There are two topics that I generally don’t delve into: abortion and gays.

It’s not that I don’t have a stand on these matters. It’s just that they ignite such passion, the kind of passion that I can’t handle. My own voice on both topics is so still and quiet that it doesn’t seem worth sharing, especially with all the yammering.

But today I was hovering here and here, and I was moved, deeply. As Paula says, when good people stay silent, we are letting the bad people do horrible things. We’re letting them win.

First, I salute Paula for having such a clear stand and having the courage to speak. She’s got a great voice too. She’d be good on radio, seriously.

While I was still deciding how to frame this post, I saw this, and I was shaken, but for different reasons. I have to admit that Marcus and Caroline are right. The views on the show do represent the views of the average Kenyan. And these shows are all about popularity, so they say what people want to hear.

But then again, when you have such immense influence over people, isn’t it better to use that influence responsibly, positively? Instead of just going with the mobs, wouldn’t it be better to point them in the right direction, however subtly?

I admit that a few weeks ago, I was on the wrong side of this debate. I have never advocated gay-bashing, but I was among the people who thought homosexuality was somehow unnatural, and I brushed off the gay penguins story as fabrication. I got hit on by two gay friends and have avoided them both to date. It simply did not make sense to me that organisms which are created as male and female would want to alter that. I didn’t think that God would outlaw something he had created, and so I didn’t believe that people could be born gay.

But then again, a few weeks ago, I was also sceptical about Islam, Eastern Mysticism, Yoga, meditation, accupuncture, meditation, ayur veda, and hindu gods drinking milk.

Well, actually, that last one, I still have my doubts even though I actually saw it happen.

I’m going through a renewal of sorts, a rebirth if you will, a re-memberance. And the experience is melting away a lot of my prejudices. So now, I can honestly say that gay people are ok. As Paula so eloquently puts it, they’re not bothering anybody. What they do in the privacy of their bedrooms is nobody’s business but theirs. And after all, homosexuality is about so much more than sex.

Charles and Daniel got married. They openly and legally expressed their love for one another. In a world where come-we-stay is the norm and divorce is like pizza or pie, it’s admirable that a couple – any couple, chooses to affirm their commitment, to take the ‘forever’ step, to say ‘till death do us part’. We shouldn’t hate them for that, we should applaud them. If we can accept polygamy, why do we have such a problem with gays?

I used to say if God wanted gays, he would not have created us male and female. But by the same token, if he wanted us to fly, would he not have given us wings? Or gills to swim, or wheels to ride, or blades for fingers to hunt, or flames for breath, or for that matter, cotton and silk to wear?

If we use that argument, we should all be walking nude and eating raw coffee berries. But we don’t. We made choices to use our intellect, to build planes, subs, shoes, microwave ovens, java, the London Fashion week. So the ‘as God intended’ argument falls flat right there.

What argument is left? We have absolutely no reason to bother people, or to interefere with how they live their lives, as long as they don’t hurt anyone. And honestly speaking, they’re not hurting or affecting anyone.

Sanctioning gay-bashing or corrective rape *shudder* is just as bad as pulling a Kunta Kinte. The people with power just should not do it. Neither should we.

Give the gays a break, they’re happy. We should all be so happy.

And yes, I would now attend a gay rights rally, Proudly Kenyan and Proudly CB.

My name is Crystal, and I approve this message.

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I wrote this a while back, then did the rounds to see if they could recognise themselves. Some did, some didn’t, some wouldn’t try, others didn’t want to.

So here it is again, a tribute to the men I care about. There are others of course, but this lot here, they’re my number one, all fifteen of them. Cheers gentlemen, y’all rock.

Ps: I sorta-kinda-may-have-maybe accidentally on purpose forgotten to show this to a few of you, so if any of the K’s sound familiar … and if you feel the urge to take a bow … ruksa, mnajijua *wink-wink-nudge-nudge*

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Today I was called, only partly in jest, a Little Playette. LP for short. The label, pun intended, was music to my ears, and tickled me no end. See, I am one of those girls who is always considered … well … nice. And for the most part, I am. Granted I have … appetites, but take it from me; nice girls eat a lot more than they let on.

I’m still wondering about my many men though. It’s not that I’m, you know, slack. It’s just that I have three female friends. Just three. I trust them with my life. All other pals are guys. So when I talk about them one can be forgiven for thinking I’m, you know, greedy.

To make matters worse. I’m rather boy-crazy, and have been known to fall for just about every boy I meet. Just about. The range of features that grab me are broad, deep and wide. But not long. Never long.

I like geeks. And artists. And poets. And dancers. And boys with glasses. And baseball caps. And jeans. You’re shoe-in if you have all three.

I like kind guys. And nice guys. And cuddly guys. You know the type – not so chiselled that I’m embarrassed to stand beside them at the pool, but with nice broad shoulders and just a liiittle bit of baby fat. Like a big soft teddy bear.

So, my men. Let’s see … I shall not mention names because, you know, I can be sued. So I shall simply call them K, for Kasweetie [no pun intended] and label them by numbers, in no particular order.

There is K1, the original Kasweetie, my six foot baby brother, who is now far from being a ka-anything, but will always be a child in my eyes. In much of what I do, I strive to protect and care for him. Except when he’s scaring off nasty cat-calling meanies, then he’s my hero.

K2, my favourite sailor, who is my tall vanilla latte. I love that he’s equal parts deep and playful; that I can talk to him about anything; that when I think out loud, he’s sometimes surprised but never embarrassed; and that so far, nothing I say upsets him. He’s a gentleman and a friend, a cheeky playmate, a solid tower, a tender creature, but also a lethal weapon. He writes beautifully, it’s what first brought us together. He’s by far my favourite author, and I SO have bragging rights as his biggest fan. Plus he’s got glasses, a baseball cap, and really pretty hair.

K3 is just as tall, but he’s more like black java: dark, sharp and sweet. He’s got the glasses down, and is a little rougher around the edges, but he’s a nice kind of rough, the kind you put on a ring and wear on your finger, the kind that cuts through steel.

I can tell him just about anything, and generally do, though sometimes I worry that I tell him too much. Is there such a thing as TMI? And more to the point, does it ever get old?

He’s gorgeous, stylish, and terribly cuddly. He’s also very much taken by a lovely little lady named … you thought I was going to say her name, didn’t you? *grin*

What I like about him is his heart. He’s strong and intense and never sugarcoats. He always says exactly what’s on his mind, and every girl needs a friend like that. With this dark chocolate, I always know where I stand, and I rather like my standing place.

K4 is more of a caramel flavour, and is just a little taller than me. He’s soft, and I like soft. A poet, a spinner, a player in some senses, since life for him is a lovely endless game. He writes as well, with beauty, wit and humour. A little moody, and this one doesn’t deny it like the others do. A lover of all things fast and fun. I like that he’s charming and always makes me laugh. I know he’s a flirt, and doesn’t mean half of what he says, but he still makes me blush. And he gives a whole new meaning to the word webcam.

K5 is a slightly more recent acquisition. And he’d be rather mad to be called an acqusition. I would classify him as light tea, soft, sweet, and mildly stimulating. He’s sometimes passionate, sometimes laid back, and sometimes downright cold. Trouble is it’s hard to know which. I like his drive and his mind, and when he’s in the right mood, he’s a barrel of fun. With glasses.

K6 I have a special soft spot for. Almost the same kind as K1, a pseudo-brotherly affection. He lets me be myself, he advises without judging, he accepts what he – many times – cannot understand. AND he’s a geek, glasses and all. He’s interesting because he’s full of surprises, and because we share matters of faith. He has the most amazing smile, and will go retch the second he reads this. I think need to teach him how to take a compliment.

K7 is perfect, in so many different ways. A true friend, devoted husband, amazing father, acute business mind. I’m very glad I met this one. We can talk money and land and babies in the same breath as boys and black forest cake. Awesome, truly awesome. Pretty too, especially in the denim jacket and baseball cap. All women in his life are truly blessed, from his lovely wife to his child and mother.

K8 is a study. The draw was instant and intermittent. He is smart with words, has a killer instinct, and amazing business acumen. Yet he is grounded, well aware of his failures and his strengths. Warm and sincere, yet frightfully flirty, he is a true work of art. I’m still getting to know this one, but he looks promising. And such a lovely nickname!

K9 is scary. Fun, but scary. He’s somewhat dark, in more ways than one; lovely height too, and glasses. Like K5 he is moody – almost broody. Like K5, he won’t admit it. And like K5, I never know what to expect from him. So each conversation is tentative, at first. If it’s a dark day, I say my hellos and scurry off for shelter, but if the day is sunshiny, then let the dogs out, it’s time to play. For obvious reasons, I prefer sunshiny days. But that’s just me. Also, he hates to be analysed. Oops!

K10 is probably the softest one of all. He’s sweet, almost shy, and he’s got the cuddliness and the glasses thing going. He’s warm, infinitely patient, and just a little bit of cheeky. Well, maybe more than a little. I so like it. He’s a really good listener, and a pretty good talker. Gentle, caring, well-spoken, and well, spoken-for, this one is a true gem to the one girl that found him.

K10.5 looks rather promising as well. He’s fun, warm, engaging, zen-ish and a family man, which is always a plus for me. I like nice guys. More on him as he develops.

K12 – since K10.5 is sure to have a full number soon – is a six-footer. Glasses, and looks very, very neat. Almost frightfully so. Loud, but in a good way, though I admit it took some getting used to. Opinionated, which is a trait I admire. Intelligent, loyal, and very, very vocal. A little childlike in some aspects, so he brings out a strong protective instinct in me. Kind of my big little brother. And he is so cute when he’s asleep, in a totally non-nginginary kind of way.

K13 should probably not be this far down since I’ve known him the longest. No hard feelings hun. He’s got amazing hair, and glasses – once upon a street-fight. I’m still trying to convince him that they’re cool enough to get back, but his girl likes him better without them.

What I like about him is that he’s real. He is one person who always, always, always tells it like it is, even though he sometimes has a ‘didn’t-ask-didn’t-tell’ policy. Plus he’s probably the only person I would allow to give me a ngoto. He’s like my big brother, and I adore him. I like that I can tell him anything, but lately I give him his space coz there’s a new woman in his life. Luckily for me, she seems pretty cool, so I haven’t quite lost him. Yay!

K14 … actually this is the one I’ve known longest. He knew me when I was chubby and shapeless in secondary school, and was very nearly my first. He’s not as tall as some, but he’s taller than others. He’s an endless bundle of energy, and the best thing is that it’s all organic. You see him at a club, then see his bill, you’ll be forgiven for thinking 2 and 2 is negative 3.5. He’s high on life, which is a pretty cool thing. Sometimes moody, sometimes annoying, sometimes downright arrogant, I still love this boy to bits. I haven’t seen him at it, surprisingly, but I feel he makes a great daddy to his pretty little girl.

K15 … There was a K15. Really. He’s kind of like a certain poem that K2 really likes. It goes something like:

As I was walking up the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today…
I wish, I wish he’d go away.

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Last week I hung out with some of my favourite people. I tried all flavours of Novida [Orange is annoying, apple is sweeet!! But I still say Malta Guiness rules], watched some hecklers in action [how I adore my friends!] … and got worms. Yes, worms.

Apparently, while I was busy walking around with my Diski Malaya, it picked up a few … things that it should not have. So now each time I plug it into my laptop, it starts neighing at me. I’ve had to delete some really tasty files just to get the noise to stop. And I have heard that Trojans and Worms cannot be deleted without formatting. Hmm…

Three posts later, I’m still spin-cycling Maino. Yay!! I found out at the salon that Princess likes it too. Apparently … well ok, here’s what happened. Princess closed school for Idd, so she went to get her hair done. Usually we go tandem, but I had work, so I went solo the next day.

My Maino song played on radio and I started singing along. Then Rashidi, our hairdresser, observed that Princess likes the song too, and that she dances each time it plays – which makes it hard to work on her hair. It gets lots of airplay here. Hehehe.

Note that it’s not my influence, I picked the song at work while she picked it at home, so I didn’t even know she’d heard of it. I guess we just have similar tastes. Of course Rashidi asked me what the song was about. I don’t know the words off-head, and I couldn’t think how to transdense [?] them, so I just said ‘Sijui, mambo ya ghetto-ghetto. Alikuwa jela akatoka jela, sasa anajibanza’.

A few mornings back I was singing it in the shower and I heard Princess singing along from outside said shower. Yeah, we both sing in the shower. It’s genetic apparently *grin* Mind you we don’t know the words, so what was heard was Nanananana Nanananana Woouu-oo-oo!

Anyway, back to my worms. I’m now running a full scan on my machine and hoping I didn’t spread an e-pidemic. On the upside, during the several hours it will take to clean e-house, I can sit here guilt-free, shut my eyes, bop my head and do nothing but listen. Yay!

Nananana Nananana Woouu-oo-oo!

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