Homosexuality in Kenya and Africa

The girls were busy admiring a ponytail of some man who was checking in at the Hamburg Airport. They told me, he was obviously gay, but they had this feminine fixation with the ponytail, almost sulking that he had better hair than them.

There was Anna, a tall, beautiful and happy German national who is the happiest person I have ever seen. For the five days I was in Hamburg, She was almost smiling. And beautifully so. For a moment, I thought that she was perpetually high. I was wrong. At some point I thought, someone let her into the laughing gas room. I was wrong. It is simply her nature. Wish we had more like her around here.

Anna was green with envy and complained that, it is forbidden that a man should have better hair than women.
“So gays walk around here in the open, just like that?” I asked her.
“Yeah, nobody minds them. They are accepted.” She told me, obviously irritated by rather inappropriate question.

Of course I had seen gay shops and outfits dedicated to gay stuff. I tried talking with her some more but she said that my English was rather fast for her and she later told me that she is not a fan of small talk stuff in a mail she sent me.

Two days after I got back to Nairobi, Anna did send me a rather long Facebook message where she told me the state of homosexuality in Europe and to me she was more of a tolerant person and sympathizer of the gays. It got me thinking about homosexuality in Kenya and the only way I can tell this is to share my experiences.

Two years ago, this month, the editor of Adam magazine (the highly rated but now defunct magazine) asked me to write about the state of homosexuality in Kenya. Instinctively, I almost turned down the offer, for you will ever meet a more homophobic person than me. But that was a guaranteed check beckoning and I was broke. I took the offer, more curiosity than for the money.

Either it had to do with the well publicized gay wedding or some constitutional debate that had spurred the editor to give me the difficult assignment. My role was to look for gay men, interrogate them, talk to straight ones, and get an expert here or there and patch up some 2000 words and heck, bring some enlightenment and pick up the check. Too bad that it was within the same time that Adam closed shop.

For the longest time, I had always wanted to meet a man who will confess forthright that he is only attracted to fellow men and he goes to bed with men. There had been talk that many individuals are closeted gays given the virulent homophobic nature of our society. So this was the opportunity to learn and understand homosexuals. When I told my friends, their immediate reaction, even though in jest was laughing at me that I have turned gay…

My immediate task was to get gays to talk to. I assigned myself the responsibility of visiting rumouredly gay joints in Nairobi and find out how they go about their stuff and hoped that no man will tap my ass and whisper something into my ears, because that meant one man in prison and another man dead. I took my chances and off I went to joints I had been referred to.

I went to Westlands, which is the place God will send a tome of fire first before he razes other parts in Nairobi. Westlands is the sin city of Nairobi. In Westlands, last time I checked, women are on the verge of going into clubs naked. Cars function as brothels on Thursday night and you meet some of the most outrageously beautiful women who have personalities of walls. Who behave like bitches on Thursday and behave like spoilt bitches on Friday and Saturday. The men are so immature; they shoot each other for merely laughing at someone’s fake teeth or fake reams on the car…

I hate Westlands when it comes to clubbing. Not because they sell beer at 2sok. I hate Westlands because it is so plastic you might think Kenplast have a branch there. Westie is for the pretentious in Nairobi. The fact that women from Umoja and Buru Phase five are the regulars only complicates matters over there…any way back to the topic?

I went to a club in Westlands called Havana on a Wednesday and it was business as usual. I did not see the men kissing. I did not see anything unbecoming. I only saw, plenty white men with local, slender Kenyan women who are basically prostitutes making a living off the randy, old, divorced white men with plenty of loose change to pay a dime for rapturous sex and other orgies.
I waited and concluded that may be typical of Kenyans, they had exaggerated everything. I talked to a taxi driver who was not equally informed but spewed his homophobic thoughts on me, before I went to another famed club. There, I spoke to a watchman, they are always informed, but he told me that they kicked them out altogether and now the gays have moved into residential to carry out their perverted activities. He informed of queer parties but could not disclose the location and expressed some impatience at my nosiness and I saw a menacing look that promised to kick me out and I concluded that it is never that serious and I had to take my investigations to the next level.

I called on my boy Wizzy who is better informed and exposed and most likely could know a gay somewhere in Nairobi. At the time, he had a female friend called Tabitha, a very fat mama, loud mouth and of Nigerian descent. Tabs was lesbian and had a cousin Larry who is openly gay. She later linked me with Larry, then a student at Kenyatta University. She linked me with Larry and gave me her number. At the time, I had two Larries in my phone and had problems on to save to his number…Larry Shoga, Larry Gay and what have you.

I called on Larry and he agreed to meet me. He stayed in Buru and we agreed to meet on a Sunday morning. On the Sunday, I bought a newspaper, put on my red T-Shirt, blue jeans and open shoes and strode to Buru and it was the most nervous Sunday morning of my life. I kept asking silly questions are gays fully human, are their brains fully functional? Forgive my ignorance but my homophobic self was quite infuriated that with so many beautiful women in Nairobi, beautiful asses, beautiful boobs that some men had guts to be attracted to men. What debauchery.

I set foot in the crowded Buruburu Shopping Centre. I searched for a place that was a little hidden, lest I could be mistaken that I was his latest catch, a very unflattering idea. I went to one of those better groomed bar for Kikuyus(for they mostly play Kikuyu music) and bought myself a cold coke and started reading Mutahi Ngunyi in the Nation. Then he called to go back to Tuskys and panicked. I never wanted to be seen in public with a homosexual. But I had to interview him. He spoke in a normal masculine tenor.

As I walked across the dusty estate, I had in mind a man with a ponytail or some permed hair with earrings and nose rings. But I was in for a rude shock. Larry was your ordinarily smart dressed man, well trimmed hair without anything effeminate about him. He spoke like a man and one would assume that he was dating some fat mama who was giving him trouble. I was legitimately disappointed. I mean, it can be excusable if one was born effeminately looking and talking in a soprano, but how does Larry, with his beard and masculine stature turn out gay. Life is not fair…When was the last time England won world cup?

He shook my hand firmly and we exchanged pleasantries that involved him thanking me for such an initiative and him thanking our magazine for such a courageous move. If only, he knew. He asked me to walk him to his house because he was leaving to Jo’burg at two and it was already eleven and he had not even packed. Alarms went off in my head. I decided to walk with hi, hoping that he never harbored any funny thoughts?

“So you have been gay since when?” I asked him.
“Ever since I was born. I have always been attracted to men.” You could have seen the frustration on my face.

As I walked with him, I was quietly nervous. He told me,
“Speak, you look so afraid” in a rather feminine way, or was it the voices in my head. As we wade through the well groomed estate, he stopped at a pharmacist and bought something that was wrapped in a small black polythene bag. I thought I saw condoms and my brains hit the hyperdrive gear. As we walked through the abandoned estate very ugly scenes were playing in my head as we were going deeper and deeper into the estate.

I remembered my friends laughing at me, “leo Silo unabreakiwa uvajo,”(Today Silas, your virginity will be broken). I rehearsed my failed Karate classes about self defense skills, and men, was I nervous.

We got to his house and there were three other young boys there. Two looked effeminate and one really manly. It was in a separate independent compound, well fenced with a metallic gate. I thought I could jump over.

“Huyu ni journalist leo mtajiona kwa TV,” he told them jokingly, to which they all laughed indifferently. He started packing as we talked and it was rather inappropriate. I asked him if we could conduct the interview through email, since he was in a rush. He agreed that we could conclude it over the net. I was relived when I stepped out and I literary run towards the road. For a moment I had scary images of me being raped and beaten. We did conclude it over the net and Larry did shed some light over the net that opened room to interrogate other professionals such as sociologist Ken Ouko and renowned psychologists Christopher Hart. I also met an HIV positive young gay and his story was touching but he seemed to me more like he is looking for money with his weak case. I could believe him though. He seemed a con. But you never know.

Well, homosexuality as topic sucks to most Africans. Even those in the West who are straight are never quite comfortable with homosexuality. It is both repugnant but lately it is intellectually fashionable to accept them in our midst or at least tolerate them. The West is on the verge of cutting aid to Africa if we don’t constitutionally accept gays.

Well my two cent worth into the debate, why should gays be treated any better. Are we under any obligation to know individuals sexuality. Straight people are never under obligation to state their orientation, why should gays lord it over us. Any straight person might not admit it, but we are very homophobic. Those tolerant tend to classify homosexuals as disabled and deserve some understanding. It is all in the mind. All I can say is that, homosexuals should just keep their dealings in their bedroom and spare us their shenanigans that we need to tolerate them. Sexuality is very individual, besides, we cannot be forced to be tolerant or accept them just like that.

It will take time for them to be fully embraced. But no one is interested in knowing the next man sexuality. Period.


Of Zawadi, Caroline Mutoko and women of her ilk…

Thing with women like Zawadi, Caroline Mutoko and the likes
“You will have to get laid while you are in Germany!” my colleague Bon-I was telling me as we smoked in his balcony prior to my visit to Germany.
“You are a factory of excuses; you have 10 damn days or more, do something, Omera Bwana!”
I gave my usually sheepish smile and remained quiet as Bon-I laid me bare on the basic facts of conquest. He is a pro and a teacher, therefore.  Bon-I was like the millionth man to tell me the words.
Other had told me to marry my way out of misery while in Germany. Others to leave an Obamalette so that the first black German president will be my seed. So much for Obama Snr being so adventurous. And Kenyans are known for their adventurous spirit. Otherwise America wouldn’t be having a black man at the top.

Speaking of Kenyans and their wild oats’ scattering abilities, other than Obama, notably,  Wrestler Dennis Otunga( Father to Jeniffer Hudson’s kid) is a son of a Kenyan father. Black female author Fabu Mogaka was also once married to Kenyan man. And many others. That is the spirit my male friends wanted me to carry with me to Europe. They wanted me to come back with tales about German women outside the realms of books. It was a huge responsibility and they could hear none of my often ready-made excuses once I got back home.


Good thing, none was serious and they were just being sarcastic about how some black men from Africa and especially Kenya have ended up disappearing with tourists or marrying white women and men if only to escape the misery back home. Actually any trip to Europe or anywhere else is invariably treated as an opportunity to strike gold. In fact, the reality and this fantasy cannot be reconciled easily until you get out of the country.

German Women
So much for being a man.You have to be macho, and part of that is ensuring that you get laid as often as possible. The more from other tribes, races and background, the more heroic you are. Women are not afforded the same luxury. But thankfully they are dealing with this double standards pretty good lately. The biggest disappointment about my trip is that it was a highly academic trip with an inflexible schedule for some hanky-panky (Bon-I, is that being an excuse factory, already?).

It was not a question of being inventive.
Disaster: It is a Literature trip and anyone who studies Literature, can tell you that we are all one opinionated and cautious lot.
Catastrophe: The only German woman I knew prior to my trip was Angela Merkel. So my knowledge of the German ladies and their behavior and attitude was as good as Kenyan policeman and the constitution.
Calamity: We had such a limited time to readjust our prejudices, acclimatize ourselves with the climate, get used to trading with the Euro and we were nastily encumbered with too much  movement and initial fears.
Tragedy: Time was really flying. OK, call it excuses but I learnt something else that I wish to share with readers here.


Germany women have possibly the best smiles. They are conservatively beautiful and I didn’t see that they have much time for make up or fashion. Not to say that they dress or their fashion sense is bad, per se. They just do the right thing. Something you would wish upon our Nairobian women. But some consolation: they do tights, that ugly piece of clothing like stockings that is normally done with short skirts, though in Nairobi, more and more women are comfortable getting out of the house with it only and a T-shirt. Grotesque. Very soon, they might paint their bodies and get out of the house like that.

Back to Zawadi and Women of her kind.
I have written many things about her and it is time I explained why. For the record, nothing going on here, so none should read too much. She is just a friend. Period.


Think of a woman with a Caroline Mutoko attitude and mannerisms plus Cess Mutungi’s sassy voice and quirkiness. Add a natural intelligence and spontaneity. Add an admirable forthrightness. OK, add an impatience for fools, be they men or women. Add humour on top of that. Add opinionated to it. And you have Zawadi. She is beautiful and has a beautiful personality as well.


Only that she possesses the kind of confidence that scares men away. She is very much likely to be heard making comments about men publicly as you would expect Caroline Mutoko to do. By the way I am a big admirer of Caroline Mutoko, for she is self-made and often tells-it like it is. My kind of people. Only that her bad-ass attitude does not endear her to many people. And I only hate her because she talks bad stuff about men. She is single, and no man in Kenya will try to drop a ring down her finger. Not in the short run. And the biological clock is not her side yet. Did I hear that she adopted a child?

This is the thing, confident women often scare men away. Especially men of my age, weaned on T.V and the era of equality. Sadly, enough, empowering women in all cultures simply means disempowering men. No society has come with a formula of ensuring there is balance of things. Men are no longer men, hence they hardly stand women who seem to be wielding too much power or who seem all too opinionated.

Women like Zawadi have a confidence that is a double-edged sword. It protects them from bad men, but again repels the good men away from them. As already noted, good men are either gay, wimps, or nerds. A woman always wants a man with a little bit of everything; some animal magnetism, some kindness, some gallantry, some good looks, height, humour, charm and money. Biologically, it is hardly possible to come up with a man with all these traits. The ones around with them are either players, or in Hollywood.

At best, most of us are average in many attributes. Our humour, is measured and often borrowed from Google. We have no hand in on how we turn out morphologically. Those who come out all too strong repel those of us who are timid to a greater or lesser degree.

Zawadis and the Mutokos of this world are cholerics and sanguine, meaning that they are authoritative and talkative. Authority and rhetoric are tools of the oppressors at any given level, administrative, domestic and emotional. That means these women have to learn life realities such as a life of single hood for a man, especially the present generation does not know how to handle pressure from women. It is bad enough having a good woman who whines and nags. Now having a woman who knows what she wants out of life can be something else.

Men want a woman they can at least dominate, not in the patriarchal, chauvinistic way, anymore. But at least a woman who would let him be the one wearing pants in the house, even if it means opening the wine bottle. When a woman is DIY, sort of, men run away.

So this is an open letter to successful, authoritative, academic and career women, you come out too strongly and there are no strong enough men left out here. The strong ones are already attracted to weaker women. Weaker does not mean stupid or some couch potato to be tossed around. It means those women who know what it takes to be a woman don’t believe in the highly deceptive concept that it is a man’s world. It is a woman’s world, if a woman learns to utilize her femininity. Gold diggers, blondes, femme fatales and prostitutes have already demonstrated that men think through their groins.

At a more professional level, there are women who have shown that you don’t have to go the bare knuckled way. You can mix the tough traits and your femininity to get there and at least keep a man.

Uncensored tales from Germany (Part 2)

Of Oliver Kurter, German Beer and the best city in Europe
“The Dutch have no respect for beer. Absolutely.” Said Oliver, our reliable tour guide in German.
“Next time, you see a Dutchman; slap him for their utter disrespect for beer.”
I laugh. And I laugh harder. The spontaneity of the statement kills me off. I have always hated Heineken and I really wanted someone from Europe to prove to me that Heineken is crap.

See, I once had an affair with Heineken. I had decided to cheat on Tusker and Guinness and the results were disastrous. One, it costs a dime in Nairobi. Two, it tastes crappy, yet my pal Paul told me that I am too village to have the software to decode its advertised crispness. Three, some girl, I was impressing upon observed that I had switched three beer brands in three weekends and accused me that I am just trying stuff. Ever since I settled for Tusker until I tried the German beer.

See, Germany makes the greatest beer in the universe. You don’t have to tour the world to confirm it. You just have to taste and take Oliver Kurta’s word for it. They pay the same precision they take when making electronic gadgets and cars when they are making beer. It is brewed to standards and Germans cannot settle for less. Yes, it is an experience and as a certified connoisseur, believe you me. It takes Oliver to ensure that I am only served with the best beer, which, if I ever set foot in Germany again, I would like to drink myself silly and nurse a German hangover. And possibly come up with Hangover III.

Oliver is the funniest man you can meet anywhere in the world. His one liners are off the hook. When in Berlin, for instance, I see a Hummer which I believe is the best make of a car and I point out that our prime minister rides one such, he quips,

“I am forced to think that whoever who rides a hummer should be forced to take an intelligence test.”

I take a look at our PM and Maina Kageni, the most famous hummer drivers in Nairobi and I pat him on the shoulder. Oliver believes that I am opinionated, because I believe anyone with a Yahoo account should not be taken too serious. He really hates Hamburg, because it is expensive. He is from West German but ideologically he is from the East, a socialist, so to say. And he thinks that Berlin is the greatest city in the world.

Oliver is 43, but he has the athletic body of someone in his 20s. When I will be 43, I would wish to be like Oliver. I want to be funny and full of life. I would like to be as pragmatic as him. Respect women and treat them well. You gotta admire his tolerance. He is cool. He has an unrehearsed patience, open-minded and hates wimps. Everyone does. He is honest, certainly intelligent and speaks his mind every so often. He handles all of us as professionally as possible and he is a really inspiration. He is a retrosexual man, a breed of men disappearing from amongst us, very fast. That is Oliver for you, more of him in the subsequent posts.

Berlin wall, The Ballet and the museums
Of course, anywhere in Africa, Berlin is famous for the wall that was brought down in 1989 reuniting the East and Western German. Well, I have been there and seen it. Only 100M are remaining, though, for historical purposes and it is a lackluster stretch that our tour guide says it was invincible and really a terrifying fortification prior 1989.

Later on that Saturday, we attend a ballet at a national theatre and boy! It is like nothing I have ever seen. I am dumbfounded by the stage and organs being played. The ballet is on some medieval Turkish prince or king who has problems with his wife and the harem as he struggles with pelvic pursuits before finally having a vision and settling for his wife, I couldn’t easily decipher it, but it was sheer class and one of the spectacular things my eyes have ever seen.

I saw an African one when I was treated to a dinner at Safari Park, Thika Road, but it paled in comparison. We went to Jewish Museum and Pergamon and you just have to give it to the whites and the amount attention being pay to artifacts is simply amazing. The architecture of the Jewish Museum will definitely be eye candor for all my architectural friends such as Nelson and Mogikoyo. The history recorded there is impeccable. Pergamon Museum is another one of those must visit places before you die.

At Dresden and the Mayan script that predicted the end of the world in 2012
We moved to Dresden, North East Germany, which is a very emotional city, given that it was bombed during the second world war and almost all the buildings their have been built after the WW2. We are touring the city and University of Dresden.

Dresden University is a technological university, a JKUAT of sorts, of  course with very beautiful and somewhat shy women. It is big by any standards, but the people at Dresden are a reserved lot. We hardly interacted with any students there. But their library is in its own league. So intricate, so devastatingly sophisticated that ought to like it. You can order a book and it is deliverered mechanically through some automated system

But it is their museum that touches me. Do you know the Mayan script that proclaimed the world will end in 2012? Yeah, it is stored there. It is the original script. I count myself as lucky. Remember the movie 2012; no movie has ever horrendously scared the shit out of me like it did. Those graphics, though later they criticized, were done so superbly and boy, I nearly converted. That ominous script is stored in that university.

I am able to see the original senior Martin Luther King handwritten commentary on the book of Psalms and it is a rare feat by any standards. Long live historians and art collectors.

The tour around the city is breathtaking. The architecture, which is a recreation and a restoration of how the city looked like before the bombing is emotional and moving It looks like the place where they do those Spartacus and Athenian movies. Being there, looks like traveling back in time. I for a moment thought that I was in 1353, especially when I attended an evening church service. The church’s structural design is astounding. Words can’t describe it. One just has to appreciate, the sheer creativity, thought, energy and resources often put into such initiatives to make cities such as Dresden truly remarkable.

Reunion with the Girls at Hamburg
It was the most anticipated reunion of the year. On the previous night, Zawadi did call and confirm that the girls will be waiting for us and wanted to surprise us with early X-mas gifts. It is all emotional meeting them once again and them seeing us off at the Hamburg airport. We exchange gifts. It is Christmas come earlier for my boy George when he receives a gift from his object of his desires. Lucky him.

My gift card reads…

The stars to realize your potential are within you…or so in German.

We exchanged the final contacts and here it is hope that it is the beginning of a long lasting relationship that will lead to better or worse things, but hopefully better, like I need that baby like now…Kidding. Literary.

Uncensored tales from Germany (Part 1)

German women. That should be the starting point of this much awaited post. But what shall I say of women who made the 12 of us visiting fall in love with a ridiculously expensive and cold city, Hamburg? Can I write about their beautiful, eager and curious smiles? Can I write about their raw beauty, humour or reckless smoking? Can I write about their terrifying silence at times? Can I write about them in all honesty without any sense flattery when they were more than kind to us? I hope to hack it.

Might I have found love in Germany, given my unsuccessful dealings with Kenyan women? One can only be single for too long, before you get back to business. Can I succeed? Well before I answer all these, I must dispense with a few things preceding this much anticipated trip as well as my experiences in Germany, shall I?

This trip was going to be my last engagement with the University of Nairobi, where I have been pursuing my BA in Language & Communication and Literature for the past four years. Over the time, I have had my highs and lows both a student and a ‘quasi’ student leader.

So when I saw the notice that DAAD (Germany Academic Exchange Programme) will be sponsoring a trip to Europe sometime in the year, I never hesitated. They needed three things; academic merit, be a literature student and the ability to raise the air ticket, something in the neighborhood of $ 1000. All the three were doable, or so I thought and I applied. My application went through and that is how I ended up in Germany, but not after being undone by the Murphy’s Law all through.

Murphy’s Law screwing me from behind big time
As Murphy’s Law states, if things can go wrong, they will. Actually mine have been spinning out of control on and on and on and on. Never before in my life have I ever had a long streak of bad luck like in this trip. I waited for the better turn of things but so far so good, no such lucky.

I trusted friends with money, I had hoped to be my air ticket, they screwed, nay, fucked me up big time, meaning I had to run into debts to secure the air ticket within the stipulated really short time. All my debtors suddenly switched off their phones and developed practiced amnesia. In deed debtors have generally a bad memory than creditors. The Swahili said, ‘kukopa harusi, kulipa matanga(borrowing is a wedding, paying a funeral).

Secondly, I foolishly lost my beloved laptop alongside the best collection of music ever collected by any individual in an incident tied to this trip. Thirdly on the day of traveling, I lose my traveling bag and was forced to travel with a cheap canvas bag that kept coming off after every arrival. Airport guys ought to learn how to handle luggage. Period. It made the trip, awfully burdensome.

Fourth, while in Germany, at Hamburg to be precise I lost my phone. A nine month old Ideos that had become an indispensable part of me and a source of livelihood many a time. Here is the thing, for a drunkard like me who drinks in insecure drinking dens in slums in the Eastlands where drinks gets spiked and losing phone part of the weekly drinking experience, losing a phone in a country like Germany is an act of unforgivable foolishness. So clearly, lady luck had taken a leave when I applied for the trip hence my stream of bad luck.

Fifth, my boy Plato couldn’t travel with me because of professional commitments, meaning that I traveled with a group that I am largely unfamiliar with, given that I am already out of campus. I needed my boy Plato or Bon-I so that we could teach the Germany girls a couple things about Kenya men

Finally, I arrived in Nairobi to discover an Ideos now goes for 9K, how ridiculous can it get. Now I have to make do with a makeshift Nokia 1110.

But enough of complaints, brighter side now…

Dubai at Night
Here is the thing, if you have a woman you have hots on and she just can’t bring it on, take an overnight flight to Dubai and have a skyline view of Dubai at night, if she won’t give it to you then, drop her. Period. The view is exhilarating. Breathtaking. Erotic. Sexy. It can turn one on.

I woke at around 4.30am and apparently we were on our way into Dubai. The yellow street lights connecting the huge bustling Metropolis made it look like an endless night club where an orgy is taking place. I thought that we would be in Dubai in 20 minutes but it was to be another long one hour of experiencing a very voyeuristic sight that almost gave me a hard on, or did it?

Dubai airport is something else. It is infinitely bigger than JKIA. It will pale in comparison and to make it simple for those who have never been there; it is like 50 Nakumatt Westgate combined. It is one big shopping mall with numerous goods, but you will need money, plenty of it. If you arrive with your girlfriend here, feign sickness or food poisoning and remain glued in the waiting bay. She will run you broke, take my word for it. But some good designer perfumes and colognes like that going on there like that.

At Hamburg, the girls, the university and the city
We arrive at Hamburg Airport to a chilly, nightly and sickly weather. The skyline view of the rich wintry clouds is amazing. A sight to behold. We are checked in with an old immigration officer who humors us and at the first impression dispels the myth that Germans are one unsmiling lot. It is quicker than it happens at JKIA and we pick our luggage and received by two sweet girls, Julia and Christine. They are kind and understanding. They speak impeccable English and our second worst fear that Germans hardly speak any English, is addressed. It was easier for them to spot us, given we were the only group of Africans who had arrived in a bunch and looked overwhelmed to be in a foreign country, most certainly in Germany.

They tell us to wait for 30 minutes before our tour guide could arrive. The third assumption that the Germans are meticulous with time is dispelled. We ease into some into some easy conversation and the German girls, I think three or four of them are genuinely eager and excited to have us around. Our tour guide arrived in good time to humour us into the Hamburg city and he kept us laughing throughout the trip, and I will miss him.

It looks like it is gonna be an eventful trip from the get-go.. And eventful it was.

That very evening, without due consideration to the jetlag, we are taken on a tour to Hamburg with a very funny tour guide who took us through a physical and historical journey of the famed city. It is wonderful, but it feels like Limuru at 5 am. We aren’t exactly enjoying since our feet are numbing already and out teeth engaged in an orgy, characteristic of childhood days when we used to play in the rain, you remember that involuntary shivering?

The mention of St Pauli, Hamburg’s answer to our Koinange excites the men in the group, but for the two or three saved. The women are excited too, but we have our lady professor and some are too prudish. So we can only be shown the abandoned streets and we don’t get the chance to see it in action. I prompted some lady later on to take me to one of those sex kinos or St Pauli but she vehemently declined without giving any room to convince her otherwise. Poor Silas.

The following days we were to attend classes and interact with the ladies some more. Other than Christine and Julia, we get to meet other lovely girls. There is Verina, Jane, Anika, Svenia, Janeke, Maria, Anna alongside others whom I can’t get the names in this lonely night as I type all these.

These girls are more than lovely. Warm and beautiful. The type you can marry. The type you can present to your mother comfortably. Unlike skinny girls from the West, they meet the all the basic demands of any African man. Think a Luhyia lady in her element and there most outstanding physical feature. They are tall, well-fed, which is a good sign that you will never starve. They are practical, intelligent and well bred. My type of women. Can I have one?

My friend George, actually was hit by thunderbolt (remember the Godfather when Michael was in Sicily). One of the girls has a Tanzanian mother and a German father and as already noted in a previous blog, any kid by a white father and a black mother is an absolute piece of art. Take my word for it. I have seen seven such, fortunately done by German men and you gotta like the kids. I am yet to witness one by a black man and white German girl, but give me 12 months and I will offer give photographic evidence right here…

George is so taken by the girl that he literary drools. Call it love at first sight. Serendipity on his part. I swear he can give anything in the world to have her. Tough luck good old George. I have been there, done it, come for advice ol’ George.

Our days in Hamburg are numbered and come Friday, a lady called Zawadi (don’t ask me her German name, she sought anonymity) hosts us for dinner at her flat. A decently furnished house with enough electronics as much as a college girl can afford.

Now Zawadi is something else. A different girl. I think I need another 1200-worded blog for her. She has the morals and attitude of Caroline Mutoko, when she is not being bitchy on national radio and a Cess Mutungi’s voice and forthrightness. She is 24, speaks her mind and swears every time she is upset, which just happens every time. So the F-word and the B-word are part of her daily lexicon.

Zawadi is instantly likable because of her quirkiness and given she is funny to be with, no end. You don’t know what she is going to say next and you have to be extremely cautious when dealing with her. She doesn’t suffer fools, because she is not a fool and neither are all German girls. So if you want a piece of them, you have to clean your act. They know the polygamous habits of African men, and Zawadi warns me upfront. I am in for one tough ride.

Zawadi, like her name is a gift to all of us. She is a generous hosts and she goes out of her way to ensure that we are all comfortable as much as possible. The Kenyan ladies are in the kitchen preparing some Kenyan delicacy, Ugali and chicken stew which they all enjoy.

Our tour guide, Oliver who likes beer so much ensures that there is plenty of quality German beer flowing in the house. They savor the dish and acknowledge it is great. We later join freshmen for some nondescript party at Hamburg University, kinda off a rehearsal for the Halloween party coming on a few days. And the sound system reminds me of the bad things we did with student parties at my helm as the president of Main Campus at UoN. It is just befitting as they all seem to be enjoying big time. We have to cut the night short given the following day we will be on our way to Berlin and further East into Dresden City and Czech Republic.

But I really miss my cigarette and it is really troubling me. I have been pretending a lot with the group, but my nascent addiction ought to be nursed. I agree with Zawadi that we can get the rest to the hotel and get back to town, to grab a cigarette, which she readily agreed alongside Verina and Svenia. We got back to the hostel and as others go to sleep, we sneak back to the Railway station to get cigarettes alongside my eccentric pal Austin, a Luo with Kikuyu blood.

We have some brief informal chat about stuff and it really helps that we get along just fine, given that Zawadi is tough talking and speaks her mind. All men will normally freak at a woman who speaks her mind. Ask Caroline Mutoko.

To be continued, throughout this week. It is a three part series to make up for the fortnight…