Whoa Nellie! Not all Africans are needy

Last week I went out on the town in Newcastle on my own because my hosts were away at a prearranged engagement. It was really windy and cold so I stepped out in a thick jacket, scarf, gloves and faux fur ushanka all wrapped up like a mummy. First stop was Chinatown to line my stomach as you do before any drinking. I got lured by the promise of eat as much as you can for £8 which was good value and most of it was rather yummy. It’s no secret that Chinese domination of the world has been accelerated by buffets of egg fried rice, chow mein and shredded roast duck. And soy sauce.

After the feast I walked towards the Life Centre around that triangle which is home to the city’s gay bars and settled for a pub favourite with bears. Forty minutes later I was minding my own business pretending to cruise when three hunks in kilts joined my table by the window overlooking the sidewalk. I was glad for the company of the three hairdressers from Scotland and we started chatting about nothing in particular, they even bought me a couple of drinks. Oh, by the way did I mention that one of them was black? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it a little odd hearing a Glaswegian accent from a black person.

Shortly the two other guys excused themselves to go outside to smoke. That’s when the black Scot asked me where I lived. I said I’m only here visiting friends, I live in Kenya. He says how cool is that, you speak verrie gurdt Inglish. (Lol. Sorry I can’t do the accent). I answered yes I do but just for the record I speak even better Swahili and two other languages. By this time his compatriots were back, that’s when he asked me whether I had a %^*~@&. I replied sorry I didn’t understand what you just said, what was that again? Obviously I need to work on my Scottish. I think he got my point because he started speaking very slowly: DO. YOU. HAVE. A. BOYFRIEND? I said yes I do have a very beautiful boyfriend, and told them a little about Gee. Curiously ebony Scot wanted to know what colorr George was so I said as black as you and me. That’s when he said don’t take this the wrong way fella but 'gay Africans are way too needay when it comes to marney. They can‘t seem to stand on their own two feet'....

I pretended to take his offensive comments the right way even though I was seething inside, even his friends looked embarrassed. I know that in recent years ‘refugee’ and ‘asylum seeker’ (read foreigner) have become dirty words to many Europeans largely thanks to a slew of articles about benefits scroungers in hugely popular rags aimed at swathes of the population whose reading age hovers around 9. So I asked ‘Field-slave-now-eating-at-the-big-house’, is that your experience? Have you ever dated an African? He said no but a friend of a friend has. Then he added all I know is the people there are starving and dying from aids. I couldn’t hold it any longer so I said to him Oh don’t be ridiculous, you don’t see me saying all Glaswegians are drunk illiterate morons who like to stick dirty needles into their arms. But I said it sweetly because I’m from the land of hakuna matata where ‘jaruos’, ‘kales’, ‘wasepere’ etc still have more than a few issues to sort out. I now accept that some form of bigotry exists inside everyone. Call it preference, type whatever. Also I blame charities who think the only way to fill their coffers are media campaigns showing emaciated and unwashed orphans with runny noses. It doesn’t matter that the kids’ dignity is violated by whoring their images, they are just poor god-forsaken souls from distant lands.

I didn’t even begin to say what I was really thinking. There’s a time and place for debates and I wasn’t in the mood to start a fight which I‘d have lost anyway. So we dropped the subject and some jägerbombs instead (my round) until the stripper came on. Then we just drifted apart to darker parts of the bar where one could get off anonymously. Needless to say I was only a spectator to any monkey business. Before I left the pub I went to the toilet where I bumped into black Mr Kilt. By now he looked a bit worse for wear but he still recognised me as I stood next to him at the urinal. Then without the faintest of warnings he lifted his kilt. I wasn’t too shocked because some gay men can get up to sleazier things in toilets, eh you don‘t want to know. Come to think about it, I’m sure some of you want to know hahaha you'll have to go and ask George Michael. Anyway I clocked him and appreciated that like a true Scotsman he wasn’t wearing anything under the tartan. Luckily for him there was no one else in the toilets because let me just say that it’s not all true what they say about black men. Even in the dimmed lighting I could see that he was packing mini, or how shall I put it, well below expectations in both length and girth and I’m no size queen. Worse still said appendage was as dead as a doornail.

After I finished peeing I gave mine the customary two tugs and three shakes (always a pleasure) and washed my hands quietly staring at kilted flasher’s reflection in the mirror. Before leaving him alone in the toilets, I said bitchily whilst looking at his needledick, so sorry dear - even Africans aren’t that needy.

Daft law discriminates against gay Kenyans

Kenya’s new proposed Constitution will, as anticipated, not permit for same-sex unions. It’s baffling how this Draft that allows for adults to enter into unions based on 'free consent of the parties' would then purposely exclude other citizens based on their sexual orientation.

What part of ‘adult’, ‘free’ and ‘consent’ do these legal experts have a difficulty understanding?

Gay is OK: hit back on Kenyan journalists....by Paula Kahumbu

Please listen to this powerful piece of advocacy. I urge you to say NO to a particularly virulent strain of hate that is permeating through sections of our media. Click on the link below for Dr Paula Kahumbu's podcast.


Chirbit | Share audio easily | paulakahumbu | Gay is OK: hit back on Kenyan journalists...

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Help stop the Talibanisation of East Africa

These are testing times for sexual minorities in East Africa. I see that there is a bill before the Ugandan Parliament to further suppress the freedoms of gay and lesbian Ugandans and their supporters. It seems that our politicians, many whom are of questionable integrity, now want to police free thought and the private associations of their citizens. I am aghast but not surprised that politicians have set their sights on this issue instead of addressing rampant corruption and failure of their State organs.

‘Experts in Kenya’, currently grappling with a review of our Constitution, have also cowardly brushed aside the clamour for equal rights for gays. I am at a loss as to what purpose this review is meant to achieve if it is minded to exclude the rights of any section of the society. Are we not where we are today due to intolerance and bigotry? The continued criminalization of homosexuality is one that cannot be wished away by old and tired arguments about being un-African, unnatural and only informed by a religious right. Kenya must remain a secular state to be counted amongst the progressive nations of the future. Current arguments against homosexuality are lost when you consider that bar the history of colonization it’s likely that it would not even feature on our statute books.

People, whatever the sexuality need to be vigilant. Ignore these developments which only serve to make criminals of law-abiding fellow citizens at the peril of your own personal liberties . These politicians have shown time and time again that they cannot be trusted and given the chance they will further erode basic human rights. Please join the petition and let your voices be heard.

Policeman Stops Me

There are many wonderful sights one sees across Nairobi. One such lovely vision is a traffic cop who directs the flow of traffic. He stands most weekday mornings at the junction of our lane and the busy dual carriageway that I join for the 20 minute drive to the office. Stuck in the queue of cars I watch his motions which seem to be synchronized with the music from classic fm playing on my car stereo. He’s like the cute black dancer from Madonna’s Vogue video and watching him I normally tap along on my steering wheel…

‘Strike-a-pose’ has been my little treat for the last 6 months or so and is the highlight of my morning commute. Our routine was interrupted this morning when he motioned for me to pull over. I did as instructed and Mr Gorgeous Dancer Cop walked up to my car and I wound down the window; he looked even more appealing standing there 4 feet away inspecting the disc displayed on the windscreen. Be friendly Tamaku, I thought, as he then walked up to my side:

‘Habari boss. Kila kitu sawa,’ he said, flashing a glorious set of teeth but it sounded like a question to me.

‘Ndio Ofisa,’ I answered and beamed back the result of a dozen visits to the Italian dentist from Corner House. He smiled again. It’s when I coolly said to him he seemed too young to be a policeman. In that moment he cast me the knowing eye to let me know the chase was on.

‘You don’t look much older yourself’.

I have learnt in my secret dealings to recognize the code beyond what is said. To hear him utter those words I seized my moment and handed him a bogus business card that has one of my Safaricom lines printed on it.

‘Call me’, I said. ‘We should have a drink.’ He didn’t miss a beat holding on to the card as he waved me along.

Driving away I spied him in my view mirror tucking my card into his shirt pocket.

Later at the office I pondered about that encounter. Intuition -true aficionados prefer gaydar- tells me he’ll call soon…

Disclaimer: If you want to pick up a policeman in Kenya a word of caution, always remember HALT:

• Homosexuality is illegal
• Act aloof. Class and position is very alive in Kenya. Acting aloof will buy you the option to plead misunderstanding when things turn nasty
• Learn the code (not penal, that one is covered above)
• Think before you speak. The risk of blackmail is real – I’ll post my personal pain on this one soon