Behind the sins of Kenya's closet gays

Some months ago, a friend who resides in Cape Town called me a lesbian. She did not give me that honourable title because I do the things which lesbians do – which I do not know – but because I sleep late and wake up early and I do not buy pirated DVDs.

Sleeping late and waking up early or sleeping for a short time is nothing new to Kenyans. Bearing in mind the kind of situations GoK mandarins and other venal satraps collude to put us in, sleeping only adds to our nightmares, and we sleep for a few hours for fear that we may not wake up.

Any hard ground

Is it convoluted? Let’s break it down. By the time you are laying yourself down to sleep, you are supposed to have solved most of the problems that you faced when you woke up, but in Kenya, whenever you are retiring to bed, or any hard ground, you will be burdened with more problems than you woke up with.

Because of the plethora of problems that weigh you down when you are going to bed, sleeping soundly, or even silently becomes difficult.

You spend a lot of time thinking and worrying about your problems so much so that by the time you manage to fall asleep, it is time to wake up – and face new and bigger problems placed before you courtesy of poor governance.

Are we on the same bed now? I trust so.

My friend from Cape Town decided I am a lesbian because I told some Nairobi Boy who was trying to interest me in pirated DVDs that I have so many things to watch that I do not even get time to watch the L-Word series or the Ellen DeGeneres talk show which airs on weekdays at 7pm with reruns at 1am and 7am.

Taking into account the sleeping difficulties I have explained, the 1am show suits me — and by the time I struggle and finally get some sleep, it is time to wake up since I have to beat the traffic jam — caused by pedestrians who run across the highway whenever they see oncoming vehicles, poorly-maintained roads, ill-trained drivers, poorly-paid traffic police, and of course an influx of white Toyotas which run out of fuel or break down anywhere.

When I was called a lesbian by my friend who resides in Cape Town, I remembered something that happened during the days when there still was the Celtel-sponsored Festival of Golf tournament.

I was with very many sports journalists including Charles Nyende and photographer Chris Omollo at the 19th Hole of a Nairobi golf club where we were awaiting the golfers to finish with their swings and join us for the presentation ceremony.

With us also was a daughter of some former minister from western Kenya who lost in the last General Election.

Even though she was working in a public relations firm that was handling the event, she was very combative, like many a Nairobi Gal who thinks every man is out to hit on them – whatever that is.

No matter how polite we tried to be, it was almost impossible to get in a word edgewise.

But when the exceptionally polite Charles Nyende managed to put in a few words and spoke for the rest of us by asking why she was combative, she spew forth numerous invectives which were punctuated by the remark that she does not fancy men or their company because she is a lesbian.