Special dedication to Anengiyefa who is getting me to think about stuff buried deep inside.
Have a great weekend my friends!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Wednesday
I’ve been thinking how finally I seem to have struck a good balance between my home and work life. George is happy, working hard and I am also doing my thing and happy.
Yesterday was my colleague Sheila’s big day. She recorded an interview for TV, which can be a nerve-wracking experience the first time you face the cameras. We’d spent the first two days of the week prepping and going over and over the same detail but she was still a bundle of nerves when the crew turned up at our office. It took just 5 takes and I am sure it’ll be received as a brilliant piece when it airs mid next week.
While the filming was going on in the boardroom, I ordered peppered roast beef sandwiches and vegetable samosas and Norma prepared ginger tea for me and a flask of coffee black just the way Sheila likes it. She came into my office when she finished filming and I could see a faint sheen of perspiration on her neck. Sheila had refused me to be there during the interview, she said I’d make her nervous. Although she said how much she’d enjoyed herself, it was clear the morning’s excitement had also sapped her energy. She sat across my desk and sighed, saying her high heels were killing her from all the standing around.
So I drew the blinds shut inside my office and I asked if she wanted me to rub her feet or shoulders since she was obviously exhausted. I know it’s scandalously outrageous, but this is how it is lately between the two of us. No one could see into the office and she also rubs my shoulders now and again when I’m tense. I can’t even remember where we crossed the line. Anyway Sheila said yes please do and kicked off her shoes. I took her stockinged size six and a half feet in my hands and started to rub the tension away as she carried on talking. After about fifteen minutes of this we both didn’t feel like being in the office and things have almost ground to a halt around here, so I picked up both my jacket and Sheila’s poncho and lied to reception that we were going for a client visit for the rest of the day. I needn’t have bothered, the guys were more interested in the platter of sandwiches that had gone untouched and which I offered them. We hadn’t discussed where we were going, just that it was for a quiet drink. Sheila drove her car and I followed in mine to her place along Lantana Road.
When we got inside Sheila’s 3rd floor apartment, you couldn’t fault her taste in furnishings or décor. She opened a couple of bottles of red, brought out the cheese board and we started dancing and trying to sing first Anita Baker's Caught up in the rapture (six times) and then Counting Crows’ Accidentally In Love (four times, volume turned up) from the lyrics in the cd jackets. It felt so indulgent doing this at two in the afternoon while most people were happily slogging away, but it won’t come as a shock to learn I didn’t feel any guilt. I was feeling so safe and cosy because I really really love my friend I can’t even start to tell you now, and there’s only that one secret between us. Then we sat on the settee and carried on talking about work and stuff, mainly she was talking because I like to listen more so that I can remember things. I was just resting my head raised on the arm of the settee and Sheila was twirling my tie which I’d removed, through her fingers. We were sipping the spiciest South African Shiraz and I could even smell the Thierry Mugler’s Angel on her. That’s how intense it was. I couldn’t think of anything except what an amazing person I’m listening to and I started to see she more than just likes me. The voice inside my head kept me in check, Tamaku, all these beautiful creatures are sent to try you…
Anyway so sorry to disappoint, there are no juicy bits yet because nothing happened and I don’t think anything will ever happen, we just chilled for the next two hours and I was careful not to drink more than two glasses although Sheila didn’t hold back. The party for two was interrupted by the buzzing intercom. It was the caretaker of the flats who wanted me to move my car and I knew it was time to leave. Sheila came to see me off at the parking and I was soon on my way home. Along the way I came across the mangled remains of a midnight-black Audi Q7 driven by teenagers that had collided with the back of a truck; such senseless carnage on our roads every day. The young dead were still strapped inside the car and I felt an overwhelming sense of grief thinking about their families. RIP poor kids.
At home over dinner I told George about everything I’d been up to in the afternoon, and now he says he wants to meet this Sheila (pun unintended) I’m spending so much time with. I said yes, we must arrange something.
Later I was trying to fall asleep lying in bed next to George but my mind was still ticking away. I couldn’t get the memory of the day with Sheila out of my head and I felt as if I’d brought a part of her home with me.
Yesterday was my colleague Sheila’s big day. She recorded an interview for TV, which can be a nerve-wracking experience the first time you face the cameras. We’d spent the first two days of the week prepping and going over and over the same detail but she was still a bundle of nerves when the crew turned up at our office. It took just 5 takes and I am sure it’ll be received as a brilliant piece when it airs mid next week.
While the filming was going on in the boardroom, I ordered peppered roast beef sandwiches and vegetable samosas and Norma prepared ginger tea for me and a flask of coffee black just the way Sheila likes it. She came into my office when she finished filming and I could see a faint sheen of perspiration on her neck. Sheila had refused me to be there during the interview, she said I’d make her nervous. Although she said how much she’d enjoyed herself, it was clear the morning’s excitement had also sapped her energy. She sat across my desk and sighed, saying her high heels were killing her from all the standing around.
So I drew the blinds shut inside my office and I asked if she wanted me to rub her feet or shoulders since she was obviously exhausted. I know it’s scandalously outrageous, but this is how it is lately between the two of us. No one could see into the office and she also rubs my shoulders now and again when I’m tense. I can’t even remember where we crossed the line. Anyway Sheila said yes please do and kicked off her shoes. I took her stockinged size six and a half feet in my hands and started to rub the tension away as she carried on talking. After about fifteen minutes of this we both didn’t feel like being in the office and things have almost ground to a halt around here, so I picked up both my jacket and Sheila’s poncho and lied to reception that we were going for a client visit for the rest of the day. I needn’t have bothered, the guys were more interested in the platter of sandwiches that had gone untouched and which I offered them. We hadn’t discussed where we were going, just that it was for a quiet drink. Sheila drove her car and I followed in mine to her place along Lantana Road.
When we got inside Sheila’s 3rd floor apartment, you couldn’t fault her taste in furnishings or décor. She opened a couple of bottles of red, brought out the cheese board and we started dancing and trying to sing first Anita Baker's Caught up in the rapture (six times) and then Counting Crows’ Accidentally In Love (four times, volume turned up) from the lyrics in the cd jackets. It felt so indulgent doing this at two in the afternoon while most people were happily slogging away, but it won’t come as a shock to learn I didn’t feel any guilt. I was feeling so safe and cosy because I really really love my friend I can’t even start to tell you now, and there’s only that one secret between us. Then we sat on the settee and carried on talking about work and stuff, mainly she was talking because I like to listen more so that I can remember things. I was just resting my head raised on the arm of the settee and Sheila was twirling my tie which I’d removed, through her fingers. We were sipping the spiciest South African Shiraz and I could even smell the Thierry Mugler’s Angel on her. That’s how intense it was. I couldn’t think of anything except what an amazing person I’m listening to and I started to see she more than just likes me. The voice inside my head kept me in check, Tamaku, all these beautiful creatures are sent to try you…
Anyway so sorry to disappoint, there are no juicy bits yet because nothing happened and I don’t think anything will ever happen, we just chilled for the next two hours and I was careful not to drink more than two glasses although Sheila didn’t hold back. The party for two was interrupted by the buzzing intercom. It was the caretaker of the flats who wanted me to move my car and I knew it was time to leave. Sheila came to see me off at the parking and I was soon on my way home. Along the way I came across the mangled remains of a midnight-black Audi Q7 driven by teenagers that had collided with the back of a truck; such senseless carnage on our roads every day. The young dead were still strapped inside the car and I felt an overwhelming sense of grief thinking about their families. RIP poor kids.
At home over dinner I told George about everything I’d been up to in the afternoon, and now he says he wants to meet this Sheila (pun unintended) I’m spending so much time with. I said yes, we must arrange something.
Later I was trying to fall asleep lying in bed next to George but my mind was still ticking away. I couldn’t get the memory of the day with Sheila out of my head and I felt as if I’d brought a part of her home with me.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
A cat called Sharon
Sharon you are such a beautiful cat but you are so high-maintenance. Notice how the presenter pulls her hand away from the cheetah then says ‘like a big pussy-cat’! Lol! I am so in love with wildlife.
I'm planning to get a picture taken with Sharon soon.
I'm planning to get a picture taken with Sharon soon.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Dramat W Biurze
I had one of those weeks. Few things seemed on point, the dots just refused to align themselves. I was so glad when the weekend arrived. I also concluded that Kenny who works with Sheila managing our bigger accounts is a backstabbing brown noser. He came to see me on Wednesday, hey can we have an off-the- record, wearing a sheepish grin for my benefit in contrived servitude. Then he started outlining all these wonderful ideas for his department. His telescopic vision tells him he should be handling all the key clients since ‘I have longevity and because I’m a guy I won’t be taking time off to go have kids like Sheila will.’ I wanted to ask him where he heard that Sheila was pregnant but I didn’t because I know humour is wasted on the egotistic.
I was taken aback because Sheila is Kenny’s boss and she showed him the ropes when he started; now he’s after her job. And he’s using gender against her! Then he continued how he had wanted to tell me for the longest time and a day that ‘you are the best boss I could ever wish for, rah, rah, rah.’ When people start dishing out crap I usually zone out to the private video collection inside my head which is currently showing Lady Gaga ‘Just Dance’. Don’t get me wrong I’m all for nurturing ambition and I appreciate that schmoozing is part of business culture but betrayal is a no-no with me. When his lips stopped moving I was in the middle of trying on Lady Gaga’s black pvc thigh-high boots, so I nodded sagely stroking my tie and said I’d think about it then he slithered out of my office. Hatchet job done, so he thinks.
It’s an open secret at work that Sheila and Kenny had a fling about two months ago. She confided in me that she’d dumped him when he turned out to be a flop where it counts. You know when they say Heineken refreshes the parts other beers cannot reach, well apparently Kenny is the non-alcoholic ‘other beers’ of the bedroom! Warning to mums and dads who enjoy reading this blog out loud to Junior at bedtime please skip the next two lines unless you wish to answer questions on sexual dysfunction in men. Well Sheila tells me that Kenny even tried a daily portion of that herbal solution with extra vigour tonic as advertised in the nation newspaper classifieds in an unsuccessful attempt to cure himself off this malady (ma lady, I know you are understanding but it’s still no laughing matter!)
Parents of Junior who don’t want him to be like Tamaku when he grows up can resume reading from here: What Kenny doesn’t know is Sheila and I are on the verge of jumping ship to pastures new. More on that at a later post. We’re overseeing radical changes in the coming weeks including retiring some functions before we both leave. So for a little twist of the knife I’ll ask Sheila to break the bad news of his retrenchment to Kenny. I’m all for delegating tasks; you don’t have a dog and then bark yourself, no? No.
Oh by the way, the title to this post is in Polish. It means drama at the office. Have a great week ahead my friends!
I was taken aback because Sheila is Kenny’s boss and she showed him the ropes when he started; now he’s after her job. And he’s using gender against her! Then he continued how he had wanted to tell me for the longest time and a day that ‘you are the best boss I could ever wish for, rah, rah, rah.’ When people start dishing out crap I usually zone out to the private video collection inside my head which is currently showing Lady Gaga ‘Just Dance’. Don’t get me wrong I’m all for nurturing ambition and I appreciate that schmoozing is part of business culture but betrayal is a no-no with me. When his lips stopped moving I was in the middle of trying on Lady Gaga’s black pvc thigh-high boots, so I nodded sagely stroking my tie and said I’d think about it then he slithered out of my office. Hatchet job done, so he thinks.
It’s an open secret at work that Sheila and Kenny had a fling about two months ago. She confided in me that she’d dumped him when he turned out to be a flop where it counts. You know when they say Heineken refreshes the parts other beers cannot reach, well apparently Kenny is the non-alcoholic ‘other beers’ of the bedroom! Warning to mums and dads who enjoy reading this blog out loud to Junior at bedtime please skip the next two lines unless you wish to answer questions on sexual dysfunction in men. Well Sheila tells me that Kenny even tried a daily portion of that herbal solution with extra vigour tonic as advertised in the nation newspaper classifieds in an unsuccessful attempt to cure himself off this malady (ma lady, I know you are understanding but it’s still no laughing matter!)
Parents of Junior who don’t want him to be like Tamaku when he grows up can resume reading from here: What Kenny doesn’t know is Sheila and I are on the verge of jumping ship to pastures new. More on that at a later post. We’re overseeing radical changes in the coming weeks including retiring some functions before we both leave. So for a little twist of the knife I’ll ask Sheila to break the bad news of his retrenchment to Kenny. I’m all for delegating tasks; you don’t have a dog and then bark yourself, no? No.
Oh by the way, the title to this post is in Polish. It means drama at the office. Have a great week ahead my friends!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Back in the day
Hectic days at work, every shilling so hard to come by. I so long for the weekend. Back in my student days I lived in London at a place called Pimlico in SW1. I used to frequent a club called Moonlighting most weekends. Oooh, the fun we had! I miss those days when this sort of music was all the rage and the UK felt like the centre of the universe. London's west end still remains my favourite holiday party zone. Anyway, I promise to post tomorrow an update on what’s been happening. In the meantime hope you enjoy the company of Adina Howard as the weekend beckons. Some bit of naughty for all the freaks like me, from back in the day!
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Blogger's appeal
My dear fellow bloggers and readers,
I have been following HIV in Kenya for a while now, as I am sure many of you have.
I write to you tonight in response to Simon’s most recent post where he has written asking for help to enable him to remain in Kenya where he wants to pursue voluntary interests primarily within the field of HIV prevention. Please visit his blog to offer your support and any help that you might be in a position to offer.
Can I just say that I blog for various reasons – mainly about mundane day-to-day happenings of my life (some say inconsequential, the jury's still out). Needless to say the work that Simon is engaged in affects the lives of a voiceless and vast multitude.
Thank you.
I have been following HIV in Kenya for a while now, as I am sure many of you have.
I write to you tonight in response to Simon’s most recent post where he has written asking for help to enable him to remain in Kenya where he wants to pursue voluntary interests primarily within the field of HIV prevention. Please visit his blog to offer your support and any help that you might be in a position to offer.
Can I just say that I blog for various reasons – mainly about mundane day-to-day happenings of my life (some say inconsequential, the jury's still out). Needless to say the work that Simon is engaged in affects the lives of a voiceless and vast multitude.
Thank you.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Dinner is served
Some time back I saw a recipe from the Porky Gourmand and promised to try it out. I’ve been waiting for my friend Romana to drop off some polenta but it seems to be taking her forever.
So Imelda decided to do her version of the recipe using ugali in place of polenta. She brought me this snack in my study, with a farmer’s choice sausage served with kachumbari and a cold tusker lager on the side. It was delicious! She’s creative, is our Imelda, I’ll give her that.
(Any resemblance to any body parts is purely coincidental. Lol!)
Saturday, May 16, 2009
My kind of man
This is the response to my kind of woman. Surely TP has to be ranked somewhere near the top of the list of male stars who oozed raw sex appeal. When you hear that voice there’s no doubt what happens next, you just know. Check out his moves, have mercy on me, think I died and went straight to gay heaven.
The guy makes me sweat.
The guy makes me sweat.
Awesome
My cousin Jim and his American wife Rhonda who live in Chicago came visiting this week. We are still recovering from the effects.
Jim and I are age mates and I really miss him ever since his family emigrated over 12 years ago. We keep in touch irregularly so it was wonderful to hear that he was coming over with his wife Rhonda whom I had never met. Little did I know that our house would be turned into party-central during their visit.
Jim and leggy-redhead Rhonda who I learn is expecting their first child in 6 months’ time love to have a good ol’ time. We didn’t hit it off initially with Rhonda especially when I spotted her licking her lips when I introduced them both to George. Then she started grating on me, rubbing husband’s palm over an invisible bump, ‘we having me a lil Obama!’ I felt sick as a parrot but not as sick as when she kept saying 'awesome' to everything around her. Both are unemployed, Jim having recently lost his job in the auto industry. They are using savings to travel before he has to find a new job. I hear you, it’s exactly what you do when there’s a baby on the way. Not awesome.
During the day while we were at work they had awesome Imelda waiting on them hand and foot making snacks and refreshments and arranging cabs to the shopping malls. I marvelled at their nonchalance towards Imelda my loyal friend and housekeeper, ‘don’t you know how to mix a martini, darling?’ They'd carted over gifts of Hershey’s bars, a coffee mug from the Windy City and a bottle of duty-free Johnnie Walker Green which they drained with the help of George. I suppose that made it all ok. Awesome.
Jim and Rhonda had the downstairs ensuite guest room which is useful because George and I are able to keep our sleeping arrangements upstairs private. Being good hosts, we dutifully spent late nights listening to spicy anecdotes co-narrated by our guesting duo well into the nights. It’s useful to learn that cousin Jim likes the feel of a firm leather strap to his buttocks now and then. And Rhonda insisted on playing over and over and over again that ella, ella under my umbrella, I started to have sinister thoughts that there might be more to the Chris Brown saga.
Anyway, we kept the safe-haven door at the top of the stairs locked just in case our guests went a-wandering. It was just as well because on Wednesday Rhonda had too much to drink, boiled as an old owl, and became disoriented when she woke up in the middle of the night. That’s when she peed an acrid bladder-full on the staircase landing. I heard the sound of running water and assumed it was the rain beating outside. God bless my Angel Imelda, she mopped up the puddle before we got up which made me madder when I found out.
Yesterday morning I dropped them off outside Longonot Place to board the tour truck to Laikipia for the second leg of their holiday. Later I laughed as Imelda told me how she got her own back; she’d packed Rhonda’s unlaundered clothing neatly back into their luggage. Ten days camping with no clean knickers…mmm…ella, ella, ella eh eh eh. As I waved them away mi casa su casa, see you soon, I thought we need a holiday ourselves before their return in two weeks.
Jim and I are age mates and I really miss him ever since his family emigrated over 12 years ago. We keep in touch irregularly so it was wonderful to hear that he was coming over with his wife Rhonda whom I had never met. Little did I know that our house would be turned into party-central during their visit.
Jim and leggy-redhead Rhonda who I learn is expecting their first child in 6 months’ time love to have a good ol’ time. We didn’t hit it off initially with Rhonda especially when I spotted her licking her lips when I introduced them both to George. Then she started grating on me, rubbing husband’s palm over an invisible bump, ‘we having me a lil Obama!’ I felt sick as a parrot but not as sick as when she kept saying 'awesome' to everything around her. Both are unemployed, Jim having recently lost his job in the auto industry. They are using savings to travel before he has to find a new job. I hear you, it’s exactly what you do when there’s a baby on the way. Not awesome.
During the day while we were at work they had awesome Imelda waiting on them hand and foot making snacks and refreshments and arranging cabs to the shopping malls. I marvelled at their nonchalance towards Imelda my loyal friend and housekeeper, ‘don’t you know how to mix a martini, darling?’ They'd carted over gifts of Hershey’s bars, a coffee mug from the Windy City and a bottle of duty-free Johnnie Walker Green which they drained with the help of George. I suppose that made it all ok. Awesome.
Jim and Rhonda had the downstairs ensuite guest room which is useful because George and I are able to keep our sleeping arrangements upstairs private. Being good hosts, we dutifully spent late nights listening to spicy anecdotes co-narrated by our guesting duo well into the nights. It’s useful to learn that cousin Jim likes the feel of a firm leather strap to his buttocks now and then. And Rhonda insisted on playing over and over and over again that ella, ella under my umbrella, I started to have sinister thoughts that there might be more to the Chris Brown saga.
Anyway, we kept the safe-haven door at the top of the stairs locked just in case our guests went a-wandering. It was just as well because on Wednesday Rhonda had too much to drink, boiled as an old owl, and became disoriented when she woke up in the middle of the night. That’s when she peed an acrid bladder-full on the staircase landing. I heard the sound of running water and assumed it was the rain beating outside. God bless my Angel Imelda, she mopped up the puddle before we got up which made me madder when I found out.
Yesterday morning I dropped them off outside Longonot Place to board the tour truck to Laikipia for the second leg of their holiday. Later I laughed as Imelda told me how she got her own back; she’d packed Rhonda’s unlaundered clothing neatly back into their luggage. Ten days camping with no clean knickers…mmm…ella, ella, ella eh eh eh. As I waved them away mi casa su casa, see you soon, I thought we need a holiday ourselves before their return in two weeks.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Kenyan gays not taking it lying down
The gay community in Kenya is not as suppressed now as it was some few years back, that’s the impression garnered from this article in a Kenyan publication. It documents the spirited behind-the-scene activities that various groups are engaged in towards changing official policy and public perceptions of homosexuality. A lot still remains to be done but we seem headed in the right direction. You’ll find my views in there too.
PS. Sorry folks, the link appears to have been removed! Well, these things happen ;(
(Thanks Pater Nostra for letting me know). I aim to reproduce the article later if it's still available...hmmmm)
PS. Sorry folks, the link appears to have been removed! Well, these things happen ;(
(Thanks Pater Nostra for letting me know). I aim to reproduce the article later if it's still available...hmmmm)
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Our shield and defender
Thomas(Tom) Cholmondeley, wealthy landowner and heir to the 5th Baron Delamere is due in court tomorrow for sentencing after his conviction for the May 2006 manslaughter of Robert Njoya, a stonemason. The case has exposed the deep fissures that divide Kenyan society along lines of race and wealth. This TV report and a lopsided campaign waged by Tom’s supporters give a flavour of how justice is perceived by some in Kenya.
Sentencing by Mr Justice Muga Apondi is expected in the morning.
Sentencing by Mr Justice Muga Apondi is expected in the morning.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Echo
I am saddened to learn of the death of one of the greatest beings that ever walked the wild spaces of Kenya. Echo was queen of the matriarchs, so majestic and strong. I was privileged to see her in the mid 80’s on a camping trip to Amboseli. She started my love affair with elephants.
RIP. Respect.
RIP. Respect.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Shenanigans
I went shoplifting on the weekend. Ok, let me explain. I was out shopping for a cast iron griddle pan when I spotted this beautiful square glass dish exactly like one I have at home. However mine doesn’t have a cover anymore. A while back Imelda the housekeeper told me the cover shattered on the stone-floor when she was doing the washing up. I’d been looking for a similar piece but every shop I went they’d told me I couldn’t just buy a cover without the dish. Now seeing this possible replacement my deviant mind started ticking. I tried the glass lid on the griddle pan and it was a near-perfect fit. Because it’s not perfect it was meant to be! My life’s mantra. So I took the newly wedded set, griddle pan and glass cover to the till, I was so frightened of discovery I feared for the white shorts I was standing in. I can tell you though, Oakley Whisker shades in black do a splendid job of masking guilty eyes.
I said to the guy who took my 5999 shillings, ‘Sweet baby Jesus! Nairobi today is hotter than high noon in dusty Lokichogio in January or September.’ (Now go back and repeat it loudly without pausing; it’s just how some of us speak in Nairobi). The guy's smile waned, he did a half 'whatever' with his eyes and then told me he’d heard the same expression twice that day. Crucially he thought the griddle pan came with the glass cover. Then he handed me a receipt saying thanks-very-much and please come again.
So I stepped out of the shop onto the walkway swag in hand. I went past the shop that sells boots that say you know Africa but only announce you don’t when locals spot you wearing a pair out on safari. Each stride was getting me further from the tap on a shoulder. Now I was walking all manly-like, clenching ass-cheeks tighter than a married ex-rent boy who’s getting a massage from the wife. The chorus of shoplifter, shoplifter, shirtlifter! reached a crescendo inside my head, the shopping bag heavier and it wasn’t just the weight of the cast iron pan. Then the parking lot and my car came in view. I’ m getting away with it; I felt euphoric.
Thrill over, I turned and headed back to Kitchen Pride or Housewives’ Wares, I can’t remember which one it was this time but it wasn’t Uchumi or Nakumatt. I said to the man, ‘There’s been a mistake.’ Steady now. ‘This glass lid doesn’t come with the pan.’ He said thank you for your honesty and I felt good because it was the truth.
I said to the guy who took my 5999 shillings, ‘Sweet baby Jesus! Nairobi today is hotter than high noon in dusty Lokichogio in January or September.’ (Now go back and repeat it loudly without pausing; it’s just how some of us speak in Nairobi). The guy's smile waned, he did a half 'whatever' with his eyes and then told me he’d heard the same expression twice that day. Crucially he thought the griddle pan came with the glass cover. Then he handed me a receipt saying thanks-very-much and please come again.
So I stepped out of the shop onto the walkway swag in hand. I went past the shop that sells boots that say you know Africa but only announce you don’t when locals spot you wearing a pair out on safari. Each stride was getting me further from the tap on a shoulder. Now I was walking all manly-like, clenching ass-cheeks tighter than a married ex-rent boy who’s getting a massage from the wife. The chorus of shoplifter, shoplifter, shirtlifter! reached a crescendo inside my head, the shopping bag heavier and it wasn’t just the weight of the cast iron pan. Then the parking lot and my car came in view. I’ m getting away with it; I felt euphoric.
Thrill over, I turned and headed back to Kitchen Pride or Housewives’ Wares, I can’t remember which one it was this time but it wasn’t Uchumi or Nakumatt. I said to the man, ‘There’s been a mistake.’ Steady now. ‘This glass lid doesn’t come with the pan.’ He said thank you for your honesty and I felt good because it was the truth.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
My kind of woman
As a gay man I just love women! Someone even asked me recently the kind of girl I’d have taken to meet mummy. I thought long and hard. Well here she is; the kind of woman I’d want to marry if I were a straight man. Something about her, see the sparkle in those eyes and the smile! Please tell me what you think about my choice.
Enjoy, remember also what some guys are only about! Have a wonderful weekend.
PS. Love her voice too.
Enjoy, remember also what some guys are only about! Have a wonderful weekend.
PS. Love her voice too.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Tuesday
Today I received Stii-from-afrigator’s response to my rant. Thanks Stii!
Yesterday I was playing a little word game, as you do to pass the time. I’d promised Mama Shujaa I’d employ the use of ‘tabasamu’ (‘smile’ in Swahili) somewhere in conversation. So when I popped into the fridge and planted a can of the real thing before my colleague Sheila I said, ‘Have a coke and a tabasamu!’ She looked at me expectedly. I guessed she thought I was also offering something ‘tamu’ (sweet) such as a cookie. Later during a meeting with a client who visited our office I thought I’d throw in one of the new words that I’ve invented. So while going over t&c’s I ventured, ‘…and we never dibulge our sources.’ Prospective client didn’t bat mascaraed eyelash, but once again Sheila of the owlic hearing stopped a left blink in midfall as if to ask what’s going on. Now she thinks she’s hearing things. Earlier in the morning Sheila was telling me about Prison Break which she’d watched and how she absolutely loves Dominic Purcell. OMG please don’t tell me I’m the only one thinking 'DP' for short.
Later we had lunch, just us two. We’re going through a fruit diet phase aka The Purge. Freshly made fruit juices for breakfast, fruit salads for lunch. Sheila brought in the largest strawberries I’ve ever seen, some the size of a baby’s fist! Monsanto encouraged? I pondered as I devoured a pair. Our diurnal piety would earn us dubious rewards of alcohol and cigarettes while watching the football match after work. Sheila took a second bite into a luscious gleaming red apple before scrunching her face, ‘Aaargh it’s rotten inside.’
‘Mmmm,’ I munched away. ‘Unfortunately you can’t tell what they’ll be like inside from the outside.’ Sheila aimed the tainted fruit at the bin’s rim. What a shot!
‘Just like people,’ she said softly. Yeah, just like people I echoed inside my head.
Yesterday I was playing a little word game, as you do to pass the time. I’d promised Mama Shujaa I’d employ the use of ‘tabasamu’ (‘smile’ in Swahili) somewhere in conversation. So when I popped into the fridge and planted a can of the real thing before my colleague Sheila I said, ‘Have a coke and a tabasamu!’ She looked at me expectedly. I guessed she thought I was also offering something ‘tamu’ (sweet) such as a cookie. Later during a meeting with a client who visited our office I thought I’d throw in one of the new words that I’ve invented. So while going over t&c’s I ventured, ‘…and we never dibulge our sources.’ Prospective client didn’t bat mascaraed eyelash, but once again Sheila of the owlic hearing stopped a left blink in midfall as if to ask what’s going on. Now she thinks she’s hearing things. Earlier in the morning Sheila was telling me about Prison Break which she’d watched and how she absolutely loves Dominic Purcell. OMG please don’t tell me I’m the only one thinking 'DP' for short.
Later we had lunch, just us two. We’re going through a fruit diet phase aka The Purge. Freshly made fruit juices for breakfast, fruit salads for lunch. Sheila brought in the largest strawberries I’ve ever seen, some the size of a baby’s fist! Monsanto encouraged? I pondered as I devoured a pair. Our diurnal piety would earn us dubious rewards of alcohol and cigarettes while watching the football match after work. Sheila took a second bite into a luscious gleaming red apple before scrunching her face, ‘Aaargh it’s rotten inside.’
‘Mmmm,’ I munched away. ‘Unfortunately you can’t tell what they’ll be like inside from the outside.’ Sheila aimed the tainted fruit at the bin’s rim. What a shot!
‘Just like people,’ she said softly. Yeah, just like people I echoed inside my head.
The struggle for gay rights in East Africa
Rebekah Heacock takes a look at the work of some East African gay bloggers and their supporters in Jackfruity. It’s an interesting read on the challenges facing those who are coming out to spread the word against discrimination based on sexual orientation.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
You can’t die twice
I am horrified at the news of a suspected gay man’s body being exhumed twice in Senegal. It really is an ugly world out there. Does anyone ever deserve this kind of treatment? My blood boils just thinking of the extra anguish the loved ones are going through. And all this in the name of religion.
Monday, May 4, 2009
No Gator Love For Me
Me, addicted to blogging? Never, I’m too sensible for that. This morning at 2am while staring at the screen in the study I was shocked to see my ranking on afrigator.com drop from 48th in Kenya to 271! Oh the shame and indignity, how dare they? I know my rights!
Naturally I immediately fired off an email to Gator House, South Africa: "Dear Afrigator, I need to know who my friends are. You’ll have to choose between me and Todo sobre safaris, el blog de Paco León "(yes your typical Kenyan blog ranked at 36!). I’m still awaiting a reply though I notice my ranking has gone back to what it was yesterday. I can start eating again.
Last week the boyfriend said I’m spending too long online in the evenings after work. So I went online to check the effects of spending too much time online. An hour later I concluded that I need other activities to avoid getting ‘monitor tan’ or uttering ‘AMOF’ during client presentations.
So now I’ve rediscovered books. Yep, that archaic pastime calling reading. I dusted boxes stored away in the garage and now George and I sit some evenings just turning pages. He’s reading Sidney Sheldon’s Are You Afraid of the Dark? And I am engrossed again in The Painted Bird by Jerzy Kosinski which I first read 20 years ago. Next I’ve got Pimp by Iceberg Slim lined up. Both are great reads which I’m happy to be reunited with.
Naturally I immediately fired off an email to Gator House, South Africa: "Dear Afrigator, I need to know who my friends are. You’ll have to choose between me and Todo sobre safaris, el blog de Paco León "(yes your typical Kenyan blog ranked at 36!). I’m still awaiting a reply though I notice my ranking has gone back to what it was yesterday. I can start eating again.
Last week the boyfriend said I’m spending too long online in the evenings after work. So I went online to check the effects of spending too much time online. An hour later I concluded that I need other activities to avoid getting ‘monitor tan’ or uttering ‘AMOF’ during client presentations.
So now I’ve rediscovered books. Yep, that archaic pastime calling reading. I dusted boxes stored away in the garage and now George and I sit some evenings just turning pages. He’s reading Sidney Sheldon’s Are You Afraid of the Dark? And I am engrossed again in The Painted Bird by Jerzy Kosinski which I first read 20 years ago. Next I’ve got Pimp by Iceberg Slim lined up. Both are great reads which I’m happy to be reunited with.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Picking up the pieces
Continued from here:
My head still spinning the first thing I did was to make Norma a noggin of whiskey mixed with hot water to calm her nerves. She took this in my office while I authorized a week’s emergency leave for her and made some phone calls. I had decided that it wasn’t fair she should be at work with all the turmoil and distress she was going through. She thanked me, hugging me awkwardly and I felt tears well up when she said, ‘Asante sana Tamaku, barikiwa’. Be blessed Tamaku. So extravagant of her. A lawyer friend of best buddy Mike said she would look into various legal aspects. Sheila (bless her) has agreed to negotiate with the cooperative's officials not to levy any interest on the loan until we can sort something out. I think it’ll have to be an office fundraiser for the rest of the money. Read on, I’m not about to tap you for a loan dear reader. Norma is a proud woman too, it’ll be a task to get her to agree to even take our money.
Later I met my mum for lunch at Epic restaurant, Tribe Hotel, because I just needed to see her. I told her everything I’ve told you and she was equally horrified and said she’ll send Rasta her fixer round to Norma’s to move her away from where she’s staying. Mum said to me that the money part is nothing, the shame and betrayal from her own daughter will be killing Norma, so it’ll help if she makes a clean break. And I said thanks so much mummy and of course I agreed because I know mum is always right.
When I got home I was so tired and emotionally drained. I spoke to Norma on the phone who agreed to move with her youngest child to a small flat that Rasta showed her in Umoja. She said she couldn’t bear to see the neighbours’ faces huddled in lowered tones when she went past. And the good news is it’s only costing a little more than what she’s been paying. Must remember to send Rasta the customary brown envelope with ‘something small’. And Norma says she wants to come back to the office on Monday because she’s worried who’s making our teas and coffees. I said firmly no, just spend time with your daughter, you need to.
I still feel sad thinking about it, why dear God, why? She loved these two people like life itself, why do you allow her to suffer like this?
My head still spinning the first thing I did was to make Norma a noggin of whiskey mixed with hot water to calm her nerves. She took this in my office while I authorized a week’s emergency leave for her and made some phone calls. I had decided that it wasn’t fair she should be at work with all the turmoil and distress she was going through. She thanked me, hugging me awkwardly and I felt tears well up when she said, ‘Asante sana Tamaku, barikiwa’. Be blessed Tamaku. So extravagant of her. A lawyer friend of best buddy Mike said she would look into various legal aspects. Sheila (bless her) has agreed to negotiate with the cooperative's officials not to levy any interest on the loan until we can sort something out. I think it’ll have to be an office fundraiser for the rest of the money. Read on, I’m not about to tap you for a loan dear reader. Norma is a proud woman too, it’ll be a task to get her to agree to even take our money.
Later I met my mum for lunch at Epic restaurant, Tribe Hotel, because I just needed to see her. I told her everything I’ve told you and she was equally horrified and said she’ll send Rasta her fixer round to Norma’s to move her away from where she’s staying. Mum said to me that the money part is nothing, the shame and betrayal from her own daughter will be killing Norma, so it’ll help if she makes a clean break. And I said thanks so much mummy and of course I agreed because I know mum is always right.
When I got home I was so tired and emotionally drained. I spoke to Norma on the phone who agreed to move with her youngest child to a small flat that Rasta showed her in Umoja. She said she couldn’t bear to see the neighbours’ faces huddled in lowered tones when she went past. And the good news is it’s only costing a little more than what she’s been paying. Must remember to send Rasta the customary brown envelope with ‘something small’. And Norma says she wants to come back to the office on Monday because she’s worried who’s making our teas and coffees. I said firmly no, just spend time with your daughter, you need to.
I still feel sad thinking about it, why dear God, why? She loved these two people like life itself, why do you allow her to suffer like this?
“You can keep your hat on”, pun Kenyan women
My jaw dropped when I read this, I nearly gagged on what it was I had in my mouth. Relax, there’s no bite left in this old dog. Apparently our long suffering women wish to put to bed the current political impasse by imposing, wait for it, a love boycott!
Visions of our politicians lying unlullabied in wicker cots wearingpink blue laced baby booties and dinky ribboned hats flashed through my mind. Add to that picture a set of swollen grubby digits twitching to the gnawing cries of ngeeee ngeee. Grossly aaaaaww. Gathara, I’m still waiting for the cartoon!
Visions of our politicians lying unlullabied in wicker cots wearing
Friday, May 1, 2009
Labour Joys
The number of street children in Nairobi is not as large as it was some 6 or so years ago but escalating poverty levels means that those abandoned are now returning to roam dangerous streets. Years ago I joined a men's group that supports a children’s charity home, heartbroken and frustrated from seeing innocent kids begging in a city that also shamelessly showcases the finest cars.
So a group of us spent a very rewarding Labour day visiting the kids rather than waste time watching the official ‘celebrations’ on TV. We went in a convoy of 8 cars, bearing gifts of provisions and soft drinks. The people who run the home are just wonderful, their angelic wards seemed naturally happy, smiling and playing just as in a family setting. We had a lunch of goat stew and rice with chapatis and afterwards the children put on a show for us. I can’t tell you enough the joy I felt watching them but also the sadness of what their own ‘natural’ parents are missing. I also felt a sadness that as a gay man I couldn’t enjoy these unique pleasures since adoption by gay men is automatically prohibited here. But I still had fun and even one of the boys was teaching me how to crip walk which was farcical given that I’m nearly 40 and not exactly nimble on my feet. I googled the moves Moses was showing me, you can see a good example below but please don’t ask to see my crashing version of it!
Since I got home we’ve had more drinks and I’m more than ʎsd!ʇ, I’ll post the rest of Norma’s story tomorrow. It turned out well in the end.
So a group of us spent a very rewarding Labour day visiting the kids rather than waste time watching the official ‘celebrations’ on TV. We went in a convoy of 8 cars, bearing gifts of provisions and soft drinks. The people who run the home are just wonderful, their angelic wards seemed naturally happy, smiling and playing just as in a family setting. We had a lunch of goat stew and rice with chapatis and afterwards the children put on a show for us. I can’t tell you enough the joy I felt watching them but also the sadness of what their own ‘natural’ parents are missing. I also felt a sadness that as a gay man I couldn’t enjoy these unique pleasures since adoption by gay men is automatically prohibited here. But I still had fun and even one of the boys was teaching me how to crip walk which was farcical given that I’m nearly 40 and not exactly nimble on my feet. I googled the moves Moses was showing me, you can see a good example below but please don’t ask to see my crashing version of it!
Since I got home we’ve had more drinks and I’m more than ʎsd!ʇ, I’ll post the rest of Norma’s story tomorrow. It turned out well in the end.
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