I have just discovered Nairobi Nights

The blog by a harlot on the streets of Nairobi who makes no apologies or begs for pity for peddling her goodies and lying, cheating, stealing and peeing her way through the hassles of such a lifestyle. I actually admire her for being blunt and honest about her life. It does take a lot of married men to keep her in business, and they don’t get stigmatised for it at all. That said, her attempts to sound clever and witty make her come off as a poor man’s Belle Du Jour.

I was hooked from her first blog post.

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Those boots!

How I lust after them. I know they probably cost thousands and thousands of dollars and in this time of recession I cannot afford to even dream of them, but I cannot look away. And Jada Pinkett has the kind of body I hope I will have after 2 children.

Jada and those red suede ankle boots

Career frustration

I am stuck. I’ve come to the point in my life where I’m evaluating everything I’ve done so far and I’m not proud of my career trajectory. I have never held a position of responsibility over staff, despite my 5 years in the working industry. I think I’m still in the entry-level position despite changing employers and job titles thrice. My current employer is by far the worst.. they pay very well but I have completely unpredictable hours and at times get no assignments for a whole week. I have also tried to get assigned to movies and such, only to completely screw up and miss the date altogether. Might I be depressed? I’ve slept until 1500 hours, and my friends were alarmed. It had never occurred to me until they spoke up this weekend.

Tell men that women also have a libido

No one mentions anything to do with the needs of women during pre-marital counselling. Then you find, years after being married, that the women are sexually starved by thir own husbands who think that their low libido is matched by their wives. Woe unto you if you are married to a man much older than you, coz then you really aren’t going to get any.

Someone needs to change pre-marital counselling strategies, and fast!

Single woman in the Diaspora

I decided to break bout of my usual comfort zone and deliberately and exclusively date Kenyan men. I discussed this resolution with a few of my friends and we had a long argument over whether this was racist/elitist of me, but I countered by stating that as long as they can prove their Kenyan roots, I would not care about their colour or tribe.  I did stand my ground on Muslims; I will not convert from Christianity, and neither will I have my children raised in a faith that so values death and violence over hope and realising dreams. Funny thing is that the greatest discouragement came from my fellow Kenyan women, all of whom have had very negative experiences of dating or being married to our ‘brothers’ from back home. Not even the dire warnings could break my resolve; I’d just come from a relationship with a non-Kenyan that came a cropper specifically because I was a black African. I reasoned that no one could possibly go lower than that.

So I started responding to this guy that had been showing interest in me and calling at odd times.  I was still living alone, and one day, while doing my laundry, I called him and we chatted for a while. Did I mention that this guy was an important church leader? I used to attend the church every so often and that’s how we got in contact. This chap, let’s call him Kevin, knew my ex, and he also knew about my struggle with the break-up. He’d call every few days to check on how I was doing and whether I’d recovered, and see if I wanted to hang out. I, in turn, invited him to tag along to any festivals that I went to. I made sure that I invited his friends as well because I didn’t want it to seem like a date.  Kevin had an irrepressible and irresponsible sense of humour, and he’d rag on me about my lack of regular sex. I don’t think he appreciated my response that the only reason he was getting it regularly was because he paid for it. This went on for 4 months, and my initial distrust of Kevin changed into fond apathy.

Kevin did come over to visit me Sunday evenings, and this last Sunday was not unusual. We talked about politics, trips back to Kenya and our mothers. He seemed very uptight about everything, and was horrified when I suggested that his parents have sex often and thoroughly enjoy themselves every time. This idea seems to give him the chills; he chews his nails, paces back and forth and swears that I am the naughtiest, most perverted person he’s ever met. This leads to a friendly bout of arm wrestling which I lose, but then we are talking a 5’3″ against a 6’5″ male who goes to the gymnasium thrice a week.

In the next 2 minutes, things happen in a blur. I’m not sure when or why we started kissing. We did, fast and furiously, with laboured breaths and barely any breaks. I tried to play with his hair and was reminded rudely that I could not run my fingers through his short kinky hair which had untidy knots as he was trying to grow dreadlocks. We landed very quickly on my black leather couches and he was on me, kissing everywhere, but clumsily and almost choking me with his tongue!

‘Has this man never kissed anyone else? Does he not know how to? This isn’t even pleasurable!’ I thought to myself.  However, having not kissed anyone for over a year, I was rather in the mood for a sloppy kiss.  He reached for his belt and pulled it off, and the next thing I knew, I had jizz on my black trousers!

“What? What the hell? Kevin, did you just relieve yourself on my clothes?”

“Ummm… yeah. Sorry!” he said with a sheepish grin, though it looked a bit smug to me.

“Why would you do something so stupid? It’s crass, crude and rude! I don’t want your jizz on my clothes you twat!” I said angrily.

“Well, I can’t have full sex with you because I have a girlfriend and she might not understand.” He said, hastily pulling his clothes back on.

That was it! I stood up, with the sperm stain running down my left trouser leg, opened that door and told him to get his mother fucking arse out of my apartment.

A girlfriend he’d never mentioned in the half year that I’d known him. A predilection for premature ejaculation, no matter how he tried to cover it up by invoking this girlfriend. Kenyan men, this does not bode well for you.

Man admits having sex with 1,000 cars

A man who claims to have had sex with 1,000 cars has defended his “romantic” feelings towards vehicles.

Edward Smith, who lives with his current “girlfriend” – a white Volkswagen Beetle named Vanilla, insisted that he was not “sick” and had no desire to change his ways.

“I appreciate beauty and I go a little bit beyond appreciating the beauty of a car only to the point of what I feel is an expression of love,” he said.

“Maybe I’m a little bit off the wall but when I see movies like Herbie and Knight Rider, where cars become loveable, huggable characters it’s just wonderful.

“I’m a romantic. I write poetry about cars, I sing to them and talk to them just like a girlfriend. I know what’s in my heart and I have no desire to change.”

He added: “I’m not sick and I don’t want to hurt anyone, cars are just my preference.”

Mr Smith, 57, first had sex with a car at the age of 15, and claims he has never been attracted to women or men.

But his wandering eye has spread beyond cars to other vehicles. He says that his most intense sexual experience was “making love” to the helicopter from 1980s TV hit Airwolf.

As well as Vanilla, he regularly spends time with his other vehicles – a 1973 Opal GT, named Cinnamon, and 1993 Ford Ranger Splash, named Ginger.

Before Vanilla, he had a five-year relationship with Victoria, a 1969 VW Beetle he bought from a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

But he confesses that many of the cars he has had sex with have belonged to strangers or car showrooms.

His last relationship with a woman was 12 years ago – and he could not bring himself to consummate it, although he did have sex with girls in his younger days.

Mr Smith, from Washington state in the US, kept quiet about his secret fetish for years, but agreed to be interviewed as part of a channel Five documentary into “mechaphilia”. He is shown meeting other enthusiasts at a rally in California

Talking about how his unusual passion developed, Mr Smith said: “It’s something that grew as a part of me when I was a kid and I could not shake it.

“I just loved cute cars right from the beginning, but over the years it got stronger once I got into my teenage years and was my first having sexual urges.

“When I turned 13 and the famous Corvette Stingray came about, that car was pure sex and just an incredible machine. I wanted it.

“I didn’t fully understand it myself except that I know I’m not hurting anyone and I do not intend to.”

He added: “There are moments way out in the middle of nowhere when I see a little car parked and I swear it needs loving.

“There have been certain cars that attracted me and I would wait until night time, creep up to them and just hug and kiss them.

“As far as women go, they never really interested me much. And I’m not gay.”

Mr Smith is now part of a global community of more than 500 “car lovers” brought together by internet forums.

The Daily Telegraph

Of place names and belonging

I’m still trying to wrap my head around the seemingly controversial decision surrounding the naming of many places in Rift Valley after the place origins of the small scale holders that bought their land there. The places in question include Kiambaa, Rironi, Witeithie, Ng’arua and other such farms in western Rift Valley province. As soon as the Kalenjin finished their pogroms directed mainly at the Gikuyu and Kisii peasants, the first thing they did was to rename the farms and the schools and after themselves, particulary the bloodthirsty Kimnyingeiage set that was at the centre of the mayhem, rape, and mass murder supposedly while looking for their lost cattle or fighting for democracy, depending on who you choose to believe. A lot of people articulate the idea that it was absurd for the land-holding companies to name places deep in Kalenjin host community blatantly Kikuyu names. The writer of this article makes it look like an idea of stupendous stupidity which came to bite people in the back because the ‘hosts’ felt that people were not trying to integrate with the locals by maintaining these links to their foreign land. It is almost as if Mr Habel Nyamu has never seen or heard of that concept anywhere else on earth. Well, Mr Nyamu, let me shine some light on place names that clearly are not native in their current places, but imports from wherever the immigrants came. And the examples will be global.

• Let us begin with the many Chinatowns and Koreatowns in major metropolitan cities in Europe, South America and North America.
• Nova Scotia, a province in Canada. (Want to guess where the main immigrant group came from)?
• British Columbia, Canada. Colombia, South America. Common factor, the explorer Colombus, certainly not a native American
• There’s a new Mexico in the United States
• Edmonton is a place in London UK, Alberta Canada, Queensland Australia and Kentucky USA
• Maidstone is a place in Saskatchewan Canada and in Scotland too
• Calgary in Scotland and Alberta Canada
• New York is named after York UK, and there’s a York in Ontario Canada
• London UK and London Ontario Canada
• New Amsterdam, New Hampshire, New Glasgow, New Cambridge , Dunedin NZ (after Edinburg, Scotland)
• Lake Victoria. I hear it’s supposed to be Nam Lolwe in Kenya, but what of the Ugandans and the Brurundians? Tanzanians must also have an opinion!
• Lake Turkana was known for the longest time as Lake Rudolf. Murang’a was known as Fort Hall.
• South Africa. Definitely not a local name. I could go onto Johannesburg, Pretoria, Sun City, but you get the pattern, I hope.
• Victoria Falls on the Zambezi River.
• New England in the USA

People do this to bring the familiiar concepts of home and to make themselves feel part and parcel of the new place that they’ve settled.  As for the integration question, this is very much like the South African Xenophobia issue; no matter how hard you try, no matter how well you speak the language and dress like a local and go to the same church and the same schools, you will never be accepted as one of them. Woe betide you if you should dare be successful or stand up for election as a leader! Then you’ll be hounded to death, your homes burnt and your humanity degraded.  Then the instigators and the financiers will get themselves into the government and get paid $12,000 plus allowances  for doing absolutely nothing other than being called Mheshimiwa, and 5 years down the road, lather, rinse and repeat.

 

Kenyan gullibility beggars belief.

Your lover is not alone.

Thank God for your kenyan playgrounds

 I thought Kenyan playgrounds were singularity dangerous to children until I saw the following pictures. You got to admit that even if you are mad, you’d still be shocked by these contraptions meant to entertain children. Kinda makes you miss the good old days of the fertiliser gunia, the sharp barbed wire, the football made of polythene paper, the skipping rope made of makonge that left burn marks on your hand if it was suddenly yanked away, the banana leaf barbies, etc. Just how much counselling do the children have to receive after living with these ‘playthings’?

Click here to see the rest of this madness.