Today I received an sms from the traffic policeman with killer looks from last week. Ever since I handed him my bogus business card with my mobile number printed on it, I have used a different route to work so as to avoid seeing him. I analyze that I was wracked by the guilt of him not being interested. Also I figured that to see the object of my secret desires too often may have led me to do something reckless which could place me in jeopardy. I don’t want the complications that such a situation may bring. You can say again ‘once bitten, twice shy’, but that’s a story for another day. And yes, my moral compass hasn’t completely broken down yet.
The message in Sheng, that delicious blend of Swahili and English spoken mainly in urban Kenya was brief, just to say he was that policeman from last week.
‘Ni mimi yule karao wa juzi, Please call me so we can meet’.
I should confess to experiencing an aching twinge of excitement from the prospect of a clandestine conquest. However I checked myself and hesitated: Policemen here are in the news lately for very sinister reasons.
So I saved the message that came in at 11am and only responded to it as I left the office this evening. My wait also serves to give me leverage as I would not want to appear overly keen. Ok, desperate. I chose my words carefully, editing ruthlessly before sending, ‘I am away in Mombasa; I’ll call you next week’.
I get to retain the power of play as I plan our rendezvous to my advantage.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Love to hatred turned
Have you heard the sad story about betrayal and revenge doing the rounds here in Nairobi? The cast is a man, his wife and a young male lover; this unlikely ménage à trois coming unstuck in rather spectacular fashion. Allow me to introduce you to Carlos, his wife Jennifer and their neighbours’ 20 year old son Chris.
Carlos and Jennifer have been happily married for just over 8 years. Carlos holds a senior position in a bank while Jennifer’s work as a purser for a local airline means a weekly sojourn to faraway places sometimes for up to 3 days. Together with their 6 year old daughter Amani they live in a lush part of Nairobi, the bronze-tinted windows of their penthouse overlooking the expensive valleys of Riverside.
Upstairs from them live a middle-aged couple with their only son Chris who attends a local university. Two months ago Carlos and Jennifer spotted smiling Chris waving to them past parked cars, his Jo Malone-of-London wafting through the basement; Carlos remarked to his wife ‘look at that homo,’ damning words spat out to convey disgust, even as they smiled and waved back at their young neighbour.
They would all meet again under very different circumstance; two Tuesdays ago to be precise when Jennifer’s flight to London was cancelled due to a mechanical fault and she found herself unannounced at 2am turning the key to the front door of her home. Being a school night and not wishing to awaken young Amani, Jennifer tiptoed in and switched on their bedroom light to the shock of…how shall I put it…her husband Carlos and a young man she came to identify as Chris-from-upstairs in fragante delicto.
After the exchange of unspeakable words and removing the last of Carlos’ personal belongings from the flat 2 days later, Jennifer sat down to exact her revenge. When she had finished typing she sent this story with each unedited lurid detail to every contact in her husband’s work laptop.
Chris’ parents are paying for him to see a psychologist while Carlos has not been seen by anyone since.
Carlos and Jennifer have been happily married for just over 8 years. Carlos holds a senior position in a bank while Jennifer’s work as a purser for a local airline means a weekly sojourn to faraway places sometimes for up to 3 days. Together with their 6 year old daughter Amani they live in a lush part of Nairobi, the bronze-tinted windows of their penthouse overlooking the expensive valleys of Riverside.
Upstairs from them live a middle-aged couple with their only son Chris who attends a local university. Two months ago Carlos and Jennifer spotted smiling Chris waving to them past parked cars, his Jo Malone-of-London wafting through the basement; Carlos remarked to his wife ‘look at that homo,’ damning words spat out to convey disgust, even as they smiled and waved back at their young neighbour.
They would all meet again under very different circumstance; two Tuesdays ago to be precise when Jennifer’s flight to London was cancelled due to a mechanical fault and she found herself unannounced at 2am turning the key to the front door of her home. Being a school night and not wishing to awaken young Amani, Jennifer tiptoed in and switched on their bedroom light to the shock of…how shall I put it…her husband Carlos and a young man she came to identify as Chris-from-upstairs in fragante delicto.
After the exchange of unspeakable words and removing the last of Carlos’ personal belongings from the flat 2 days later, Jennifer sat down to exact her revenge. When she had finished typing she sent this story with each unedited lurid detail to every contact in her husband’s work laptop.
Chris’ parents are paying for him to see a psychologist while Carlos has not been seen by anyone since.
Killing fields of Kenya
It would be inexcusable to ignore the shocking report on the extra-judicial killings taking place in Kenya.
Ory Okolloh covers it comprehensively here.
Ory Okolloh covers it comprehensively here.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
The gay man's sport
Last night’s Man U-Inter match was a very dull affair. A little like my insipid love life at the moment. I watched the game at a friend’s house, through three Imara-kama-Simbas and a fine dish of Ugali with beef stew. I woke this morning to the sound of roaring lions in my head which I blame on the Pilsners; I am sticking to Tusker from now on.
Pretty-faced Ronaldo is ok but best player on and off the pitch has to be man’s-man Giggs who seems to be having a renaissance – I feel like I’m due a renaissance myself. For a gay man like me, watching footie is all about checking out who looks hot and who’s not so hot.
If I were a manager picking a fantasy team for the premier league of a very different kind of sport…hmmm...my tag-team would definitely feature Giggs. I also wouldn’t complain about a tackle from Ashley Cole and neither would I bring myself to kick Theo Walcott out of bed. I’m not a Ronaldo hater but his delicate looks don't score with me. I find him too ‘trophy-wifey’ for my liking. And if I worked in the locker-room then Lampard should definitely have an early bath every day! (I couldn't resist the puns, sorry).
You can say I have a deep and thorough understanding of the sport.
Pretty-faced Ronaldo is ok but best player on and off the pitch has to be man’s-man Giggs who seems to be having a renaissance – I feel like I’m due a renaissance myself. For a gay man like me, watching footie is all about checking out who looks hot and who’s not so hot.
If I were a manager picking a fantasy team for the premier league of a very different kind of sport…hmmm...my tag-team would definitely feature Giggs. I also wouldn’t complain about a tackle from Ashley Cole and neither would I bring myself to kick Theo Walcott out of bed. I’m not a Ronaldo hater but his delicate looks don't score with me. I find him too ‘trophy-wifey’ for my liking. And if I worked in the locker-room then Lampard should definitely have an early bath every day! (I couldn't resist the puns, sorry).
You can say I have a deep and thorough understanding of the sport.
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