999 say Mungiki Man might have been killed by XYZ

Some events are as predictable as me getting an erection from watching porn. I notice not many people have come out to publicly moan the murder of Mungiki spokesman Njuguna Gitau, and don’t expect me to either. That would be cynical considering I didn’t know the man nor do I knowingly associate with the Mungiki. Ever since he surfaced last year I often wondered for how long he would continue to freely front a proscribed group whose members have been accused of running extortion rackets whilst carrying out the most despicable of murders.

And yet something about the circumstances of his demise unsettles me: Perhaps because his killing has all the hallmarks of an assassination and elements of tacit endorsement by dark forces. This explanation of infighting within the sect lacks imagination and seems to me like a cop out. You’d have to be spectacularly foolish to carry out a crime of this magnitude in broad daylight, on a busy street that normally has a high presence of armed uniformed and plainclothes police and then casually saunter away.

‘Inconceivable’ doesn’t even come close.

Where is Oprah Winfrey in our hour of need?

It’s wonderful to see the number of people who are standing up to be counted as gay Kenyans fight for their rights. I applaud all of you, let me just mention some of these fearless torch-bearers who continue to question our society’s entrenched views: from cartoonist Gathara, Betty Caplan, Dr Paula Kahumbu, Prof Makau Mutua, Rasna Warah, Onyango-Obbo, Peter Mwaura, Cabral Pinto and many many others this illustrious list is growing by the day. Did I hear you say President Obama? Thank you all for choosing to stand firm on these important issues in the face of a hostile and hateful backlash.

The hour is now and the urgency has never been greater. What about you dear reader, can we count on your influence and support? Will you join our quest to end this discrimination of gay people?

Now, if only Oprah could lend her support....

Could this be a solution to Nairobi’s overheated property market?

I’ve been researching on suitable housing alternatives considering that very soon George and I plan to be living on a farm far away from the city. In recent years the price of property within the prime suburbs has escalated beyond all but the most resilient budgets. We initially considered shipping containers converted into living spaces but somewhere very deep in our minds lurks an image of being trapped inside one during an inferno and getting baked ‘oven’ style. Hardly our take on a spit roast.

So we moved on to study tents as a temporary fix but I’m not sure just how practical these structures would hold up in El-Nino type conditions. Just as I was giving up, voila we spotted this video of a tiny and functional house. We both think it’s beautiful, with all mod-cons and relatively inexpensive, now we are on the hunt for a builder.

Take a look at this plan. I think most loving couples would be cosy in one of these. On a 30 x 60 ft parcel there might even be room for a garden! Outside jacuzzi and barbecue? You bet!

I confess that Jay Shafer the designer of these masterpieces is easy on the eye too.

Heterophobia?

I overheard a conversation recently between two gay men: ‘Some of these straight Kenyan men are secretly grateful to learn that there are many gays in their midst. The reduced compe(tition) means they now stand a better chance of ever getting laid before they die.’

I was horrified to hear this wet and rather warm mind fart.

Nauseous.

Gays in love

Let me tell you about last week. George was off work with a chest infection. I found it difficult to stay focussed with my work , sick with worry. Monday and Tuesday evenings I slipped into my role as nurse, lovingly rubbbing some Vicks on his chest. Mind you just on the chest, lol. Thankfully the good doctor in Upperhill said it was only a mild infection nothing serious but to hear poor George you’d have thought he was at death’s door. So I played along dispensing large doses of Tamaku's 'medicine' - whisky, crushed ginger, honey from Chyulu hills (the honey from there is the best, I think Kenyan gay bees make it) and some lemon with hot water. Aaaaah. Even Imelda says she’s envious of how I spoil him but he’s all I’ve got so I don’t know how else to be.

Wednesday evening we arranged to meet in town after I’d finished work and then we went for a stimulating aromatherapy massage followed by a session in the steambath. It was the two of us and another youngish shy guy who accidentally let his towel slip to give us a flash of his fine nuggets but we weren’t interested. By this time we were both more than horny so we left the club which is off Loita Street and George drove us home fast via Hurlingham for some Chinese takeaway. When we got home it was after 8, we gave the bags of food to Imelda and said go ahead we’ll eat later. Then we went straight upstairs to our room. Boy, I can’t get enough of my guy and the sex is amazing too. Later I came downstairs and made us some bacon sandwiches because we didn’t feel like eating the noodles. Imelda loved them though.

On Thursday I’d promised George we’d go to the sports club for dinner after work but I completely forgot when meetings overrun. I arrived home after 9pm and there was no-one downstairs so I took my dinner from the oven and had it at the table in the kitchen alone. The house was quiet, I knew Imelda was in her annex probably doing some studying for the accountancy course she's doing. The only other light was in the stairwell from upstairs where I knew George was. When I got to the bedroom he was curled up in bed watching a dvd of Singing In the Rain which was almost coming to an end. He didn’t look too pleased and that’s when I remembered oh shit we were supposed to go out! I said I’m so sorry baby sweetie but he was having none of it, he just turned the other way and said turn the lights off when you come to bed.

I was feeling so guilty as I showered but I shouldn’t have been worried because when I slipped inside the warm bed all was forgiven. Believe me, nothing beats naughty-boy sex. The days when I lived alone and regularly came down with wanker’s cramp are well and truly in the past.