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Items by Tamaku
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15:08
Paper Scissors Rock
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Hey, we haven't had a vid in a while. I was watching this one today and sensing some homoeroticism, what do you guys think? -
My untamed youth
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I took this shot of downtown Nairobi on my way from a friend’s office on Commerce House 5th floor, Moi Avenue. That’s the building that housed Florida 2000 nightclub, that wonderful den of iniquity. Actually last time I was in F2, Flonje as a true aficionado calls it, was at least 18 years ago. But as you can see this time I was in the vicinity during the day, mid-afternoon to be exact.
Years and years ago when I was a still a chicken (14-16 years old) I was a regular fixture at the nightclub even during school nights ogling at the dancers (male and female, all amazing) and their super-toned bodies. Those were the days frittering away my parents’ cash (money that I could do with right now, by the way) cavorting with hookers, drinking beer and eating pilau with kachumbari downstairs outside the ART shop with pimps, drug dealers and taxi drivers. All this while the parents, my siblings and most normal people slept away…
Yes, there was a time when Nairobi was a safe place to walk at all hours, except on occasion when I encountered policemen with dogs on patrol around that dodgy zone behind KCB Kencom House as I club-hopped from F2 to Tamango (before it was called Visions) on Kimathi Street at 3 am. Always the same script wanting to arrest me on trumped-up drunk and disorderly or loitering charges unless I greased their palms with some chai or tea. I wish I'd go back to those days because I'd be carrying a flask of hot tea for such encounters . Luckily an accident of birth meant I bore my famous grandfather’s name whose mere mention I’d learned early in life could open the right doors wide and the cops normally ended up escorting me to the other club and even gave a little salute as I trotted up the steps for part 2. I guess I was a corrupt little Kenyan, just like most of the others back then, lol! I was also a bit of a brat...
Back to F2 and its mock zebra-skin carpet which I understand nowadays even has a strip club next door. Some nights I’d forget myself only to crawl out of the nightclub in the morning to dazzling daylight and bustling streets. My parents usually left the house for work before we got up, so I’d just go home on the bus and sleep the booze and other substances off before getting up to go back to town to pick up my Enduro trail bike where I’d left it unchained outside F2 because I didn’t want to get myself killed riding under the influence. In fact how I passed my exams I’ll never know because my teachers often wrote in my report card, ‘shows great potential and should go far but is easily distracted’. At least I never missed a scouts overnight camping trip and I never ever went to school pissed….hahahahaa
I also learned the valuable art of keeping people sweet (always smile whatever the situation and never say a bad word behind someone’s back) so the servants and siblings even covered for me. Of course I forged dad’s signature on absence letters to school and one-finger typed these out on mummy’s old manual Olivetti for authenticity. That soon unraveled through a painful ordeal which is a story for another day. Oh, the folly of youth but I was having too much fun reducing my life expectancy by at least 10 years while experimenting with more stuff than many people fit into a lifetime. I count myself very lucky to have escaped unscathed because I quickly got bored and grew up super fast and just managed to get my act together. By the time my friends from school were discovering nightclubs I had that part well and truly behind me. One of these days I might even tell you about my graduation to the massage parlour ‘phase’ with the ‘extras’, if you’re as nice as you usually are.
Sorry about the pic by the way, not being top notch, it’s taken using my iphone’s measly 2 mp camera. I damaged my other camera recently when I dropped it on the bathroom floor (don’t ask) and I can’t seem to get anyone to fix it. I’m not shy, if anyone has a spare slr feel free to swing it my way and I’ll take some interesting shots just for you. Yes you big, big boy there in the tight jeans and nice butt. Eeww, that sounds so creepy.. lol!
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Smart toothbrushes
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Imelda replaced the toothbrushes in our bathroom yesterday. I notice
that she put a new pink one on my sink yet again while George got the
blue Colgate flex. Pink for girls, blue for boys, right? Mmmmm...I'm a Scorpio so I do tend to over analyze things but I can't help
myself wondering whether she now just sees me as George's bitch, lol!Oh well, whatever....)
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The winning formula?
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I'm at home not doing much just playing a second game of scrabble with
Imelda. She's currently wiping the floor with me, coming up with
'subzero' on a triple word score. She's already won the first game of
the day. Aarrrggh õ›. But now she's gone off to prepare lunch, so I've
been naughty and just switched some of her letters. Hehehe, I've also
had a good rummage inside the bag with the letter tiles, lol!
Ssssshhh.....Imelda almost caught me red-handed when she came back unexpectedly to
bring me a cup of Milo, I thought I was going to have a heart-attack
but I managed to pull myself together though I couldn't look her in
the eye.,,I hope you don't think I'm a bad person; but I'm feeling a little
guilty...
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50 ways to find a lover in Nairobi
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I actually look forward to bedtimes these days and not just for what you might be thinking. We are normally in bed by 11pm with me snuggled in The Nook, that special place that George keeps warm just for me. It’s where I can hear his heart talking to my soul. I love reading in bed and I’m used to it now even while he’s watching pirate copies of CSI or Heroes or Band of Brothers. Yes, George won that battle so we still have the tv with dvd in the bedroom. Last night I wanted to watch a copy of Chokora that a friend got for me the other day but George said it’s too depressing. From what I hear it will make you very MAD. Anyway we’ll watch it with Imelda tomorrow while he’s at work. I don’t want to precipitate another bust-up. You might think that I’m a walkover but I try not to sweat the small stuff because we are both so happy now.
Currently I’m enjoying reading 50 Ways to Find a Lover by Lucy-Anne Holmes. I picked up a brand new copy abandoned in the airport lounge on my recent trip to London. Which reminds me, imagine how shocked I was to discover the other day that there are websites where you can hire a lover in Nairobi for the night! Or day! Even by the hour! You can now meet real gorgeous men with mouth-wateringly ripped abs or sexy women with curves as tight as the streets of Monte-Carlo. If you like a varied diet you can even have both together. All at the click of a button and of course the slimming of your wallet. A world away from how one woman tried to get me interested not so long ago. My research shows it's even possible to arrange the rendezvous in your office boardroom for the horny but busy exec. By the way if ‘supermarket’ (self-service or taking matters into your own hands solo in the privacy of your bedroom) with lights dimmed and aromatic oils burning is more your thing, you can even pay and download local porn clips instantly, wait let me finish, and away you go come, lol! If you live in a flat just turn the volume up high, the neighbours will envy you thinking you’re such an animal. Go tiger..
It’s all happening here in our supposedly deeply religious and morally righteous African country.
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A parent’s guide to the finger of god business (pg rated)
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Some concerned parents wrote to me when TV anchor Esther’s saga broke out. They said please Tamaku my kids are scared when they hear about Freemasons and people wanting to kill others and they’re asking difficult questions. Can you find us a way to explain what’s happening to their role model? So I obliged and embellished the story somewhat so that youngsters could understand. You can read it and dramatize it like a game for the kids at bedtime in nice Harry Porter style to get the message home:
Once upon a time there was a famous and very beautiful girl from the telly. One day she decided to run away from her handsome boyfriend who had smooth and well manicured fingers to a wizard called Timberstick. When he got her to a castle in Runda he began the ancient and secret game of 4ply (here you can sing a little lullaby, 1ply, 2ply, you get the drift). Not to be confused with foreplay which all boys know is just a waste of playstation time, 4ply is a spell practiced under a moonless night to the hypnotising strains of a lone saxophonist. However when you grow up and if you don’t study hard and go to college, you will hear it mentioned in player parlance as ‘short-circuiting a babe’s cpu’. So, this is what Timberstick did with his talented guitar-calloused and blinged up one digit, which came to be known throughout the kingdom simply as da Finga. It was studded like a courgette’s skin and curved like an aubergine, lovely vegetables that you must always eat whenever mummy cooks them for you. They are excellent sources of nutrients but only when chopped and cooked. Now, when boys were still writing with pencils, the wicked wizard was already printing in colour. He was also very experienced in the art of taking off a girl's bra with only one hand. Soon the beautiful girl was frothing at the lips close to dying but not at all in a bad way. She was riding through the sky without a care like a runaway helium balloon. Higher, higher close to heaven, when she saw how bright and beautiful heaven was she cried out: ‘Woooi , OMG…. Oh My God, what is that?’ (Note to parents: feel free to adapt the cry to suit your child’s deportment, religiosity etc, but keep it real)
The evil 4plyer cackled back to her, ‘That my princess is the finger of god’.
And the moral of the story, children? You must tell your teacher if someone wants to put your finger in the electric pencil sharpener. Goodnight my angels, night night….
(Editor’s note: We are trying to see whether Disney will make a movie)
Moving on swiftly here is a finger joke for the adults:
One day John rang his wife from the offshore rig where he worked.
‘Honey don't worry, I’ve had a serious injury but am ok. An accident occurred and my finger was cut OFF.....'She yelled, ‘The hole finger?’ He answered, ‘NO, NO, the one right next to it. ...’
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Tamaku does London
» Diary of a gay Kenyan When a generous client, mentor, one- time compañero and sometime benefactor sends an urgent email saying I want you up in England for a couple of days, all expenses paid, you don’t say mmmm, I’m not sure what I’ve got on my diary, Sanchez – let me think about it and I’ll get back to you. This is what happened to me the other week, so I hopped on a plane and arrived to a chilly London. One thing I noticed is that more roads are now potholed (shock, horror) but nothing remotely like Nairobi roads. My tattooed cabbie Dave told me the heavy snows of the previous months have played havoc on infrastructure, but I heard as if he called it infrastuckture. Apparently this happens when water-logged newly re-carpeted surfaces expand causing cracks on roads when it freezes. You learn something new every day, not all of it useful. Also did you know that jelly beans are good for causing a bowel movement? And another thing matey, Audi A6 estates and BMW 5 series are rubbish in snow, even many 4x4’s except Land Rover Discos, naturally, will struggle but you’d expect German cars to know a thing about snow. Talking of cars, Shiko-Msa if I get you that red Toyota Solara people might start to talk, hehehe...
I had two straight days of intense meetings in Bishopsgate a short walk from Liverpool Street station and went back to my 3 star hotel room in Wembley after like every nice gay businessman does. I wished I’d brought my toys to keep me entertained as I watched porno on the old lappie, hahahaha, but a few nights without never hurt anyone though it can make you cranky in the mornings. The crowded tube carriage is one of my least favourite places anywhere during rush hour but it’s a microcosm of life in one of the world’s greatest cities. Desperately gaunt druggies in sodden coats on their way to chase dragons sat next to nervous Goldman Sachs millionaire wankers bankers in chic Aquascutum vintage coats on their way to/from a rat race for humans. And the women putting on their makeup flawlessly on the tube, vulgar with a capital V like Vietnam decadence, yet so captivating. My alter ego has extremist socialist views especially when I spot subtle displays of excess leave alone ostentatious ones. To be honest with you, I think the word I’m really looking for is envy.
London was like enforced rehab for me because I didn’t drink a drop except on Saturday when I allowed myself more than a little treat to compensate. Saturday evening was raining incessantly, the kind of night when I’d never go out in Nairobi so I just sat in the hotel bar which was full of confident Man Utd fans over for the match with Aston Villa on Sunday. I met travelling discordant couple Marilyn and Lee (he’s Manu while she’s a hardcore brummie Villa fan) and we polished off a bottle of Bombay Sapphire and later chased with some Disaronno, you’d think I’d have learned my lesson about mixing drinks by now. Duly ginned, we blue-toothed email addresses and they said they’d come to Nairobi later in the year but it might just have been the drink talking.
The hotel where I stayed is on Empire Way (suitably named for a queen, I thought) and I had a standard room overlooking a building site, I think it’s for Wembley City. But I didn’t mind because I could see the stadium arch from my room. I took this picture on my phone on Saturday night when I walked round the back of the hotel smoking a cigarette in the drizzle and after speaking on the phone to George. Sorry but my phone doesn’t have a zoom. There was a private party in one of the function rooms at the rear and when I heard PYT blasting away I was so tempted to gatecrash but I’m so glad I didn’t even though I can still shake it. Also my return flight home was on Sunday morning and I had the taxi booked for 6.
When I arrived back in Nairobi, George picked me up from the airport and I said to him hey you my PYT, I really missed your loving. He said show me how much so we went straight home to bed and just had milky cocoa and biscuits after my shower, lol, you know what we actually had. Yes, yes, it was very good...
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Dear DiaryIt’s been one day ...
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Dear Diary
It’s been one day at a time resisting this urge to mock one Esther Rungu, a hubby called Timberdick, a pastor by the name Hellon and that Finger.
So far so good.
I am a good person but I’m feeling weak. The temptation is so strong.
Will I make it?
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Blog followers and the power of prayer
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Hello there my luvvies and esteemed friends, we have a new follower….drum roll please....welcome to number 80th! Group hug everybody, feel all the love and warmth that we should me sharing? Wey-hey, ho ho, this calls for a little jig on the kitchen floor with Imelda and a cold tusker down my throat (first one of the day, I hasten to add). Do you think we would be a cult if you all came to our house and you guys stayed over forever and ever just like one big happy gay family?
On a serious note please don't forget to pray for the flooding in Samburu to subside and for our sister the lovely Esther Arunga to wake up and smell the shit around her. How many people who love and care about her is this beautiful woman determined to hurt? Please God, please please give us a happy ending....amen.
Oh, hold on, I've just been handed my bottle of tusker baridi (the champers of beers) and a note by Imelda – "how many people do I want to love me???" Eh? Girl knows me tooo well. Now let me shoot some pool with her and drink some lager, that's enough work for a furahiday….. xx xx xxx
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Habari gani? Give us a wave
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Hello, hello, just a quickie to say we're fine thanks for asking. I haven't danced the last dance yet! I've managed to avoid falling under a moving bus and when George mixed me a drink the other day I called out to him, 'no aconite root poison for me, honey bunch sweetie pie.' I'm just snowed under with some urgent work for a demanding client at the moment. I haven't spied a white car trailing us nor have strange men in suits and dark glasses turned up at the house asking to speak to me (sigh, a fantasy).
I arrived back from the UK on Sunday night unscathed. The brakes on my car work ok, and the drinking water doesn't taste any different however I was reading somewhere that you start to die the day you are born….
That's all for now my lovely friends. I'm feeling very cheery today so just wanted to say hi and that I'll be back soon. Oh, I've also caught a mild cold but nothing serious I hope. I'm happy with life generally and, contrary to rumours spreading like Starbucks, my blogging mojo hasn't deserted me.
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I'm standing by you
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I travel alone to London tomorrow on business, thankfully just for 4 days. I understand the weather there is arctic ; Please let me share with you Carrie Underwood's cover of 'I'll Stand By You'. Especially with my Ugandan brothers and sisters in mind during their darkest hours. Back soon, because I'll miss you, God-willing...
xxx
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The bill Barack Obama calls 'odious'
» Diary of a gay Kenyan
Let's make this viral, please share.
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What George got me for Valentine’s
» Diary of a gay Kenyan George is a big softie. On Valentine’s Day morning after breakfast he said he had a surprise for me, so I said no honey I don’t want to go back to bed just yet. He said don’t be silly and then he blindfolded me with a kitchen towel and took me by the hand. He said I’ve got you something nice and shiny that you can drive. I asked what now, surely way too extravagant to buy me a car when I already have a perfectly good one. And you know he’s working for a security company at the moment but not G4S which keeps losing lots of cash in transit though I admit a sinister thought did cross my mind. He laughed and replied noooo darling, no, be patient. It’s not a car but it has two wheels. By now we were outside the garage, my left fingers reaching out to feel the way ahead. I was so excited and giggling like a teenage girl because I was thinking could it be a brand new motorcycle like my friend’s Mike that I was riding in December? I’m not too materialistic but I don’t mind beautiful possessions.
When the garage doors opened, I ripped off the blindfold and George put my prezzie in my hands, I laughed so hard when I saw it and gave him a big wet kiss. He won’t thank me for telling you this but when I looked at him next tears were streaming down his face just like our first time together. I knew he was crying for joy because I know giving makes you very happy. Here’s a photo of my prezzie, it’s a lovely toy bike made out of wire and customized for a gay Kenyan. It now has pride of place in the study. I feel just as if I got the real thing.
On my part I baked George a chocolate heart-shaped cake which he’s saving for our first anniversary. I tell a teeny-weeny lie, it's actually Imelda who baked it but don’t tell him, besides he’s getting all that special loving all to himself, lol!
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Gay Kenyans will not go away
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Prof Makau Mutua on The Bench articulating the case for Gay Rights in Kenya. It’s a great piece - sorry about ‘drama queen’ Jeff.
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Bad Kenyan politics not good for nerves
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Someone needs to tell both geriatric Prime Minister Raila and President Kibaki to stop their silly games, to put their toys away and learn to play nicely. No more smoke and mirrors please. They make me nervous with all the brinkmanship that I spend sleepless nights wondering whether we are going to wade through another frothy cesspool of mindless violence. Oh dear me, the mismanaged blame game might be exciting for some but I’d rather vote for the unbelievably tacky Esther Arunga-Joseph Hellon soap. I admit she’s got a lovely rack on her, even better than my friend Paprika has. I wonder whether the saxophonist has gotten his godly fingers and all that jazz over them. Joseph's not too bad either he just needs to lose the suit, bulk up, wear black ribbed tank-tops and stop frowning when facing the camera. Call me, I can make you very classy in time for 2012 (yes, we can!), because I branded many cow butts in my time. Ahem, erm, excuse me while I clear my throat...
But I am now getting the jitters about our future here. Can you imagine by how many notches things will ratchet up when the ICC (for criminals, not the cricket one) names those it wants for masterminding Kenya’s post-election violence? I bumped into a former client who was out being walked by two untrained Jack Russells in our estate on Wednesday evening. She told me that her multinational head office have put on hold indefinitely investments earmarked this year for Kenya. Even the muscled guys who were laying the fibre-optic cable outside our street have left and no one knows when they’ll be back, so unfair.
It comes as no surprise that investors are getting weary of the seesaw within what looks like a rudderless government. There’s ground swell sentiment in business circles that come 2012 political temperatures in Kenya are forecast to reach flash point bringing a freeze to any meaningful growth (if not a drastic downturn) in the economy. I don’t doubt my credible sources because I can’t see any way out unless the two principals learn to rein in amoral associates and dampen their own egos. Surely only fools keep wagging dogs and then bark themselves. I also thought, lucky you Sheryl to have such robust options on the table, it must be very comforting to know you can always jump on BA with your neurotic pooches and leave behind the potholes and the mad matatu drivers, but you’ll miss the weather and the servants though.
I’ve almost lost faith in the way things have suddenly span out of control: why not let the anti-corruption commission do it’s job (yawn, don’t answer). Did I hear you say commission of inquiry to investigate? I thought not. And the police - are they too busy jailing hookers, raiding residences of suspected homosexuals, shooting pickpockets and tear-gassing innocent protesters - is detective really such a dirty word to them?
We must never become inured to the rot in our public institutions. I don’t wish to be a prophet of doom and I’ll do my best to remain optimistic but at the moment all I can see are dark clouds gathering over the horizon. By the way, words of advice to Kuyu Hellon: three’s a crowd, like in this other saga, unless it’s a trio. Plan thy revenge.
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Does this pastor speak for you?
» Diary of a gay Kenyan "In Africa, what you do in your bedroom affects our clan, it affects our tribe, it affects our nation," Pastor Martin Ssempa is reported to have told the BBC's Network Africa programme.
I guess he's a missionary man...
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Bottoms Up
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I find it hard to believe that it’s one year today since I started this blog. Imagine that! Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun. So here we are over 250 posts later (ok, I agree some of them could hardly qualify as such, and all the videos I pinched from youtube along the way, hehehehe). Hey, your comments have also encouraged me on this journey.
Tonight I wanted to say how much I really appreciate your great company and although I sometimes do push the boundaries you guys don’t really seem to mind too much. I’m sure you know by now that I’m never going to hurt even a fly. Therefore, good people, here’s to the next God knows how many more posts (and vids, sorry!)…chin chin everyone, bottoms up.
By the way, I’ve considered putting a paypal button on this blog ‘cause I know some of you would like to buy me a drink or two, especially now that I’m unemployed, but I don’t know how to go about it. If it's any consolation I promise to kiss you all on the mouth should we meet, I'll even shut my eyes. Deal? Deal.
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Names
» Diary of a gay Kenyan What do you call Kenyan homophobes?
Gay-nyans!
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Happy St Valentine's Day!
» Diary of a gay Kenyan 
We are just going out for dinner, George's treat. It's early but we both prefer tonight for our Valentine's Day date. Tomorrow could be trickier for a gay couple seen having an intimate dinner in this town. Not that I'm afraid or anything....
Have a great time whatever you do. Love ya xxx xx
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Baby cooked in oven
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Do you recall the time last year when I was broody and dreaming about being a dad? Well, after that post I received an amazing amount of emails from people (women?) who were willing to offer their help. My euphoria quickly dissipated before you could say wank, cup and turkey-baster when I realised that all those offers were shocking rent-a-womb. I haven’t come across any laws which prohibit these arrangements, though it’s a grey area fraught with legal pitfalls. Turns out these scammers were only after my money offering to bear my biological child, one even asked me to M-pesa ’commitment fees’!!! Aaargh. But the real reason why I didn’t pursue it was on my mum’s advice. She said just be patient son, someone will come along with whom you’ll fall in love and you’ll be blessed with many kids. Problem is that mummy doesn’t know I’m in love with George but he’s never liked the idea of wearing a maternity dress though he’s partial to nibbling a nipple now and again, hahahaha...
Anyway in the course of my research I also discovered a place in Nairobi that offers IVF treatment. I just typed into google ‘nairobi ivf baby cooked in oven’ (as you would) and that was the top result. And I also discovered other such facilities in wonderful places like South Africa and India. I’m so excited but all I can say at this point is that I feel a whole new world of possibilities has opened up for us. Hint: Arrival of Tamaku Jnr may involve a lesbian friend.
Since you are now like family, and always so nice to me (unlike some people) you can all be uncles and aunts…
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Toyota
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I was up late last night thinking about all the hullabaloo surrounding safety issues and Toyota. I’m sure it’s all one conspiracy to try and resuscitate America’s auto industry, but it may backfire because the Toyota brand has already seeped deep into people’s consciousness. I love Toyota cars even though I’ve never owned one myself. If you can guess correctly what car I drive, I swear I’ll come over personally and tickle you until you cry please, please Tamaku stop but I won’t stop until you pee on yourself, lol! However I detest those models that look like freestanding wardrobes on wheels, here I’m talking about Toyota Voxy and it’s ungainly cousin Toyota Noah. Sorry but it’s very easy to confuse one of these in the hazy Nairobi traffic with a pregnant Zebu cow. Not too sexy unless you’re a farmer’s wife called Mrs Noah who’s getting ready to go on a cruise (speaking of which, does anyone know what her real name was please, I promise I won’t come and tickle you unless you want me to).
My wonderful George, who is now sitting at my feet on the floor watching a good bootleg copy of City of God as I type this (oh, the irony), is like a Lexus LS460 with heated leather seats, warm and a joy to cuddle but he can make your ass sweat when he’s in the mood. I think I’d say I’m more like the 'humble’ Avensis, good thrust when needed and with a decent trunk which shuts well, lol! Which reminds me - George wrongly says I like to wield power around here. I don’t know whatever gave him that impression but I don’t mind so long as he does what he’s told. And forget all that nonsense about gays having faulty 'brakes', take it from me nothing wrong with our 'brakes' after many miles on the clock never had even one skidmark…
Ok, mmmmm, now let’s see if I can pick on a couple of lovely fellow bloggers and pair them with a suitable model of Toyota: In my mind I think Shiko-Msa is like a red Toyota Solara with the top down cruising through Mama Ngina Drive on a hot afternoon, classy and interesting ;) while Rox is like a canary-yellow Toyota Supra in 17-inch gunmetal rims and tinted windows, distinctive and fun (NOT a euphemism for easy by the way, hehehehehe. Dear sweetie, Rox, darling, sugar, honey please don’t hit me). Let me stop there before I get myself in more trouble than I already am. Hahahaha…
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Straight-talking Politician
» Diary of a gay Kenyan The Malawi authorities have told gay activists who put up posters and distribute leaflets on the streets anonymously to "come out in the open".
Government official Kingsley Namakhwa said it was against the law to mount such campaigns anonymously.
But he also pointed out that homosexuality was illegal, and anyone promoting it would be prosecuted.
(Source: BBC)
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The Beautiful Game and understanding the offside rule
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Last Sunday George and I got invited by our Nigerian neighbour Theo to watch the televised final of the African Cup of Nations final at his house. I was rooting for Ghana because I like the way their kit showed off their well-toned physiques and the contrast of the white on the ebony was just pure gay heaven. George came along for the football (I’m also a fan of sorts) while Theo was cheering on Egypt because he was still holding a grudge following the semi-final defeat his countrymen suffrered at the hands of the Ghanaians.
So we drank me brodah Theo’s booze (lots of it, remember I don’t have to get up and go anywhere these days) and gorged ourselves on among other delights boiled quail eggs (from that lady doctor over in Lavington). I need to get off my fat ass and make better use of my membership at Parklands Sports Club to get back in shape like the hottie I aspire to be. Incidentally Theo’s mid-thirties, handsome in an African Forrest-Gump sort of way, athletic and a scientist who lives alone with two cats in a beautiful bungalow. Just the kind of guy you shouldn’t introduce to your boyfriend because you should keep him all to yourself, lol. There are some things about Theo that scream iko matata hapo mbele (trouble lies ahead). It was the first time we’ve been to his place, we normally meet while taking walks in the evening and just wave. We both assumed that Theo was straight but after an hour in his house I set my gay-o-meter to alert mode.
Here’s the evidence that set those alarm bells ringing:
- Straight alpha-male ( Theo) in lush dreadlocks invites two male neighbours who live together and are obviously a couple (in love) to his house to watch a game of football. Unfair home advantage springs to mind.
- Straight man then sprawls on the floor of immaculate home drinking lots of lovely alcohol, moisturised footballer-legs wide apart (slut) wearing only a tiny pair of mauve Ralph Lauren shorts (displaying what looks like a yummy overstuffed wrap-sandwich), fingers lazily stroking away silky navel pubes while flaunting naked tight six-pack abs (who does he think he is, Tyrese? Why‘s he gonna act like that?)
- Straight man’s pumped man titties on show are just crying out to be tweaked as he lies on that super-soft luxurious sheepskin made from at least three innocent Molo lambs (poser).
- Straight man arranges napkins on rustic teak coffee table in the rose fold.
I was thinking wishing, is this guy not gay because from what I could see he was Interpol’s description of hot Nigerian man-stealer called Theo ( a love-god’s name to boot, tsk..tsk) but I might have been offside.
I kept a beady eye on Theo whenever he rolled side to side on the rug as he stretched a pedicured foot playfully catching George’s calf with a ’free-kick’ (surely a bookable offence) every time the ref blew the whistle…..like he himself wanted to blow something else....puhleeze!!
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Big Car, Small Dick
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Tuesday afternoon I was standing in a queue at the bank. There was a man ahead of me at the counter getting serviced served, he was being quite loud so much that everyone could hear his business.
So there he was, standing in dusty shoes and wearing a mismatched suit which are sure signs of the Kenyan billionare, wobbly belly swaying over cantilevered trouser-belt which is the third sign of Nairobi's obscenely wealthy. I was wondering how much money you'd have to get paid to sleep with someone like that (zillions at least) or how much alcohol do you have to imbibe before you can do it with the lights on. Meanwhile his short, chubby but surprisingly athletic fingers (It's not the size of the finger that matters, but the size of the ring. Lol, big fat lie!) were banging away to the annoying crescendo of the note counting machine as he transacted small fortunes across multiple accounts, setting up standing orders, getting bankers' cheques and just for good measure he also drew a few hundred thousand 'to pay the workers, haha ha ha'. I even saw him slide the cashier a couple thou, for lunch. The people in the jittering lunchtime queue were far from impressed. BTW, my bank offers me teas and coffees while I'm waiting but nowhere to powder my nose, where is the sense in that?
After 'beached-whale trucking mini-waterfall-cascading-down-the-crack-of-bum (lovely sweat, mmmm)' waddled out of Barclays the young woman behind me muttered: 'These sad men who want people to notice them - it's all about the size of the cock!'
Just be yourself, you are somebody and the world belongs to you too. Glenn Jones
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Gorilla on steroids
» Diary of a gay Kenyan My sister whispered to me when I got back to our table at the restaurant where we had lunch the other day bro you really mince when you walk. I just laughed in her face because many years ago she told me I used to walk too agressively with my feet pointing ten to two, so I taught myself a new walk. Perhaps I've been swish since then, managing to conceal the wriggle in my bottom under suit jackets.
But now I'm at the point in life where I can't be bothered with doing stuff just to please people. So I'm not going to stop wearing fishnets or listening to Madonna and I'm definitely not going to start walking around like a gorilla on steroids.
I'll just be me.
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The au pair who loved me (without those irritating subtitles)
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Three years ago I stayed with my best friend Mike in Thigiri for two months while our house was getting renovated. I was ensconced at the lavish poolside guest suite at the back of the main house separated from the domestic servant quarters by a large cabro-paved courtyard.
Mike’s two angelic offspring are my cherished godchildren and at the time they had an au pair, a young woman from a neighbouring French-speaking country. Mike and Zawadi just wanted their kids to get a head start in life from speaking a foreign language. The au pair’s name was Brigitte and she used to sleep in the domestic servants’ quarters 20 metres or so from my suite.
One breezy night I was startled by an urgent tapping on the bedroom window to spy Brigitte standing outside in the leafy shadows. I thought she looked petrified so I said come to the door and then I got out of the cosy warm bed in my pyjamas after I deftly shut my proscribed-in-Kenya gay porn mag and slipped it under the mattress. When she came to the door I saw Brigitte only had on a deliciously flimsy lavender-coloured see-through nightie more like a mini-camisole and nothing else under. And I mean nothing. Picture that sight because it really happened but then I thought, wait a minute, am I imagining things but I wasn’t imagining because she was there in the flesh and I hadn’t had a drink (hard for some to believe but true). I asked her what’s the matter and she said she was so afraid to sleep in her room alone because she’d eyed a monster spider careening under her bed.
Now, I totally understand the fear of arachnids and other creepy crawlies so I caught her arm said you better come inside quickly and get out of harm’s way. I closed the door and said I’ll go wake Mike and ask him what to do but she sshh-shhed me and whispered hoarsely (excuse me but I’ll do my best to do the accent):
‘No need to coll Mr Mike, Tamakuh. Of al’ ze men I’ve met since I come to Kenyah, therez sam-sing spécial that…how do you say?….. ooo- la- la….draws me like a magnet to you….aaahh. Me and you…we spend ze night togezzer and no ozer personne needs to know I promesse, non?’
So flattering these French-accented lovelies, but oh so, so unfair. Why, why, why knock on the wrong door? Why would it not have been a monsieur kneeling before me asking me about suckin ze kok..
She was standing right up close her eyes flickering wildly like fireflies and I was gulping the night air ogling her goodies. I sink ze fear of ze spider and ze cold July night had made ze nipples stand all sharp and pointy like…
That’s when the penny dropped. But you know me I always do as I’m telled (new English word, lol!)and don’t like to disappoint anyone, least of all damsels in disdress, so I said it’s a very generous offer but not here and not tonight my dear. If you like you can have ze warm bed and I’ll sleep on ze couch. This is what we did until the next morning when I woke up to find she’d gone.
Later that day I called the house from the office to speak to Brigitte. I told her she was absolutely gorgeous but I didn’t think anything should happen between the two of us because of too many complications but I was happy for us to remain friends. Brigitte was taking none of it lying down, she asked me sweetly why not, could we not be friends with benefeets or what you call in English buck fuddies? (opps there’s a spoonerism just for you!) I said I’ve thought long and hard (lies) - but I don’t want to use you and end up hurting your feelings (trues)…I remember also using other words like ‘respect’, 'frogs and princes' and ‘commitment’…blah blah blah. After that we shook hands mentally and agreed to just be friends.
It all turned out well in the end. Brigitte soon met up with one of her compatriots who swept her off her feet in a Mills and Boon with violins-in-the-background romance style. Last year they went back home and now I’m invited to the Land of a Thousand Hills for their wedding later this year.
I’m happy that we were able to develop and maintain such a wonderful friendship to this day.
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Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?
» Diary of a gay Kenyan A long time ago, around the time that Trust Bank went under with our terminally ill neighbour’s life savings, I used to be flat mates with a lovely young lady from somewhere down south. She was a stunning black beauty (a deep-black gem a kind rarely seen in Kenya those days).
One day she said to me, ‘Tam, I’m sexually and emotionally starved, I need a boyfriend. Why do the ‘half-caste’ girls have all the nice guys?’ Fact is some black Nairobians equate biracial (aka ‘.5’ or ‘pointi’) with superior social and economic status placing them somewhere in between White and Asian people. These snobs, usually wearing emerald-colored contact lenses, like posing in roach-infested nightclubs combing tobacco-stained fingertips through the tangled blonde weaves sewn on their heads. I replied in a lisp because I used to wear teeth braces back then: ‘Join the queue thithta. I know how you feel because I too desperately need a boyfriend but any caste will do.’ Anyway deep in her mind she was convinced that the reason she didn’t have a steady guy was because she was pitch-dark in complexion. You’ll be amazed the number of people who have self-image issues.
So Janice went out and bought some skin lightening creams which came in yellow tubes, it’s not legal to sell them any more. I said please do be careful you don’t need that poison, you really look amazing just the way God made you, however if you must then don’t leave the tubes lying around in the bathroom I might confuse them for that cream I use to treat my piles. Her mind was made up to attempt to dilute her blackness and nothing would stop her. Well, the results in a few short months were extreme. Soon she looked yellow all over even difficult to ‘treat’ areas like knuckles, knees, ankles, and elbows. She felt vindicated when she shortly hooked herself a nice guy who loved to show off his light-skinned catch.
One Saturday night we were all at the flat jus’ chillaxin’, too broke to go anywhere listening to Musical Youth, ‘how does it feel when you’ve got no food?’ when the boyfriend chanced on a photograph of a younger ‘old’ Janice in the drawer where we used to hide our stash of weed (highly illegal in Kenya make sure you never get caught or they’ll make an example of you unless you have friends in high places – lol!). He asked aloud, ‘Who is this?’ Janice looked spooked but she recovered quickly and lied: ‘It’s my cuzin from bek home.’ The boyfriend looked at the picture again and said, ‘Your cousin is one deadly chick’ but he didn’t mean she had chlamydia (now that's deadly) that’s just the way we used to talk then. Then we carried on passing the spliff on the left hand side.
A year later I was overjoyed to learn they were expecting a baby. When baby Tandy finally arrived she was an original dark copy of her mother. 100% African.
Sting in the tail is that the boyfriend left them because he felt cheated to discover that he had been dating 'local' all along....
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Life is about one gay at a time and keeping fit playing sports (long version)
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I think I’m getting a little lazier by the day. I resigned my job at the beginning of December to ‘pursue other interests’ because I believed life should not be just about sitting in endless meetings listening to the same old chatter and nodding like a puppy while dreaming, the sky is so blue and the sun is really shining brightly outside, how I wish I was working on a farm milking cows. We’re still looking for an ideal piece of land to come along at the right price. In the interim I get by on morsels dripping from freelance consultancy work but I’m not exactly overwhelmed. I even put in for voluntary work but nothing yet.
George also left his job with the police force. He’s now a supervisor for a security firm (not the one that keeps losing millions of shillings in transit, ok?). I can’t tell you which one otherwise I’d have to kill you, lol! Anyway he’s definitely getting more confident; thankfully he’s never had that problem in bed hehehehehe. A long time ago I read lies somewhere (no doubt by a sad and lonely bachelor) that there’s nothing like an impotent man; just an incompetent woman. Some men! And the pay George is getting is way better. I’m so happy for him because your self-esteem can take a dent when you’ve got a college diploma but end up working as a Nairobi traffic policeman (many might disagree).
Weekdays I normally get out of bed 8am-ish scratching my bum yawning and thinking foggily, ‘Thank you dear Lord for a lovely new day but what am I going to do with it?’ The demons in my head reply, ‘Tam, today you are going to do less than you did yesterday,’ and shortly after I have breakfast, cooked for me by Imelda (tireless gay-friendly house-keeper). I then sit sipping Sasini-gold black tea in the garden or on the balcony while I catch up on the newspapers. I can’t bear the morning news on the telly. I think that’s when you’re most likely to endure dyslexic presenters. One newsreader who looks like how I imagine William Ruto's and Martha Karua’s lovechild might look over shuffles papers as though she’s ad libbing, everyone knows it’s the autocue, sweetie.
I grab a quick wash next, lately singing what, what in the butt for inspiration. Let me confess at this point, my friends, that yes I do pee in the shower. Don’t be disgusted it’s really textbook man-alone-in-shower and we’ve had this conversation before. It’s how men are plumbed between the legs even the bits look like taps anyway. After I dry myself and dust some nivea pure fine talc on my nuts I get dressed. Freedom means no more suits just tracksuit bottoms and loose kitenge tops. I then sit in the study lying to myself that I'll get some work done at the computer. BTW, there are so many unsecured wireless connections around here it beggars belief. Every other day I also make kit calls to former colleagues (to keep in touch). It’s easy to forget and be forgotten and I also don’t want to cut myself off completely from other humans. This goes on till 11am when I go downstairs to join Imelda for the rest of the day. She’s usually getting our lunch ready or doing some cleaning so I get in the way talking too much while drinking lager. I know it’s very naughty because I now drink at least 3 deliciously cold tuskers before lunch. But not the other day because I wanted to be sharp while live-streaming Clinton’s major policy address on internet freedom. Cheers and good work Hillary!
Imelda is wonderful company and so, so easy to be around. I’m not just saying it, she really is one of God's angels. I love to bounce my tipsy ideas off her from the labyrinth I used to navigate that is branding and PR. In exchange I’m learning about accounting and finance (she’s taking a course at a college in town). Some days I forget about lunch (cold beers can numb the mind and they dull the appetite). So we play some pool (I'm good, but not misspent-youth good) or darts (flukey) in the family room which we converted to a games room and I end up having 5 or 6 half-litre cans straight from the fridge before 3 pm. Imelda never has an alcoholic beverage during the day unless it’s election time when we are nervously awaiting results but sometimes I secretly wish she’d drop her guard because I’d love to peel away the layers for a sneaky peek, see what I find (*major eye-roll*, some people and their filthy thoughts, eish!). She told me last week that now she’s got me during the day it’s like we are a married couple. I laughed but I wasn’t thinking anything like that. I just hope we get to that farm or something worthwhile to do soon. Check my CV, if you hear anything interesting please drop me an email.
In the meantime you can all rest assured that I’m getting better at playing pool.
(Pic is of the shoeshine bank on Aga Khan Walk - Harambee Avenue near my old office)
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Paradise has a name
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I feel a holiday coming...
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O!M!G!
» Diary of a gay Kenyan
I like singing this in the shower...
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Chickens come home to roost and some want to touch your tits
» Diary of a gay Kenyan About half a year ago I posted here about my concerns on the growing security threat facing Kenya from lawless Somalia unless drastic preemptive action was taken. There are various elements from that territory (some have already shown their hand in last week's audacious riots in Nairobi's CBD) who threaten our way of life and the government must waste no more time in taking decisive action to smash them.
Otherwise we face a real risk of having Kenyan womens' bras confiscated if they should fail the Al-Shabab firm-bust test.
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Which uncouth homosexual tried to finger Barack Muluka, eh? Now look what you’ve done.
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I was sitting alone in the garden the other morning having breakfast and trying to figure out what event could have triggered the recent outburst from Barack Muluka. Question: By the way is it Barack with a single or two r's? I felt the anger in the article, it was very personal, I thought here’s a dude who needs to get a grip and lighten up. Especially when I read that part about coming ‘across uncouth male characters who will even try to finger you in conversation and try ‘taking you out’. Mmmmm....this one takes himself too seriously.
Sounds to me like a distressed plea to get shown the ropes on how to ‘congress homosexually’ (reverse psychology 101 chapter on Spotting the Repressed Kenyan Homosexual). Yuck, these ‘journalists’ will try anything all in the name of advancing their craft. Ok fair enough Barry, you know me, always happy to help out. Only condition is that before we proceed and get you trained on this fingering business I must insist you first have an enema. Pure and simple. Yep, you heard right! No ifs no buts darling, fix a hose of gushing water up your arse and enjoy. You can tape old copies of the Standard on the walls to prevent any splatter messing up your room’s decor. Because shit happens also make sure you do it when you are all alone, they’ll be a lot of erm, previously unseen compacted faecal material. (The mental picture was enough to put me right off my breakfast,lol).
Allow me to refresh your memory, dear reader, just where you might have come across that brand of fascist vitriol before. The unwarranted aggression and habit of conflating abhorrent acts of criminality (rape, bestiality , paedophilia) with homosexuality is spookily common to that toerag blogger ‘Blake’ who used to spew his lies here before he got shut down. He’s always whining about how he was shat on. These bullies who can’t take it like a man, I pity them. Since he moved to the other place he’s faded into obscurity.
Or is this the resurrection?
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Go, Kenya Go!
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I’m delighted with the news that Kenyans are now using over 15 million condoms per month up from 7 million. It's phenomenal considering George and I only got together last year and also after that scare about 'leaky' condoms in the market! By the way would it be fitting to name such a child 'Houdini'? Lol!
Seriously though, I just pray the statistics are to be believed because I haven’t seen anyone round our house rifling through the bins....
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Getting a boy to do a man’s job where cash is king
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Reading the harrowing tales of abuse that Kenyan maids have suffered at the hands of their Saudi masters I’m reminded how shamefully some gay expatriates and well-heeled Kenyans are guilty of employing male domestic workers (gardeners, drivers, house-keepers etc) and also subjecting them to horrendous abuse.
There’s an abundance of unskilled labour here in one of the world’s most unequal countries, so some unscrupulous employers get away with paying salaries as low as KSH 4,000 (around USD 50) per month! for 18 hour–days with no shortage of candidates to exploit. The nightmare for the mwananchi (‘citizen’ but lately used by politicians to mean gullible slum-dwelling hoi polloi or The Great Unwashed) can start when he responds to one of those ads placed on shopping mall noticeboards: ‘Live-in Houseboy Wanted by Expat’.
‘Expat’ in Kenya for many locals conjures up images of better working conditions, Weetabix, evergreen money-growing trees on a well-tended lawn, red Corps Diplomatique licence plates and the chance to dine at the drivers’ canteen when you get taken to the Mara on a working-holiday, wow. Unfortunately there are also cases of some ‘houseboys’ (sometimes married men with families, by the way) being coerced to perform sexual acts as demanded from time to time by the boss. If you thought you had a bad day at the office, think again. This is job mis-description with ass-licking for real!
Sadly a combination of ‘macho society’ and the fear of losing a job means these faceless victims continue to wipe away nightly tears of shame in silence, within plush gated- communities and the over-manicured kei apple hedges grown to keep one set of undesirables from the other. Another irony is that the male employer (saddled with the excessive pay and perks of a business mogul but usually working for NGOs to help the living-on-less-than-a-dollar-a-day Kenyans) is able to buy a veneer of respectability because he hasn’t taken on a female worker. It’s also a fact that Kenyan women form the obvious sexual diet for the majority of predatory employers.
What troubles me still is these are some of the many people here who refer to an adult man as ‘boy’ or grown woman as ‘girl ‘ – 'houseboy', 'shamba-boy' (gardener). Might there be a perverse connection with the apathy that seems to surround the cases of child abuse in this country?
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What to do now?
» Diary of a gay Kenyan First poll of 2010 is here. Thanks for those who voted in the last one, I hope anyone who confessed to seeing me naked in their dreams has dried themselves up after a cold shower. Anyway (moving on swiftly) this new poll concerns the boyfriend of a friend’s cousin, a best friend and Facebook. I’m told the issue of cheating is one that plagues many gay relationships. Please vote and let me know what you’d do in the circumstances; poll’s on the left.
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What do traditions have to do with any marriage?
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Homophobes like to argue against gay unions citing 'traditions'. So here comes a video clip* that deals with some of those 'traditions'.
*With permission from Keith Hartman
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Kenyans must come together to save Mau Forest even if it means giving Daniel arap Moi more tea
» Diary of a gay Kenyan We returned to a sodden Nairobi last night which made it a tad better for my arthritic knee after arctic Britain. I see that ex-President Moi has been bolstering his 'impeccable' elder-statesman credentials with his unhelpful brand of science expounding how scarring swathes of Mau Forest Complex with tea plantations has not contributed to any detrimental effects on this crucial water tower. And a member of his erstwhile government William Ole Ntimama has joined the fray claiming to have allocated the forest land under duress. He’s conveniently invoking the principle of following orders (Nuremberg Defense-style) because I know wily Bill Ole Ntimama is no one’s fool.
You can say teetotaller Moi and Ntimama are like frequent whisky- mixed- with- red-wine hangovers; they just get worse and dangerous with age. Scientific fact coming up: More congeners in dark-coloured drinks will give you monster hangovers.
Moi in his trademark raspy voice and toting a silver-tipped ivory baton likes to cloak himself as a traditionalist and a staunch Christian. Who can forget him in the 90’s striking out viperously against homosexuality terming it unAfrican and unChristian? In order to be respected, authority has got to be respectable (Tom Robbins, much respect), unfortunately most of what we remember about Moi is how he, his family and cronies were implicated in many sophisticated corruption scandals of unforgivable proportions. I doubt he has the sense God gave the crocodiles on the Mara River (when they lie waiting for wildebeeste) to draw less attention to himself.
I’m 99.99% certain he’ll now be at the front of the queue; cap in hand, chasing a bumper compensation for dubiously acquired property. Let’s just pay him off and hope it buys him sleep in his sunset years.
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Passing the paper
» Diary of a gay Kenyan George and I arrived in London a couple of days ago to be with my siblings over New Year's. It was freezing when my bro Timmy and his wife picked us up from Heathrow, so much so that when we got to the house in Esher they had to sort us out with electric blankets and hot water bottles. We both had zero blood flowing through our circulatory systems...brrrrr and you know how bad that is for sex.
BTW flight KQ 116 to Amsterdam for the connection to London was crap and I'm still annoyed about it but that's the subject of a detailed post coming here very soon.
In the meantime please enjoy some Direct Drive passing the paper.
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Never forget 97
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I just wanted to say a big Thank You to all who visit my blog - much love to you all.
I share Femi Kuti's performance here and I hope you'll feel the fire that comes with it. Only one Fela. I'll never forget 97 but I plan to keep smiling whatever.
Happy 2010 everyone. xx xxx.
Femi Kuti - 97 - Live Africa Shrine
Uploaded by piRjtull. - See the latest featured music videos.
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Storm over paradise
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Happy Christmas and best wishes for the New Year to friends (and foes) from a rain-soaked Nairobi. Last night the taps in heaven really opened but we say thanks for the rain because it was getting beyond a joke.
Laters, and hope you all have a great time, we plan to.... xxx xxx xx
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The Doctor
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I recently saw a poster on a roadside utilities cabinet near the City Stadium (Italics are mine):
'Dr Hodari - Consultant Doctor (tel 0721 xxx xxx) helps in -
* Love portions (Stir-in and drink from a horny goat's horn?)
* Man Power (This deficiency is not about the lack of employment, lol)
* Woman weakness (Casanova's cure?)
* Family Affairs (Dear Dr, I have the hots for my son...?)'
It's a mad world for sure.
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G touring on two wheels
» Diary of a gay Kenyan My best friend Mike lent me his new Honda 250cc motorbike for the day so I thought I’d take it for a spin on the outskirts of Nairobi to a place called Kitengela . I cruised gaily feeling like one of them from CHiPs in my Oakley whisker black shades up to just after Mlolongo where I’d forgotten there are diversions due to road works. So much plant – Bomag rollers, Shantui diggers, Caterpillars with buckets the size of an average lorry. The Chinese really do know how to build roads, I think it’s all in the stir-fry. But this section of road is rough terrain and I was breathing in serious dust especially from the lorries around Bamburi Cement and East African Portland Cement. The air quality around those parts doesn’t feel too healthy.
I got to Kitengela town at about 2pm and stopped at Tarino Butchery (what happened to Tarino the soft drink from the 80's?) for a change, we normally have our lunch at Mariakani Meat Park which is directly opposite or at Hotel Nomad which is further up the road. My helmet visor was covered in a chalky dust which I wiped off on my jeans’ bum. They usually have meat ready cooked so I ordered chemsha (boiled beef) and mbavu choma (roast goat ribs), ugali with kachumbari salad which was excellent . I laughed when I saw the sign next to the sink where I washed my hands: tafadhali usiteme mate wala kunawa uso kwa sink (please do not spit or wash your face at the sink). When I read it first I thought ‘mate’ (Swahili for spit) was ‘mate’ as in friend. Lol!
I also saw two handsome Masai men in traditional dress holding hands and carrying heavy rungu’s (clubs) so I didn’t ask them if they were gay because there was 50:50 chance I may be very wrong.
After lunch I thought I can’t stand that section of rough road again or else I’ll bring up my lunch on Mike’s new toy so I turned off towards Tuskys Athi, vroomed past the Ministry of Livestock Development Meat Training Institute (I swear that’s what the sign said, so next time you have a disciplined steak you’ll know where it’s come from). I joined the Mombasa Road at Devki Steel Mills and stopped at Zahra Service Station (please pave your forecourt) for petrol and to make a phone call to the other half who was so jealous because he was at work. I said honey please pray for me I’m on Mike’s bike on Mombasa Road and there are trucks and buses driven by maniacs everywhere.
When I got to River Park Estate more dust went up my nose which made me wonder for some few seconds why people ever bother snorting cocaine but I was more curious about the modular houses which look like upside down teacups. So I went off to have a look but when I got there it was just a big black gate and no one to ask. Please if someone knows what they are please let me know.
Nearer to Nairobi after City Cabanas I walked the bike in traffic for about 40 minutes because I know it can be fatal for cyclists when inconsiderate drivers suddenly open their doors. I was next to a 40ft Kuehne Nagel container truck wondering how flat as a pancake I’d be if it toppled over. I saw two youngish lads riding precariously standing on the rear bar of a pickup truck, just another way to get home.
Luckily I just beat the real rush hour headache when I arrived at our house. I’ve just had a long shower and I’m relaxing in the study waiting for George. Imelda is making one of my favs for our dinner which is tilapia caught this morning but soon to be swimming in a rich tomato sauce served with KPL Super Aromatic Rice in coconut milk which is just so delish. That’ll put me in the mood for what-you-are-thinking-of-when-you-are-not-sleeping- which- is- sex. Goodnight all.
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He's back!
» Diary of a gay Kenyan My dear George came back home last night. He said he had needed some space - I wonder do men get PMS? I was so happy to see him I said honey don't worry about anything we'll work through our problems. Our family is back together again and that's all that counts for now.
Imelda and I missed Gee so much we had a small party for him when he got here, pizzas and lots of wine. I said a silent prayer thanks God for bringing my love back home safe. I also folded away my old Raymonds Polar Bear blanket that I've had since I was a little boy (I picked it up from my mum's on Monday night) and which I was using to comfort me through the lonely nights, even though it's been easily 20 degrees at night. I haven't been to work today and neither has George, we've been in the garden talking and basking in the sun.
Thanks everyone for your kindness - my heart was warmed by your concern and your love dried my tears of despair. I'm sure Gee knows how much he means to me and to you guys too. Have a lovely weekend all. xxx x
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Honey please come back I love you
» Diary of a gay Kenyan George walked out this evening. We had a small argument, just about him ignoring me and stuff. I'm heartbroken,I love him with all my heart all you guys are my witness. Now I feel as if I'm going to die.
Gee, honey I know you'll come to the blog, this is for you baby. I'm so sorry for anything I said or did. Please come back home.
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A pussycat growls?
» Diary of a gay Kenyan I don’t know what to make of claims that the world’s greatest golfer is ‘horrible in bed’. Part of me wants to cry and send some tips because it’s not nice when someone says that about you especially when your first name is Tiger - the grrrrr. The other side of me wants to just lol! thinking it might be a case of putting in the wrong hole....mmmm? Mmmm? Lol!
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Joining the dots
» Diary of a gay Kenyan It’s that time again friends. Yes we have another poll! Weeheeeii!! Well well, first let’s recap on what we’ve seen from polls conducted here so far:
1) The majority want Kenya to decriminalise homosexuality
2) Kalonzo Musyoka was chosen as the sexiest male politician
3) The dream cock picked was the cut one (such fashion victims *eye-roll, sigh* but the people have spoken!)
So what do these results really mean? My take is that many Kenyans will come out of the closet once Kalonzo becomes President of Kenya, but he first needs to cut a deal with KANU (party of the cockerel, get it?). There’s a method to the madness, please bare bear with me because that’s all the analysis my brain can process for now, it’s nearly full.
So, let move on to the new poll which deals with bisexuality. It’s on the left. Please vote. Thanks.
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It's human to make it right
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Remembering the carers on World AIDS Day 2009.
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Second Chances
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Two weeks ago I was busy with annual staff appraisals. I know many people I work with secretly loathe these rituals but they are an inevitable tool for touching base so we just get on with it. I had a copy of 101 Ways To Kill Your Boss by Graham Roumieu sitting idly on my desk which was a good ice-breaker. BTW check out what the genius Sunny Bindra thinks of these office games.
One of my colleagues, let’s call her Cathy because that’s not her real name, has been troubling me recently. Cathy has a first rate mind and her work is greatly admired by her peers. But lately she’s started acting out of character – missing deadlines, turning up for work under the influence and generally coming within inches of being shown the door.
Cathy is also very attractive and charming. You better believe it when a gay man says that. However this immensely talented woman is steadily gaining a reputation for being an easy lay. My colleague Sheila confided in me the other day that some clients now refer to Cathy as 'the Trampoline of Harambee Avenue'! Tragic considering this whispering campaign is happening behind her back and it’s the guys she’s changing weekly who are the culprits.
Anyway she walked into my office looking stunning as usual in a well-fitting pin-stripe business suit and tottering on black heels. I felt an unfamiliar twitch in my trousers but I quickly telepathed a sharp warning to my cock, If your dick causes you to sin then cut it off, from the scriptures or somewhere I can’t remember where I saw it written. Then I said please take a seat. I had my nasty-Tamaku speech all ready: Listen very carefully to what I’m about to say because I’ll only say it once. From now on you must come to work to do what is expected of you. That’s called Pride. Bring your own morale with you if that’s what you need to earn a living. Think of your career and the lovely cold hard cash that comes with it. If you think that’s too difficult then perhaps it’s time you reconsidered your future here. No ifs no buts.
But I didn’t, I just paused to think for a minute while stroking my sixteen greying beard hairs and asked, is there something troubling you?
That’s when she covered her face and started crying. I hate seeing any tears so I said I’m so sorry Cathy if something has upset you we can adjourn our meeting. But she composed herself quickly and told me that she was recently diagnosed with HIV! I ended the meeting there and then but we carried on talking for two hours. I said you need to take responsibility for your life because if you carry on like this you’ll surely find an early grave and it may not be the HIV. She said she had not found the courage to talk to anyone before so I said I’d put her in touch with some professionals who will help and she has nothing to fear but fear itself. We talked about lots of stuff that she wanted to talk about like plans for raising a family. I laughed in mock horror when she said that she’s looking for a guy but the good ones in Nairobi are all gay. I said loudly nooo! In my head I thought yeess!
Finally she left my office looking much brighter and more like her old self. Something tells me she’ll turn things around soon. I'm also praying that she does.
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Is this what you want for Christmas?
» Diary of a gay Kenyan -
Why I’ll never be a fan of Wan-tree-eel or Da Osi...
» Diary of a gay Kenyan Most nights George likes to relax in bed watching his cherished dvds. Note the ‘his'. NOTHING is ever allowed to come in between him and his favourite dramas. Last Saturday he was engrossed in yet more One Tree Hill when I came out of the bathroom from cleaning my teeth. I was happily singing ‘secret lovers, yeah that’s what we are, we shouldn’t be together...’ when he gave me that look which says sshhh Tamaku, can’t-you-see-I’m-watching-something-v.important-here. So I stopped singing and got into bed. It’s fair to say that my tail was in between my legs as I snuggled up to George’s warm side hoping that we would soon be engaged in some horizontal jogging. ‘Cause we love each other so...ooh...ooh.’
Moments later when nothing of the sort happened (yet again) I started snoring sweetly (as I usually do whenever I start dreaming of me and Jeff Koinange sitting naked on The Bench doing something like an interview, haha!), that’s when George uncuddled me! Obviously the action on screen was at some life and death stage and my purring was distracting him so he pushed me away and I rolled to the other side of the bed. Arrrrrgh. Same thing happens when he’s watching The OC or that other one called Heroes, I’m not allowed to say a word in case he blinks and misses a scene. He says it’s never the same if he has to pause and rewind. By the time he’s watched four episodes I’m in no mood for anything.
Now I feel like I’m losing my man to teen dramas. So unfair....
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