Report on 'kamikaze' pilots raises more questions for Kenya Airways

The eagerly awaited report released yesterday into the cause of the crash of Kenya Airways flight KQ 507 in Cameroon on 05/05/07 when 114 people lost their lives confirms nagging suspicions that pilot error was to blame. Premature, unhelpful and unsubstantiated leaks blaming the weather and exonerating the pilots have now been found to be false. The report is a devastating indictment of 'inadequate operational control, lack of crew coordination, coupled with the non-adherence to procedures of flight monitoring, confusion...' While not apportioning blame, I think the airline should do itself a big favour and hold some key people from the top tier accountable. It would be unwise to understate the importance of public perception in any business.

For a while now there has been much buzz which refuses to go away pointing to effects of that insidious Kenyan culture of binge-drinking having seeped into some cockpits although that did not play a part in this event. The right questions will now have to be asked about the transparency of recruitment, issues dealing with staff welfare, development and reward. I still can't get my head around the fact that this aircraft took off into a storm without receiving proper clearance from Air Traffic Control while crews of Cameroon Airways and Royal Air Maroc chose to wait for weather conditions to improve.

KQ management needs to appreciate that a majority of their Kenyan customers choose to use its services due to an unwavering sense of patriotism. However you should now expect us to rightly hold up aspects of your company's safety record to much harsher and tighter scrutiny. Remember also that continued custom will be bonded by an implicit condition that passengers are routinely entrusted to disciplined and capable hands.

Kenya Airways, if you are listening, mercifully you got another chance and you still retain most of our trust but we want assurance that our faith is not misplaced, that lessons have been learned. Without doubt this trust should not be broken again even as you work harder to repay our loyalty and shareholder investment.

Allow me to share with you again, Femi Kuti's 97 (it tugs at the heartstrings, please listen)- in memory of KQ507.

Femi Kuti - 97 - Live Africa Shrine
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Dubai’s deep love for Kenyans revealed in new visa ruling

The news that Kenyans wishing to set foot in Dubai will need to possess a minimum of a Bachelors degree (no diplomas, please) has caused great concern to many who travel there, especially on business. It seems an overreaction for the UAE government to subject Kenyans to this collective punishment just because four of their ‘royal’ nationals were recently booted out of Kenya.

Earlier this afternoon it struck me that perhaps these new rules should not be seen as an act of aggression. I’ve concluded that the rulers of Dubai are only acting out of deep love for Kenyans and with our welfare utmost in mind. The Emirati are so concerned that we are clogging up our roads with their cheap second hand cars to the detriment of our own motor industry. Most of these cars have almost had it by the time they get here, damaging the unspoilt Kenyan landscape and blackening our blue skies. Our Arab friends also hate to see hardworking and enterprising young Kenyans wasting their lives away slogging for them as overworked domestic servants and in their hospitality industry. The logic is that they know how much Kenyans are drawn to bright lights and tall glass buildings so they’re saying, go get yourself a university degree and then we’ll let you come to our country. On their part the Kenyan government should get cracking and create lots of jobs so that the degreeless do not have to travel to this Gulf State chasing menial jobs just to survive.

Meanwhile, Kenya’s Foreign Minister has been dispatched in sackcloth to go wash the feet of the besandalled royalty. We are told that while he’s there he will also attempt to ‘clear up this misunderstanding’ which is diplomatic-speak for I can’t believe these c**ts are behaving in such a childish way.

So try and remember that the Emirati really do love us Kenyans, some of them just have a different way of showing this love. Take for example how one of their royals was captured torturing a man - including feeding him sand - in the video below. Given this overwhelming evidence, of course justice was duly served. Lovely country, can't wait to get back - now, where did I put that degree certificate?

Smelling roses as we wait for ash hole

That volcano in Iceland continues to have a worrying impact on travellers and a bitter knock-on effect in many places. So much waste in a few short days, mountains of our beautiful flowers and fresh produce not able to reach overseas markets.

Could this be Nature’s way of saying enough of your emissions? Well, until those clouds of ash give way for a hole big enough for planes to fly safely through, perhaps we should all locally do our bit and buy more flowers for one another to try and mitigate some of these losses.

Thou shall not covet another man’s boyfriend

I’ve been busy with roof repairs at our house I almost forgot that I promised to tell you about that trip to London just after Easter. Lately I seem to be racking up more airmiles than a high class sharmuta. Which also reminds me of what an old friend told me once: everyone is available at a price but they also need to be ready to pay the cost. I travelled on KQ which was much improved from last time. The service in club was good and this time the video worked which is reassuring when sleeping 10 kilometres over Western Sudan. Just one question for Mr Naikuni (CEO KQ): Sir, why bother to wheel out that cumbersome relic known as the duty-free trolley when flying to the Mecca of shopping? Think of the savings in operational costs (staff, fuel). Anyway, by the time I arrived in Heathrow I was very ready for business, so well done Pride of Africa - I give you 9 and a half out of 10 like our trip last year, flat-bed is the way to go. At this point let me also confess that I’m a hapless shareholder having bought in at 120, and now it’s around 58 shillings - there’s a really looonng way to go.

I was meeting that same friend stroke client from February, who together with others are keen to plant some root-of-all-evil into East Africa. This time I stayed in a superb hotel not far from Park Lane all paid for. Someone obviously thinks I know what I’m talking about. I never tire to preach that investors are like birds, they’ll flock to a tranquil park and even eat from your hand but they may never return if the guy sitting on the bench next to you makes a sudden noise like sneezing or sharpening a panga. So I was pleading with my audience over two days that you won’t go wrong with my country but I was also mixing it with bad cop saying this might be your only chance, others are waiting in the wings to take positions in the final frontier. In our last meeting I felt like Goldilocks when she woke up to find the three bears staring at her because I could sense I had whetted their appetites enough. Fingers crossed, there’ll soon be enough porridge for more people.

My host Sanchez invited me to his place on the afternoon of my last full day. He lives alone in an old restored farmhouse in Speen, a place I‘ve been many times before when he and I used to be lovers back in the day. That's when I still had bounce. I‘ve already told George all about this so don‘t give that look, hehehehe. This time I knew I had to be careful because Sanchez had been emailing me before I arrived about how it would be nice to be together again for old times sake. Purleez, - but not in a bitchy way - I‘ve moved on. We had a simple meal of lightly grilled salmon steaks with sautéed potatoes and rocket salad dressed with honey and mustard. Afterwards we sat out on the patio sipping some pinkish wine and talking. It was such a glorious early evening with the sun going down the magnificent views of the Buckinghamshire countryside (see pic of nearby fields). That‘s when Sanchez leans to me as if to kiss me on the lips, I drew back quickly and said we can’t do that any more because I‘m with someone else who’s very special to me now. He looked a little hurt but he took it like a gentleman and we didn’t talk about it again. By the way I wasn’t turned on, not even a spark or a twitch down there. I think George has put a kamuti on my muti (a spell on my stick), lol!



So I passed that test even though I was slightly tipsy. I was counting how many hours before I see and touch George again. Sanchez called me a cab to take me back to my hotel which must have cost a small fortune. He’s a great guy and we had a wonderful time when we were together but that’s all in the past. I want us to remain friends who do business just as we are now. Next morning I went walking along Park Lane and took this piccy of Hyde Park, but you need to be careful what you photograph in London nowadays or you could be arrested. I also saw a blinged golden mini in a car dealers which reminded me of the false idol in the Ten Commandments that I watched when I was a boy at the Odeon cinema in Nairobi.



Then I came back to Nairobi, to the boyfriend with all my codes, Imelda’s cooking and companionship, and a leak in the upstairs guestroom.

Shopping list

A couple of weeks ago George and I were in a busy chemist waiting to pay for some shampoo and deodorant when I suddenly said to him in my best imitation loud camp voice, ‘Hey Gee sweerie, don’t forget the KY jelly and condoms!.’ I'm a Scorpio so I do like some danger.

There was pin-drop silence around us and you should have seen the look on George’s face, hehehe. I know he’s going to get his own back soon. I guess it wasn’t helped that I was in my about-town ‘mode magazine’ gear of cropped three-quarter Levi Indigo jeans showing some skin and navel hairs, and a tight carrot-orange top. I knew I was looking hot prancing around like a peahen from the I'm In Miami Trick video. Helloooo....lmfao...

George told me later that he could see the twinkle in my eye through the shades. Thing is everyone around us recovered quickly and just pretended as if we weren’t even there which was nice. Only the cashier looked bemused when I took the wrapped condoms and lube from him (never Vaseline, boys - remember we've had this discussion before), leaving George to pay.

Maybe next time I’ll be acting all coy and ask the shop assistant to recommend a condom brand for, how shall I put it, our kind of action.

I said maybe.

My life with George

People write to ask what it's like to be gay and in love with a man
who loves you back.

All I can say is, it's like if you had the keys to the world's most
exclusive mall and you could have anything that your heart desired.
From the finest clothes to the most luxurious and smoothest
chocolates...ANYTHING all yours.

That's how George makes me feel, every day. I'm so lucky.

Gay man’s biological clock

Last time we identified the first words made by a gay baby. Now I’ve found out that the sound of a gay man’s biological clock dicking ticking is dick, dock…lol!

Have a lovely week folks. I was away in London (yeah, again) last week, just got back on Saturday. Mini post coming soon…

World’s first rotating roundabouts to end Nairobi traffic jams

An engineer friend tells me that the Chinese who are building our roads are going to install cutting edge solar-powered turntable roundabouts designed to end Nairobi’s chronic jams. Basically it works by cars driving onto a stationary roundabout which at the flick of a switch rotates your car smoothly in a clockwise direction. You then drive off at your exit when it stops rotating. Yawn.

I also didn’t believe Sam when he told me this especially as it was while we were enjoying some alcoholic drinks. But you never know, after all we’ve seen electric poles in the middle of roads....

Our father who hurt in heaven (Easter Special)

As I watched the news on the latest abuse scandals engulfing the Catholic Church, I was reminded of an incident I witnessed years ago involving a priest from that boarding school where I also learned how to conceal a weapon. Father John D’anonimasi lived in a flat attached to our boarding house and it was the duty of students to clean his flat on Sunday mornings before Mass because we were constantly getting told that the path of duty was the way to glory (just a ploy to exploit children if you ask me now)

One dewy morning when my turn came and being the keen prayerful lad that I was, I found myself about half an hour early trotting along to Father’s flat. When I got to the door I knocked softly and then noticed that it wasn’t completely shut. I didn’t think anything of it as I let myself quietly in. That’s when I saw the sight that refuses to leave me even now two decades later. Through a mirror in the hallway I spied Father John – who would be saying Mass in just over an hour’s time – standing buck naked, hairy back to me and facing the window with a wtf-is-that-up-his-arse? He was driving the blue marker pen that we used to write announcements on the house noticeboard eewww up and down where it’s dark because the sun never shines aka da butt. And his man boobies had some metallic clamps on the nips weighing them down ouch, ouch but I hear that it’s more about pleasure than pain, hahaha. All I could think of was that must hurt like hell especially the sharp bits of the marker but he was making sounds like he was in heaven already. I froze momentarily and then tiptoed out of there but not before I also snapped an eyeful of balls projected on the wall as shadows the size of large oranges. He hadn’t seen me and to be fair it wasn’t as if I’d caught him perming his eyelashes but I still think the Church needs to revisit the issue of celibacy and whether it’s even relevant.

Now sit back, get the popcorn, keep the tissues close at hand and let’s wait to see what outlandish story Denis shares with us about three nuns, a monk and a strap-on. By the way Denis also has a column here.

Please forgive me father for sometimes I know not what I do when I blog.....Happy Easter folks.



(Pic is of a marker pen that I use on my whiteboard, NOWHERE ELSE ok, lol)