A parent’s guide to the finger of god business (pg rated)

Some concerned parents wrote to me when TV anchor Esther’s saga broke out. They said please Tamaku my kids are scared when they hear about Freemasons and people wanting to kill others and they’re asking difficult questions. Can you find us a way to explain what’s happening to their role model? So I obliged and embellished the story somewhat so that youngsters could understand. You can read it and dramatize it like a game for the kids at bedtime in nice Harry Porter style to get the message home:

Once upon a time there was a famous and very beautiful girl from the telly. One day she decided to run away from her handsome boyfriend who had smooth and well manicured fingers to a wizard called Timberstick. When he got her to a castle in Runda he began the ancient and secret game of 4ply (here you can sing a little lullaby, 1ply, 2ply, you get the drift). Not to be confused with foreplay which all boys know is just a waste of playstation time, 4ply is a spell practiced under a moonless night to the hypnotising strains of a lone saxophonist. However when you grow up and if you don’t study hard and go to college, you will hear it mentioned in player parlance as ‘short-circuiting a babe’s cpu’. So, this is what Timberstick did with his talented guitar-calloused and blinged up one digit, which came to be known throughout the kingdom simply as da Finga. It was studded like a courgette’s skin and curved like an aubergine, lovely vegetables that you must always eat whenever mummy cooks them for you. They are excellent sources of nutrients but only when chopped and cooked. Now, when boys were still writing with pencils, the wicked wizard was already printing in colour. He was also very experienced in the art of taking off a girl's bra with only one hand. Soon the beautiful girl was frothing at the lips close to dying but not at all in a bad way. She was riding through the sky without a care like a runaway helium balloon. Higher, higher close to heaven, when she saw how bright and beautiful heaven was she cried out: ‘Woooi , OMG…. Oh My God, what is that?’ (Note to parents: feel free to adapt the cry to suit your child’s deportment, religiosity etc, but keep it real)

The evil 4plyer cackled back to her, ‘That my princess is the finger of god’.

And the moral of the story, children? You must tell your teacher if someone wants to put your finger in the electric pencil sharpener. Goodnight my angels, night night….

(Editor’s note: We are trying to see whether Disney will make a movie)


Moving on swiftly here is a finger joke for the adults:

One day John rang his wife from the offshore rig where he worked.
‘Honey don't worry, I’ve had a serious injury but am ok. An accident occurred and my finger was cut OFF.....'She yelled, ‘The hole finger?’ He answered, ‘NO, NO, the one right next to it. ...’

Tamaku does London

When a generous client, mentor, one- time compañero and sometime benefactor sends an urgent email saying I want you up in England for a couple of days, all expenses paid, you don’t say mmmm, I’m not sure what I’ve got on my diary, Sanchez – let me think about it and I’ll get back to you. This is what happened to me the other week, so I hopped on a plane and arrived to a chilly London. One thing I noticed is that more roads are now potholed (shock, horror) but nothing remotely like Nairobi roads. My tattooed cabbie Dave told me the heavy snows of the previous months have played havoc on infrastructure, but I heard as if he called it infrastuckture. Apparently this happens when water-logged newly re-carpeted surfaces expand causing cracks on roads when it freezes. You learn something new every day, not all of it useful. Also did you know that jelly beans are good for causing a bowel movement? And another thing matey, Audi A6 estates and BMW 5 series are rubbish in snow, even many 4x4’s except Land Rover Discos, naturally, will struggle but you’d expect German cars to know a thing about snow. Talking of cars, Shiko-Msa if I get you that red Toyota Solara people might start to talk, hehehe...

I had two straight days of intense meetings in Bishopsgate a short walk from Liverpool Street station and went back to my 3 star hotel room in Wembley after like every nice gay businessman does. I wished I’d brought my toys to keep me entertained as I watched porno on the old lappie, hahahaha, but a few nights without never hurt anyone though it can make you cranky in the mornings. The crowded tube carriage is one of my least favourite places anywhere during rush hour but it’s a microcosm of life in one of the world’s greatest cities. Desperately gaunt druggies in sodden coats on their way to chase dragons sat next to nervous Goldman Sachs millionaire wankers bankers in chic Aquascutum vintage coats on their way to/from a rat race for humans. And the women putting on their makeup flawlessly on the tube, vulgar with a capital V like Vietnam decadence, yet so captivating. My alter ego has extremist socialist views especially when I spot subtle displays of excess leave alone ostentatious ones. To be honest with you, I think the word I’m really looking for is envy.

London was like enforced rehab for me because I didn’t drink a drop except on Saturday when I allowed myself more than a little treat to compensate. Saturday evening was raining incessantly, the kind of night when I’d never go out in Nairobi so I just sat in the hotel bar which was full of confident Man Utd fans over for the match with Aston Villa on Sunday. I met travelling discordant couple Marilyn and Lee (he’s Manu while she’s a hardcore brummie Villa fan) and we polished off a bottle of Bombay Sapphire and later chased with some Disaronno, you’d think I’d have learned my lesson about mixing drinks by now. Duly ginned, we blue-toothed email addresses and they said they’d come to Nairobi later in the year but it might just have been the drink talking.

The hotel where I stayed is on Empire Way (suitably named for a queen, I thought) and I had a standard room overlooking a building site, I think it’s for Wembley City. But I didn’t mind because I could see the stadium arch from my room. I took this picture on my phone on Saturday night when I walked round the back of the hotel smoking a cigarette in the drizzle and after speaking on the phone to George. Sorry but my phone doesn’t have a zoom. There was a private party in one of the function rooms at the rear and when I heard PYT blasting away I was so tempted to gatecrash but I’m so glad I didn’t even though I can still shake it. Also my return flight home was on Sunday morning and I had the taxi booked for 6.

When I arrived back in Nairobi, George picked me up from the airport and I said to him hey you my PYT, I really missed your loving. He said show me how much so we went straight home to bed and just had milky cocoa and biscuits after my shower, lol, you know what we actually had. Yes, yes, it was very good...

Dear Diary

It’s been one day at a time resisting this urge to mock one Esther Rungu, a hubby called Timberdick, a pastor by the name Hellon and that Finger.

So far so good.

I am a good person but I’m feeling weak. The temptation is so strong.

Will I make it?

Blog followers and the power of prayer

Hello there my luvvies and esteemed friends, we have a new follower….drum roll please....welcome to number 80^th! Group hug everybody, feel all the love and warmth that we should me sharing? Wey-hey, ho ho, this calls for a little jig on the kitchen floor with Imelda and a cold tusker down my throat (first one of the day, I hasten to add). Do you think we would be a cult if you all came to our house and you guys stayed over forever and ever just like one big happy gay family? 

On a serious note please don't forget to pray for the flooding in Samburu to subside and for our sister the lovely Esther Arunga to wake up and smell the shit around her. How many people who love and care about her is this beautiful woman determined to hurt? Please God, please please give us a happy ending....amen.

Oh, hold on, I've just been handed my bottle of tusker baridi (the champers of beers) and a note by Imelda – "how many people do I want to love me???" Eh? Girl knows me tooo well.  Now let me shoot some pool with her and drink some lager, that's enough work for a furahiday….. xx xx xxx

Habari gani? Give us a wave

Hello, hello, just a quickie to say we're fine thanks for asking. I haven't danced the last dance yet!  I've managed to avoid falling under a moving bus and when George mixed me a drink the other day I called out to him, 'no aconite root poison for me, honey bunch sweetie pie.' I'm just snowed under with some urgent work for a demanding client at the moment. I haven't spied a white car trailing us nor have strange men in suits and dark glasses turned up at the house asking to speak to me (sigh, a fantasy).

I arrived back from the UK on Sunday night unscathed. The brakes on my car work ok, and the drinking water doesn't taste any different however I was reading somewhere that you start to die the day you are born….

That's all for now my lovely friends. I'm feeling very cheery today so just wanted to say hi and that I'll be back soon. Oh, I've also caught a mild cold but nothing serious I hope. I'm happy with life generally and, contrary to rumours spreading like Starbucks, my blogging mojo hasn't deserted me.