Passing the paper

George and I arrived in London a couple of days ago to be with my siblings over New Year's. It was freezing when my bro Timmy and his wife picked us up from Heathrow, so much so that when we got to the house in Esher they had to sort us out with electric blankets and hot water bottles. We both had zero blood flowing through our circulatory systems...brrrrr and you know how bad that is for sex.

BTW flight KQ 116 to Amsterdam for the connection to London was crap and I'm still annoyed about it but that's the subject of a detailed post coming here very soon.

In the meantime please enjoy some Direct Drive passing the paper.

It's a tough job but Tamaku’s got to do it

George and I had a wonderful time. I had meetings scheduled in London for 3 days while staying at my brother Timmy’s in Esher. Initially George was to accompany me while visiting his sister who also lives in London with her family. However 2 days before we left Nairobi we had a telephone call to say that their youngest daughter was ill with swine flu which meant it wasn’t right to visit. Instead I asked my brother if I could bring a friend and he said yes. It worked out fine, my brother and his wife have two grownup children who’ve flown the nest so we had a room each to ourselves which was really hard on us both sleeping apart for the sake of appearances. On our last night there I couldn’t bear it so I sneaked myself into George’s room for a cuddle and squeeze but I fell asleep until the morning. When I got up to tiptoe on creaking floorboards across the hall back to my room I bumped into my brother’s wife Claudia coming out of the bathroom. The shock on both our faces said it all; I’m sure now Timmy knows the whole deal.

London feels like a home away from home for me, sadly we didn’t have enough time to revisit many old haunts. It was George’s first visit out of Kenya and it thrilled me to rediscover the delightful sights through his eyes even though the weather was being undecided. We even got to see where the real Queen lives and enjoyed a walk along Park Lane on a glorious sunny day. We went a bit wild shopping at Westfield mainly buying some le creuset cookware and Sabatier knives for our kitchen. Afterwards we went to meet George’s sister Alma for a sumptuous Italian lunch and 3 bottles of delicious white wine (yes, I started drinking again). We hit it off with Alma with no awkward questions and George was over the moon because he’d been agonising what she was going to think. Turns out Alma’s a delightful funny young woman and I believe a rewarding friendship lies ahead for us both. On our way back to Esher with shopping bags on the cab floor, we were kissing and holding hands like honeymooners and laughing and I enjoyed a nibble of Gee’s ear. We didn’t care, I got to know what our politicians' impunity feels like and the cabbie didn’t even bat an eyelid at us seated in the back. When the cabbie glanced on the view mirror he asked cheekily whether we were royalty from Africa and I said yes darling we are queens from the Kenyan Washoga tribe! I loved the freedom and safety of our anonymity. Thank you wonderful people of GB.

Our final week we spent with Kenyan friends Ron and Steve. They are a gay couple who are ‘married’ and living in North-East England in a beautiful flat with views over Newcastle’s quayside. I’ve known Ron since high school and they are both totally devoted to one another, George said to me watching them together is how he wishes gay men would be in a relationship. And he asked so many questions about gay married life I half-expected him to propose to me. Oh well, I can dream can’t I.

We spent some time looking around the sights (pics to follow) especially the breathtaking new steel and glass library in the city centre. Someone please start a petition: No more tacky bars in Nairobi’s CBD; we need a library badly. Anyway we also went to the gay bars dotted around the quadrangle of the Life Centre and even managed a session at a gay sauna (another post coming soon). Ron and Steve were marvellous hosts they even held a barbeque in the communal gardens where we met other gay and lesbian Kenyans and their English friends, it was fantastic. We had wonderful roast dinners and curries but it’ll be a long time before I forget our last teatime on their balcony overlooking the river as I ate through a box each of divine strawberry and clotted cream and all butter sultana cookies. We’ll be hosting many parties ourselves when some of these new friends visit Kenya this Christmas.

From Newcastle we took the train down back to London on the Thursday. I’d begged an old friend to chauffeur us to a special place where we planned to spend the last night of our holiday just me and George. We blew a chunk of my expenses budget at the Crazy Bear Beaconsfield but it was worth every penny, you should must try it if you get the chance. After dinner we just lay in bed talking, but I knew we both didn’t want the night to end.

___________________________________________________________

Tamaku and George flew The Pride of Africa from and back to Nairobi. The service throughout was outstanding. (Now KQ PR department how about some complimentary tickets?)

I missed you.....

Hello fabulous people! I missed you bad, bad, bad. George and I arrived back in Nairobi from our UK break yesterday. We had a great time and I’ll post tomorrow about our holiday. I really missed you all, did you miss me? Well, we are both so pleased to be back home to friends and family. On the plane back we were listening to this oldish Phil Collins track on George’s ipod while sipping brandy. It sounded amazing as we cruised at 33000ft so I remembered to share it with you. My other fav while flying is Coldplay's 'Speed of Sound'. BTW have I told you all that I love you? It feels fantastic to be back here. Thanks so much for all your lovely wishes that you sent...

Awesome

My cousin Jim and his American wife Rhonda who live in Chicago came visiting this week. We are still recovering from the effects.

Jim and I are age mates and I really miss him ever since his family emigrated over 12 years ago. We keep in touch irregularly so it was wonderful to hear that he was coming over with his wife Rhonda whom I had never met. Little did I know that our house would be turned into party-central during their visit.

Jim and leggy-redhead Rhonda who I learn is expecting their first child in 6 months’ time love to have a good ol’ time. We didn’t hit it off initially with Rhonda especially when I spotted her licking her lips when I introduced them both to George. Then she started grating on me, rubbing husband’s palm over an invisible bump, ‘we having me a lil Obama!’ I felt sick as a parrot but not as sick as when she kept saying 'awesome' to everything around her. Both are unemployed, Jim having recently lost his job in the auto industry. They are using savings to travel before he has to find a new job. I hear you, it’s exactly what you do when there’s a baby on the way. Not awesome.

During the day while we were at work they had awesome Imelda waiting on them hand and foot making snacks and refreshments and arranging cabs to the shopping malls. I marvelled at their nonchalance towards Imelda my loyal friend and housekeeper, ‘don’t you know how to mix a martini, darling?’ They'd carted over gifts of Hershey’s bars, a coffee mug from the Windy City and a bottle of duty-free Johnnie Walker Green which they drained with the help of George. I suppose that made it all ok. Awesome.

Jim and Rhonda had the downstairs ensuite guest room which is useful because George and I are able to keep our sleeping arrangements upstairs private. Being good hosts, we dutifully spent late nights listening to spicy anecdotes co-narrated by our guesting duo well into the nights. It’s useful to learn that cousin Jim likes the feel of a firm leather strap to his buttocks now and then. And Rhonda insisted on playing over and over and over again that ella, ella under my umbrella, I started to have sinister thoughts that there might be more to the Chris Brown saga.

Anyway, we kept the safe-haven door at the top of the stairs locked just in case our guests went a-wandering. It was just as well because on Wednesday Rhonda had too much to drink, boiled as an old owl, and became disoriented when she woke up in the middle of the night. That’s when she peed an acrid bladder-full on the staircase landing. I heard the sound of running water and assumed it was the rain beating outside. God bless my Angel Imelda, she mopped up the puddle before we got up which made me madder when I found out.

Yesterday morning I dropped them off outside Longonot Place to board the tour truck to Laikipia for the second leg of their holiday. Later I laughed as Imelda told me how she got her own back; she’d packed Rhonda’s unlaundered clothing neatly back into their luggage. Ten days camping with no clean knickers…mmm…ella, ella, ella eh eh eh. As I waved them away mi casa su casa, see you soon, I thought we need a holiday ourselves before their return in two weeks.

Memories of love

First of all thank you God for the gift of rain, even the thunderstorms. Amen.

It was a magical time. The journey down in the Toyota tour van was uneventful. We were three couples; two middle-aged canoodling Kenyans who didn’t look married to me and a grayscale Japanese man with his chatty Australian wife sat at the back. The gay brigade was behind our skilful driver, who dutifully pointed out the unmissable vistas that are the Rift Valley. George was listening to an FM station on his phone-radio while I half-heartedly attempted to balance the Sudoku from a magazine the driver lent me.

The lodge in the dark sprinkled with flickering lanterns was even more alluring than I remembered from last Christmas when we had our company lunch there with work colleagues. Just as promised by the travel agent there were no hitches. The youthful staff cheerfully checked us in as a double before nonchalantly calling the porter, please show the guests to their room. So we followed the porter with the kissable athlete’s bum to our love cottage, a crescent-shaped building including a luxurious ensuite bathroom wrapped in Galana-stone tiles and a lavish four-poster mahogany bed. The porter seemed unnerved by our pairing so I eased his discomfort by the experienced covert handshake of a 500-shilling note.

That first night we had dinner in the grill restaurant, George chose a cut of Molo lamb and I had a most succulent marbled rib-eye steak, both served with roast potatoes and assorted vegetables and washed down with a forgettable red from a Naivasha vineyard. After dinner we had more exciting drinks with other guests at the bar by the fireplace. The guests were all really nice especially as by this time I was acting quite outrageously queenie and tipsy it didn’t escape anyone’s notice that we were a couple. I kept saying to George loudly, ‘honey please get me another one’, whenever the waiter came round. Yes, there are some safe places for gays in Kenya.

During the day I just pottered around the gardens or the pool, while George went on a tour to a flower farm. I chose not to go because I have problems with the effects from these dubious enterprises that courageously defend their 30% share of the EU market. He came back to the cottage bearing a surprisingly unproblematic bunch of exquisite blood-red roses, so we spent an energetic hour in bed before lunch. Later I went horse-riding through forests of lime-coloured acacias and the guide even pointed out a black and white colobus but I couldn’t look because I was not feeling confident riding the mare (pun unintended!). Of course I broke my blog-fast during our holiday because I was missing you guys and spent some time on the laptop laughing like a banshee when I read Pater Nostra’s confessions.

Then it was pizza for dinner another night and more drinks and being in love. I looked around the shop selling souvenirs and chose an orange ‘Kenya Dig It’ polo-shirt for Imelda, a Masai beaded armlet in patriot Kenyan-flag colours for her son Paul and a delicate batiked-necklace made from animal bones for her mum. Afterwards everything and everyone else was forgotten for us as we soaked together in the deep seasalt-filled bath.

One afternoon George treated me lying nude to a stimulating massage on the balcony daybed overlooking the private gardens. The room-service waiter bearing iced-Baileys surprised us when we didn’t hear him knocking. He didn’t even bat an eyelid; I suppose the confessions of a room-service waiter is an x-rated read. Nonetheless, I scandalously over-tipped him by a day’s wage. Keep ‘em sweet, that’s my de rigueur mantra. Upon our departure this morning the staff and their excellent manager graciously told us karibu tena Bwana George na Tamaku.

Oh, and something else. Last night lying in bed beneath the 400 thread count Egyptian cottons and limbs entwined like a python round his willing prey, George said the three magic words. I knew it all along but it was wonderful to hear him say them. I said them back to him too.

Going away

We are all packed and ready. Just one more sleep before we go off for our Easter break tomorrow. George and I are both excited and looking forward to spending quality time somewhere romantic alone together for the first time. Incredibly George was expected at work and knowing he wouldn’t get his leave authorised so soon after the 2 week holiday in March he purchased a week’s sick note from a doctor at Corner House. I think we would both have been more sick than the diarrhoea if we had to cancel, that's our justification. We’ll set off to the lodge in the Rift Valley after I finish work tomorrow afternoon and stay there for 4 nights. As usual Imelda is also going away to spend time with the family who include her young son Paul and elderly mum in Kawangware.

I am sure you’ll understand that I don’t intend to go near a blog during this time, so here’s wishing you all a Happy Easter weekend. Hope to have some juicy ones to share when we return. Have a lovely time wherever you are.