work permit, and the rest just gave me a salary that would barely keep me alive, let alone giving me some saving to go to the next country. I was wandering around when I saw the big flashy billboard advertising the biggest casino in Tanzania. Like a moth to a flame, I followed the signs and found myself in front of a casino. Before the security guy could stop me, I walked towards him and asked to meet the manager.

- Which manager?

- The biggest one.

- You have an appointment?

- No.

I thought that he would have probably thrown me out by now, but he talked to somebody on his walkie-talkie and told me to me to wait. Soon, I was led in to meet a tall blond lady with a Russian accent. I told her that I wanted a job. She looked at me from tip to toe:

- Well, we are actually looking for a microphone girl. You saw all the girls in the casino now? She has to be prettier.

- …

- I think you could be pretty. But now you look like a hobo. Come back tomorrow, all dressed up so that I could see and judge.

I came back the next day. I proudly told the security guy that this time I had an appointment. He called the general manager. Judging from the conversation, it seemed like she had totally forgotten me. But he told me to wait anyway. “For how long?”. He shrugged. So I bitterly waited. Finally she appeared with a microphone and told me to say something to everybody there.

- What should I say?

- Like welcoming everybody and introducing yourself.

So here I was, in a casino, having no idea what was going on but forced to speak on a microphone while everyone around was staring at me. But well, if you have to do it, do it fast. I had no idea what I was rumbling. It must be pretty awful, ‘cos the GM laughed.

- Well, at least you are not microphone shy. Wait, I need to figure something out before I can offer you anything.

15 mins later, she called me into her room.

- We need you here 3 days a week, 3 hours a day from 9 to 12. It doesn’t pay much, but we don’t ask for much from you either. Are you sure you want to work with that amount of money?

She must have felt really sorry for me. Anyone who has been to Dar in the last year will understand how ridiculously expensive things here have become. To have a comfortable life here, you need at least $1500/month.

- For me at the moment, working is not all about making money, but rather about collecting stories. And I think a casino is where I can find some interesting stories. (Damn, what the hell was going on in my head at that time!!!? I should have bargained for more eh).

She smiled and handed me a brown envelope.

- Good. Here are few hundreds bucks. Go and buy yourself some nice dresses and makeup so that you could look like a girl. Remember, your job is to become the most beautiful girl in the casino.

That’s how my job at the casino started. Actually, “job” is too fancy a word for what I’m doing there. Other than being the MC for about 10 minutes every day, the rest of my job is basically just walking around and looking pretty. It’s such a no-brainer that I’m pretty sure if chimpanzees look good, I’d probably lose my job to one of them.

Something that rather put me off on my first day at work, but I’ve gotten used to is that 90% people there think that I’m a prostitute. My job involves a lot of talking with all the big players, and as a consequence, I’m having few millionaires, and even billionaires, offering me “friendship” with a lot of financial benefits. I never give my number to anybody there, but the managers there do.

- Sorry Chip. They are the biggest players. We have to give them whatever they ask for.

So when they call, I just plainly tell them that I’m not selling my body.

After being rejected several times, a billionaire told me:

- What’s wrong with you, Chip? Girls can kill to be in your position. When opportunities arrive, you have to put your principles away.

- Nothing’s wrong with me, Sir. If I were desperate and that were my only way out, I’d probably take it. But now I’m happy with what I have, why should I force myself to do things that I don’t like?

(to be continued)

Tags: Cash in Hand Jobs, Casino, Casino Girl, Chip, Chipro, Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, travel, Travel and Write, Travel Diary