Politricians

Definition: Poli-tri-shans (n). Current crop of tax-evading Kenyan MPs who should never be trusted. Highly skilled in the art of stealing the taxes of poor citizens who vote for them. Also known as the hardworking, thieving rogues who give a bad name to owners of Range Rover Vogues.

Who is the cause of Raila’s headache?

When I heard news that the Prime Minister was in hospital for a minor operation to relieve pressure outside his brain which we are told was causing him headaches, I thought please let everything turn out ok because there’s nothing routine about that part of the body. I’m glad to hear he’s doing fine after the drive-by scalping (hey, I'm not a doctor) because excess pressure like a fart is better out than in.

I’m a long time Raila fan. I used to like his fiery politics of 'socialism' when he was in Opposition but even now that he’s in the billionaire’s club he still retains a certain magnetism and has charisma in truckloads. I mean which other of our politicians could make a hospital gown and hideous cap look alluring?

I wish him a speedy recovery, there’s work to be done. xx xx

Sobering times for BP and UK

Hint - for many years branding and PR used to be my bread and butter (I'm sorry).  Ridiculously, the global village today still finds itself even more driven by spin and posture. That’s why my observation of multi-billion BP’s handling of the Gulf Coast oil spill is so difficult to swallow.  Without a doubt, ‘Tony Hayward-I’d-Like-My-Life-Back,’ the public face of BP, was a huge PR blunder. Never go before a critical world media looking like you’ve still got a hallmarked silver-spoon lodged deep like a thick one between your oesophagus. Whichever way you look at it , unless  you are  Oprah Winfrey, you will surely get roasted because envy makes lesser men feel better about themselves.  Add to that, an unfortunate tan that looks like the guy was fished out of a barrel of sweet crude before being hosed down in duckling urine and paraded to defend the indefensible. There’s now premature talk of BP staring down the abyss of corporate oblivion but it’s the same talk that you hear from Western powers about Kabuga frolicking in a Nairobi suburb getting his grey hairs dyed to fool bounty hunters. However another lesson that I’ve learned is that it’ll never be clever to go against the grain unless you are one paunchy Diego Maradona tickling Tevez’s balls with a gouty-toe in a jacuzzi.  Which gets me to a crucial question: how much of the frothy stuff including Scotch whisky does one of our deputy prime minsters imbibe? Eish, really, can someone please tell him to go easy on the cause of life’s many problems.....

Baby Matthew has arrived

Hello people, a lot has happened lately. I haven’t just been lazy and absent from the blog without good reason nor have I been away in Uganda to see mountain gorillas although that’s one of my Top Ten Things To Do Before I Die. Recently I changed the look just to give the blog a brighter look. I hope you tell me that you likey likey. My friend Sheila had her first baby two Mondays ago, a boy who premiered in at a whopping 5 kilos. I applaud Sheila who like many other women decided to keep the baby even when it’s father did a Houdini the second she announced the pregnancy. Long story for another day. When I arrived late in the evening at the hospital  I found the actual  drama was already underway and the smiling Kenyan nazi at reception said I was not allowed in to see my friend. So I spent a chilly night at a nearby hotel till the next the morning.  George was on the phone to me until I fell asleep because he knows just how attached I am to my pal. Well, I can’t even start to tell you  just how overwhelming it was to meet my latest godson, something powerful and heart-warming tugged deep inside me that I actually shed tears. 

When I spoke to a sleepy Sheila I asked her whether childbirth had been as painful as having a battalion of safari ants chewing away at her privates. She bit hard on her lower lip slowly shaking her head: ‘Tamaku?’

I said, ‘Yes?’

She continued: ‘You know the pain you feel when you shit a fat del monte pineapple from Thika?’ My eyes watered as I nodded because I could imagine it was no walk in the park.  ‘Yes Sheila, I can appreciate that…’

She laughed wryly and cut me short: ‘No Tam. I’ve got news for you and all the men out there. You need to imagine having that whole pineapple shoved up back inside you and then yanked out. Times 100. Hehe, giving birth is no joke but looking at my son now I can say it has all been worth it.’

I went silent  and started sweating just thinking about the generosity of all the women across the world who choose motherhood. On behalf of all men folk let me say we will never be able to repay you, thank you so much mums.

A day later I got Sheila and beautiful baby Matthew back home and I’ve been spending a lot of enjoyable time at their flat. The other day when Sheila was breastfeeding her son she said to me I never thought that one day I’d be showing you my boobs Tamaku, and thanks so much for being here for us both. I smiled and said it’s the least that I should do and don’t worry about the nipples that Matt is sucking on because if all people  felt at ease with themselves and didn't  bother to cover their dolly partons then the global economic downturn would never have happened. It's the simple things that give joy.

Happy days indeed, even the endless changing of diapers and getting baby sick down inside my shirt when I burp him over my shoulder. This is bliss.

Even the wildlife here is homophobic (twisted version)

The sad news of the lion attack at Chipangali this week reminded me of our own camping trip at a game reserve a few months ago. We had to go au naturel under our shorts for three sweaty days but looking as camp as a row of tents (sorry) because Imelda ‘forgot’ to pack us extra underwear. When I grilled her later (over hot coals, lol, just kidding) she said she did it for a laugh. My friends, you can only imagine the pain when you get a scrotum-pube pulled because it got stuck to your shorts which have wedged themselves into a crevice in a hot car seat and then you move suddenly. On account of that I said to Imelda, when she confessed, how would she like it if I ’forgot’ to pay her salary so I don’t think she’ll be repeating that in a hurry. Anyway George and I shared this small two-man tent (very cosy), it was exciting camping outdoors even though the shared toilets and showers were in a separate block, nothing ritzy like this, just clean and functional.

We went with a lesbian couple named Maria and Andrea - Andy for short, but it’s Maria who runs that roost judging from her flat chest, half-inch sides and back and the absence of make-up not even a speck of mascara but I could be wrong. I let Maria sit in front, her full arm which was sporting beaded bangles draped on the door with George driving my car while Andy and I rode bitch-style on the back seats. We’d met the couple on our travels last year and when they came to Kenya to visit their families they decided to take a short break with us. Kenya Tourism Board, what have you done for me lately, I think you need to start paying me commission for all this work I’m doing. We recently discovered what a useful ploy it is for Kenyan gay men to double date with lesbians because you can fool many a homophobic hotelier who will then rush to welcome a pedophile sex tourist and a poor kiddie in tow with open arms.

The first night after dinner, around the open fire-pit and many drinks later (yep, our money’s worth), everyone was ready for their sleeping bag or whatever. Andy and Maria announced that it would be a good idea to sleep outside their tent, for a taste of the real heartbeat of Afrika. They wanted to sleep outside at night in the middle of a game reserve. You know, just like Adam who was not made for Steve (yawn) used to with Eve. Oh yeah? Really? It’s also in the Bible that "Neither shall a garment mingled of linen and woolen come upon thee." - Leviticus 19:19, so all ‘Christians’ need to check the labels on all their clothes.

I said to Andy and Maria I don't think it’s such a clever idea because I heard a story of a tourist years ago who was sleeping under the stars outside his tent in a game reserve here. Spotted hyenas attacked him in the middle of the night ripping his whole face off. Can you imagine the two seconds when he woke up to find himself looking inside a slavering mouth? I shudder to think, but it’s a second unflattering definition for giving head. Not lol.

Before we all went to our tents I joked that perhaps we should all feel very safe because no self-respecting hyena would be seen dead with a lesbian thigh or gay buttock in it’s jaws. It’s considered taboo and too unAfrican.