Make this your new religion

Yesterday I met a young male friend who's also the stepson of a former colleague. It's a bit complicated because I once dated his mum but that was a long time ago. He was out with his girlfriend browsing through the foodcourt at the Village Market when we bumped into each other. Luckily for me I wasn’t looking too shabby, I was in my orange Aquascutum short sleeves and tight white tennis shorts which show off some of my assets. Of course with the mandatory Oakley shades. I said hey Eric, I haven't seen you in a while let's stop and catch a beer. We pulled up some seats and ordered a round. Eric's girl was having a glass of red. He introduced her to me, Sam this is the Tamaku I’ve been telling you about. I laughed and said hope most of it good and we shook hands.

So we chatted and I asked about Eric's parents. I particularly wanted to hear about his mum Kathleen, my ex. He said mum's doing fine her business even made it to Kenya Top 100 this year. I said cool, please do greet her for me. I was watching Eric and Samantha, the body language told me they were both madly in love (could be lust) and already doing it. I asked how long they'd been together and Sam looked at Eric and told me two weeks! Hmmm, I thought the honeymoon phase which means having sex four times a day just like the doses for Imodium when you've got acute diarrhea. They are both 18 and students at a city college.

Anyway we got carried away and before we knew it they had five drinks each, I patiently had a couple of bottles of mineral water because I was driving. Finally they got nearly cooked and finished the little money I had on me and I offered to give them a ride home. Sam sat in the front passenger's seat, her long thin fingers tapping on tight Guess jeans to sounds of P-Unit Kare. Then we listened to Lemar’s It’s Not That Easy...girl, I tried to get you off my mind, it's not that easy. It was only a short hop to Eric's parents' home where they both alighted. As I turned the car round something in the front passenger's footwell caught my eye. I reached down and picked up a packet of Postinor - that emergency contraceptive. It won’t stop diseases but it can cause women to have irregular bleeding and nausea. I knew this must have dropped from Sam's bag. I thought those two are definitely going to need this the way they're all over each other so I fished out my mobile and dialed Eric's number. He came back to the car quickly because they had only just gone through the gates. I said I think this belongs to Samantha. He took the packet of pills and gave me a shamefaced grin because years ago I'd had The Talk with him when his mum asked me to.

Last night before I drove off I looked straight Eric in the eye and said,'Son, you're just starting out in life. From tonight onwards better make it your religion to never go in without a skin!'

No swimming with piranha

A couple of fridays ago George and I went for evening drinks at the Hilton's Jockey Bar. We also shared complementary roasted peanuts for both our nuts which is important for libido and stamina. Not too many salted nuts though because you might have a heart attack. I’ll let you decide, studhood or an early grave. As the evening wore on George was looking even more deserving of a good tickle, he's a generous lover and good ex-cop because he only had two bottles of chilled White Cap lager. I didn't want to let the side down and I wasn't driving so I downed a mini forest of Tuskers but very, very reshponshibly because they were getting planted at over 300 shillings plus taxes each. Ouch.

Soon we met the inevitable ma-gals, I say ma-gals because they were working girls (prostitutes is too entry-level). They didn't look too appetising but one man's poison may be another's meat. I should confess now that sometimes I think I could backslide and make an exception for the right chick only if we clicked on a sensuality level (only true freaks will understand) and if said candidate is an exceptional kisser. But not this sleazy clock-watching pair, I wouldn't screw them with your dick for money even though the recent census says the population of Kenyan women is almost equal to that of men. Also it tends to rain heavily in Nairobi especially when you've been drinking one must always pack a durex raincoat in the wallet it may be what saves your life in a storm. Many punters had their twelve minutes of fun and now they pray to God to just see another sunrise. Boys na girls, munanifeel?

I telescoped a benign but tipsy gaze on them just in case they wanted to steal my mano George but they can't give him the sugar that he craves. One of the other girls said hello handsome when she passed by us going to the loo, I answered 'hi sunshine' but she turned back and said I wasn't speaking to you - I was speaking to your friend. I was shocked because she looked like she wanted to scratch my eyes out. Thing is George didn't even look up, he's very allergic to certain women. I also find girls who make the first move as appealing as a Somali pirate, I don't know why. When I left the bar counter to go for a smoke at the poolside area a floor above, I mapped everyone's drinks' position to make sure no one was encroaching on my territory.

Eventually the women realised we were not immediate fodder laced with molasses because George had locked the palm of his hand on my knee and I was looking totally owned. Imelda may have had a point. So we decided to have innocent fun with Betty and Terry, who skillfully milked 3 drinks each from us of frontera chilean merlot wine expertly served by barman James. Betty, the one reeking fake Dior Addict Shine and stale dishwater breathe, sneakily showing the collar of a purple thong (so 90's) and desperately in need of manicure overhaul, told me she lives at Githurai 45 and said she wanted me to be a daddy for 5000 shillings for 2 shots bei ya kuongea (negotiable) at her digs. However breakfast, toothpaste and hot shower extra. And no early morning game drive which was the deal breaker. Cheap like lust is expensive, so I said sounds fab but no cigar babygal but here is a little something for you and your friend, enjoy yourselves - words even Bill Clinton couldn't bring himself to say to that woman. Being decent, gay men without firearms we declined to squeeze the melons or pinch their femme butts and left for home to start what we never like to finish.

On the way home we sang along to the CD with TLC's Red Light Special turned up loud...baby it's yours, all yours if you want it tonight. You can see the video here and fill in the blanks about what we did when we got home, lol. George says I'm more than a handful when I've had a drink. Guilty as charged.

Turkish delights of Nairobi

I discovered a new place to quell hunger pangs on the rare ocassion that I'm in the city centre. 'Bobo's' for the true Turkish taste is on Banda Street. It's a couple of eateries down from Tropez, that bar that a little bird tells me is popular with twink trade if you're looking. I demolished this tombik pocketbread that came stuffed with doner meat, tomato, onion and lettuce. A potential heartattack - due to the grease - washed down with a coke all for around 400 shillings.

When I went to wash my hands I found I couldn't get the soap dispenser to work: one of the very cute (not my type though, I prefer rugged men just like my George) waiters in denim dungarees came to my rescue. He said pull the knob out and then push it back in.
I said really? That's what I always do. Lol!

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Where were you during the rescue of the Miners?

I'm sitting here having a lovely cup of black tea with ginger watching live CNN. George is at work, Imelda is lying on the couch all wrapped up like a sausage roll, she's not feeling too great. She's having what my mummy would call 'female problems' so I made her my version of a White Russian: a double tot of Smirnoff vodka, large spoon of honey from Kitui mixed with hot milk and a dash of Amarula. She's also working her way through a small box of a dozen ferroro rocher chocolates, not being her chatty self.

It's looking like it will be a quiet day here but one that I'll never ever forget. Thank you dear God for watching over the Chilean miners. Four out so far and just pure, spectacular jubilation for loved ones but twenty-nine still to go.

Meanwhile I discovered how to take a 'self' screenshot of my phone. Pretty cool.

Daniel arap Moi is a lonely old man in need of a woman

'Ayatollah’ Moi recently joined the lynch mob baying for the scalp of Special Programmes Minister Esther Murugi who is reported to have called on Kenyans to shed their prejudice and exercise tolerance towards fellow citizens of a different sexual orientation. Not content with the mess his mismanagement cost our country, Moi's recent judgement calls clearly demonstrate just how out of sync the octogenarian ex-president is with the nation’s psyche. Esther Murugi, whom I'm glad to note made no apology, was making the connection between stigma attached to homosexuality and unchecked spread of HIV due to fear and ignorance. The self-styled professor of politics needs to sit under a tree and pick one of the pupils from the many Moi Primary schools littered across the land to join up the dots for him.

Moi's hatred for homosexuals may stem from a particularly unpleasant prostate exam, yes - even ex presidents over 50 are advised to get their trunk checked annually (gay men without boyfriends are known to insist on more frequent inspections, hehehehe) but you've got to relax - it's for your own good so bite on an index finger (yours, silly, not the doctor's) or rungu if you've got it with you and take it like a man. Ok, I accept it's difficult to teach an old dog new tricks. With wife Lena since departed (RIP), one may ask why doesn't Moi go and slaver over the ample bosom of a willing school ex-headmistress. Being mindful of other people’s welfare I agonised over Moi’s predicament and concluded it's time that Safaricom or other public spirited company sponsored a TV show called Help Find Moi A Woman Widow. Oh the bittersweet irony, after the assassinations of that regime! Sons Gideon and Jonathan would be judges along with Kenneth Matiba and Charles Rubia who were both incarcerated during Moi's era, just for balance. It would be a huge success especially given the matronly charms of a specific TV presenter. Catherine Kasavuli could you please agree to be host?! After all he's always commenting on gays but we've never seen a woman on his arm, ha! Don't just talk, Kenya expects.

What's painfully unforgettable though is that millions of Kenyans died from the Aids epidemic while the past regime had its snout and paws stuck in the trough of public resources. But we picked ourselves up and moved on stronger, that's why I can gleefully say that Moi like that other caricature Robert Mugabe is just another attention whore who's past his sell by date.

Meanwhile back at the farm

Just arrived at my destination. These greenhouses take farming to a scale and intensity that's difficult to describe. Forget my 1/2 acre patch of green at home that I'm so proud of when I pick a bunch, this is the Wal-Mart of horticulture.

Off to my meeting, lunch is promised at Sopa Lodge. This being Keroche country, I'll allow myself a mild Summit lager shandy.

I'm on top of the world

Kenya really is God's own country - stunning vista across the Great Rift Valley at Viewpoint.

Naivasha here we come

Good morning folks. Had a nasty cold for the last three days caught from Imelda that I've passed on to poor George. I'm now on my way to Naivasha for a business lunch at one of the many flower farms there. I'm driving down that killer road so please remember me in your novenas. I haven't graduated to helicopters yet but the views are still breathtaking - expect a pic or two soon.

Have a wonderful day. xx xxx

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