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
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
What George got me for Valentine’s
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!
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!
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Gay Kenyans will not go away
Prof Makau Mutua on The Bench articulating the case for Gay Rights in Kenya. It’s a great piece - sorry about ‘drama queen’ Jeff.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Bad Kenyan politics not good for nerves
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.
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.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Does this pastor speak for you?
"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...
Monday, February 15, 2010
Bottoms Up
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.
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.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Happy St Valentine's Day!
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
Baby cooked in oven
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…
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…
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Toyota
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…
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…
Straight-talking Politician
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)
Sunday, February 7, 2010
The Beautiful Game and understanding the offside rule
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 wasthinking 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!!
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
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!!
Friday, February 5, 2010
Big Car, Small Dick
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
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
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Gorilla on steroids
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.
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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