For a favorite girl called Lindsay

Do I look fat in this?

I get this question all the time from girlfriends. Whenever we meet
over tea or other beverages they'll always find the moment to slip in
this question. I'll say that's a stunning frock with matching handbag
you've got girlfriend, suits you and Rita (size14 with 2 girls on the
go) or Lillian (married, plump, timid when you first meet her but is
really a sexual predator frequenting massage parlours for anonymous
sex), they'll ask: 'Tell me Tamaku, do I look fat in this?'

I've learnt my lines well and always reply, 'No honey, you look
beautiful. Just beautiful.'

The barbecue to remember

We were up early yesterday and dashed to sun-splashed Village Market to pick up some drinks and fresh flowers to take to our hosts. I felt irrationally better after reading George’s horoscope preferring it to my own … 'This looks as if its going to be a lively day, and one in which you must be prepared to take advantage of what crops up completely out of the blue…', Capricorn in the Saturday Nation magazine promised.

It’s a 20 minute drive to Mike’s imposing residence; securing large government tenders has delivered ostentatious rewards. Mike’s wife Zawadi in a dazzling kitenge cloth dress greeted us warmly as we parked our car on the cabro-paved drive. I was told the children have gone to the grandparents for the weekend. She cast George understandably a sneakily devilish once-over and I heard the familiar shriek of Tandy the African Grey parrot from his perch inside the mansion’s upstairs indoor- garden announcing our arrival, ‘alo’, ‘alo’.

Mike was sitting proprietarily at the gazebo in their garden behind a table overlooking the criminally indulgent lush lawn studying us sauntering across the footpath. He stood up to give me the customary hug. I could sense him looking over my shoulder at George before shaking hands as I introduced them.

I sat between Zawadi and George, who was to Mike’s right side round the table garnished in exquisite crystal ware. I feigned interest in my chat with Mike’s wife as I strained to hear what he was talking about with George. The snatched snippets were safely around the theme of cars, corruption and our politics, interrupted with hearty mutual laughs. Is my best friend bonding with my secret lover, I wondered wildly. Two hours later they were both carving the deliciously charred racks of tropical heat spice- inspired goat ribs served with lashings of kachumbari salad with hot green chillies. The mood encouraged by cold tusker lagers had lightened and Mike said to George come let me show you the pool. I sensed danger but I couldn’t do anything to avert the impending disaster. So they left us to go see the swimming pool behind the house and I started the pork chops and beef steaks on the barbecue for round two as Annie the housekeeper cleared away the plates while humming Ahadi zake by Marion Shako.

They were gone for ten minutes. In that eternity Zawadi pointedly asked about George, who is he? I answered truthfully taking off my sunglasses, he’s a friend and he’s living at my house now. I surprised myself how quietly profound I sounded. She nodded, looked at me straight in the eye and said he seems like a nice person. She knew; and she knew I knew she knew! It’s the way she tapped my arm gently as she said it.

We didn’t have time to talk more about George because we saw them walking back to the gazebo; I was shocked into soberness to see Mike’s hand resting Obama-style on George’s shoulder. I put my sunglasses back on as they sat down. Zawadi went to the fridge to fetch some drinks. George was now unusually quiet, staring at his beer. Something was not right but I was like a sitting duck. Mike started speaking to me. ‘Buddy, I’m disappointed in you’. He sounded sad. I braced myself. ‘All these years I’ve known you and your family. You are my children’s godfather and yet you hide things from me’. Zawadi, how long does it take to fetch beers and wine from the fridge? Then the bombshell: 'It takes a stranger to tell me you are homosexual’. I was stunned, but strangely felt only a mild anger at George for putting me through this. ‘I was afraid our friendship would end; I didn’t want to lose that,’ came my hoarse answer.

There was a short pause. The sound of a light breeze caressing bougainvillea vines before Mike spoke. ‘I’m sorry I made you feel anything would change our friendship. After all we’ve been through; I don’t understand about this gay business but I love and respect you. It only matters to me that you are happy.’ Then casually a good-humoured call, ‘Zawa, bring the brandy we need something stronger!’

So there it was. My life was starting all over again. I felt sadness that I had ever doubted the capacity of my relationship with my best friend. Over 20 years of secrets from Mike undone in a few sentences and all because George had the courage to tell the truth and set me free. With these clouds lifted away, we had a most memorable afternoon. Mike played our favourite 80’s disco music and we all danced together until early evening.

Homophobic best friend invites us to lunch

My best friend Mike called me today. We haven’t seen each other much lately. It hasn’t escaped my attention that since George came into my life I’ve been purposely neglecting Mike. I’ve known Mike for years; we were room mates in college and I still bear the emotional scars of my secret unrequited nightly lust. Then Mike was the perfect man I knew my family prayed I would become and for many years I tried but failed to become that other man.

Mike has invited me to his house tomorrow afternoon for some nyama choma with beers, that seemingly benign social activity enjoyed and frequently abused by many Kenyans. I instinctively said yes before remembering that I now come as part of a unit that must include George, so I said to Mike I’ll bring a friend. I could hear the raised eyebrow of disbelief in his voice when he joked ‘eh you found yourself a girlfriend, bring her along and if she’s hot then we can compare notes ha ha ha,’ not harmless under different circumstances especially coming from this philandering married man. I told him no it’s a dear friend called George that I want you to meet and he breathed disappointedly oh, bring him along.

George is looking forward to meeting Mike and his family. He understands how important they are to me so George says it’s a small but crucial step we should take for the sake of expanding our joint social circle. I agree but I’m also anxious about tomorrow because Mike is a vocal homophobe from whose acidic scrutiny I want to shield my lover George.

We are off to the strip club

I met up with my friend Mike over lunch in Upperhill today. It’s always nice to see Mike, always immaculately dressed, confident and loud. I confess time hasn’t fully erased the image of a younger Mike strolling to the showers in full morning glory years ago when we shared a dormitory. Over the years variations of that picture have evolved to serve me well - depending on the fantasy at hand. It’s a psychological crutch that I hold to compensate for the imbalances of our friendship. (A gold star for you if you spotted both puns!)

Occasionally we’ll hook up for some drinks to watch some footie matches or share a meal at his home. I am happy to be a part of Mike’s inner circle and count him and his family among people that I genuinely care about. I must never forget that Mike is a diehard homophobe. He once told me he does not know any gay people and he wishes all gays would be wiped off the face of the earth. I am not ashamed for his ignorance because he is my friend and I, being acquainted with the Bard’s ‘thou doth protest too much’ and ‘Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall,’ do not see the need to change anything..

Over lunch Mike asked me to accompany him to the strip club tonight. It was also the unspoken request to once again provide an alibi should his wife want to know where he’s been. I don’t pretend to understand my straight married friend: what’s the obsession with getting some titillation when discovery would jeopardize a wonderful marriage? I on the other hand enjoy a private and secret aspect on these forays; they satisfy deep unspoken needs..

The last time it was some sorry joint in a vibrant part of Nairobi, up a steep narrow flight of stairs to a den full of men drinking and gawping at scantily-dressed shadows gyrating to the pulse of monetary promises. In the crowded space two uninvited punters on either side pressed up against me; I was aware of their physical joy at becoming one with the club’s atmosphere. However a quick glance told me any reciprocation would be unwelcome. Danger may lurk in stirring the unwilling.

So I look forward to tonight, unlikely thick-as-thieves with Mike and though he doesn’t know it, none is better than the other…