Wednesday, 22 August 2012

Father Frank by Paul Burke


The book begins with the protagonist Francis Dempsey who doesn’t believe in God and spends most of the time in church during mass just day dreaming. His father who is a devout catholic nudges him to listen to the whole church service. He doesn’t understand how the tiny round wafer is possibly the body of Christ and the bottle of Mosaic Cyprus Sherry his blood. And if it were why people would want to drink it? He finds the term “good Friday” a misnomer especially since they ban all forms of pleasure during Easter. He looks at the picture of Christ and wonders how we know he looks like that yet none of the gospels contain a reference of exactly what he looked like. He reckons the praises that are heaped on Jesus sound like groveling and sycophancy. 
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He finds kneeling beside a wardrobe telling a strange man your innermost secrets strange. He has problems with wrapping his head around the notion of papal infallibility. Anyone who is curious about the catholic church will find this book useful and informative. Having gone to a catholic high school myself I was able to understand some of the things we did in church back then. He questions everything about the church but doesn’t dare saying it openly, if anything he feels guilty for entertaining such thoughts. He there is a higher power but admits he has trouble believing some things he is taught in church. He argues that the Catholic Church should have stuck to using Latin in during mass as it made it more spiritual; it put the ‘Roman’ back into Roman catholic. He thinks that the Catholic Church started declining when they started doing mass in English and because some meaning got lost in translation some of the things started to sound meaningless to the faithful..

He failed in high school and gets a D, E and O in that order in the 3 subjects that he did. He finds this funny especially since DEO means “God” in Latin and he doesn’t believe in him. After high school he works as a Dj and enjoys it immensely although it is not seen as a real job in his family. He knows sooner or later he has to get a “real job”. As the plot develops, through a series of very interesting events he gets a chance to go study theology in Oxford University. His date with Mandy Wheeler, the–most-beautiful-girl-in-north-west-London, is disastrous and he decides that if he can’t find Mandy attractive then he might as well become a priest. Those who know him well like his sister are skeptical whether he will able to survive priesthood, especially the part about celibacy!

Contrary to the people’s opinion, Francis leaves behind his over-active sex life, he finds fulfillment as a priest helping people despite the fact that he still doesn’t believe in God. He goes by the title “Father Frank” which is the title of the book. He genuinely loves people and enjoys helping around in the parish. The congregation too loves him and he manages to rally the community together and give the whole neighbor hood a pleasant change.
The whole book is funny following his antics in the London parish, which reminds me of Whoopie Goldberg’s character in SISTER ACT. He drives a taxi, which one parishioner left for him in his will, to raise money for his parish. He tries to open a packet of Kit Kat without making any sound while listening to people’s confessions. He uses thick knitting needless to play the drums using old boxes in his office. The thoughts that go through his head when talking to his parishioners are hilarious. He manages to get away with not believing in God and no one finds this out until much later in the book.

His love of music develops into a habit of going to peoples houses and collecting records under the guise of wanting to sell them to raise money for the church. His taste in music is eclectic as seen by his collection of a wide array of records from rock n roll, Motown, funk, punk and rap. The writer mentions famous singers like the beetles, Marvin gaye,Elvis presely, Isley brothers, Dusty springfield, Donny Hathaway, Sinatra, Simply red, Jim reeves, Michael Bolton, Light house family and James brown. There others that I’m not au fait with like, Brenda Shine, Billy paul, William De Vaughans, Clarence carter, Sandy Nelson, The surfaris, Tom Jones, the valentine brothers, Human league, Rod stewart and the faces, Cozy powell, Levi Stubb, Roy Orbinson, The drifters, Leo sayer, Charllie Rich, led Zeppelin, Genesis, Harry Belafonte, Dean Martin, The Pogues, Gilbert O’Sullivan, Kevin Johnson, Brian Protheroe, Meltorme, The Omens, Faron Young, Ella Fitzgerald, Engelbert Humperdick and Sam and dave. Father frank reckons ‘ A quick examination of musical taste was an almost fool proof guide to somebody’s character’. This is the second book that I have read this year to make the same observation (I wonder what my taste in music says about me?)

As a Dj he knew how to bring the people together and have fun. He also knew how to sense people’s moods which helped him in church too to deliver the appropriate sermon. This makes him a darling to all the parishioners that he serves. Everything is going well until he  lovely Sarah Marshall steps into his black taxi a Suzuki X7 then his life starts to turn upside down. His inner and outer turmoil begins which forces him to make another life altering decision. This book is hilarious and any one should read it, no matter their religious persuasion.

p.s. Don’t worry it has a very happy ending.

What do Catholic priests have over Baptist pastors or Anglican vicars that make them so popular with writers of fiction? In a word: celibacy.

-Greg spearritt-



Tuesday, 21 August 2012

Nyumba yangu ya mtoto si ya kukodisha!


Imagine my pleasant surprise to discover the Swahili word for uterus is ‘nyumba ya mtoto’ which directly translated in English means ‘the baby’s house’. How cool is that y’all? If I was a language expert I would have gone for ‘pango la mtoto’ but then again that’s why am not. I have always wanted to do a post in Swahili but I can’t. I don’t know Kiswahili. Wipe that. My Swahili is challenged. No, not because I am a Barbie. It’s because I first think in dholuo then say it Swahili. Right now I have problems pronouncing asante, is it pronounced asanty or asantee?

Those who know dholuo will tell you that there are some words whose meanings get lost in translation when I say what I’m thinking in Swahili. The woman who sells me mboga keeps correcting my Swahili that I have now become self conscious when talking to her. For example I told her “nitolee mguu ya mboga” when I wanted her to cut off the stem of the kales so that they could fit into my purse (yes boys I carry them in my purse). Now the luo word for stem is ‘tiend alot’. Now the word taken literary means ‘the legs of the kales’ ergo my many problems.

I have even tried to write a poem in dholuo and it was an epic fail. I’ve always admired how Okot P’Bitek did Lak tar ‘White teeth’ in Acholi. (Reminds me of the book white teeth that I reviewed last week, I wonder who copied who.lol) When I listen to people speak Acholi, it sounds like bad dholuo. I bet that’s how they feel about us when we speak. But I haven’t given up yet. I really wish I knew Portuguese so that I could read Paulo Coehlo’s books and Spanish to read Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s books the way they originally wrote them. I’m pretty sure there are some nuances and subtexts that we miss when we read the translated version. Oh well!

Anyhu enough of language talk. I got a very disturbing call from an old friend. He told me out of nowhere that he really wants to have a baby. (And here I am thinking that it’s only women who become broody) The talk was going on well until I asked him where I come in. He reckons that since am intelligent and have a banging body (his words not mine) maybe I should consider carrying his baby. THA HELL! I know am all that and a bag of chips and then some but kamman... He is one of those guys who you like as friends but wouldn’t dare do nooky with. Not because there is something wrong with him but because we have known each other for too long that sleeping with him would feel like incest.

Now what infuriated me was how he was going on about asking to rent my womb. (No wonder no woman wanted to carry an alien in their bellies for him). He pulled the you-are-getting-old-and-your-biological-clock-is-ticking bs. Not all women as fazed by their ticking biological clock. Not all women want to have children.

Now men if you want the lady to have your awesome rugrats with your superior genes you gotta come better than that. You gotta appeal to the lady’s vanity. I’m thinking something along the lines of  ”I want my babies to have your eyes” or “I have always known that you are my soul mate and wanted to spend the rest of my life with you”. “There is no woman in this world who I would rather have carry my baby”. You know something romantic. But asking kienyeji like that is just wrong. It makes me feel like I was his back up plan; like he has run out of options plus time.

See sending me a few beautiful chain emails and texts daily and the occasional calling so that we stay in touch doesn’t constitute a relationship. I talk to the garbage dude na mtu wamaji more than that and you don’t see me tryna have their babies now, do you? Besides I don’t do long distance. The longest distance between me and Mr. Right should be between the bedroom and the kitchen.lol.

Over the years I have noticed that most men don’t exactly believe in finding soul mates or the right woman. Men wait for the right time to marry and women wait for the right man. So when a man is ready to settle down, the women he is with at the moment of the inspiration is the one he will marry. So cross your fingers ladies and hope that the one you are with gets inspired to settle down with you soon. That’s why you can break up with a guy then 2 months later he is making wedding plans with another heifer. After you he realized he didn’t have the energy to look for another chic and court for a long time again.

Don’t be desperate to get married and have kids, the opposite sex can smell it from a long way off and are repulsed. I went to this gathering over the weekend and this dude started interrogating me. Asking me what I do for a living, who is my pastor, how old I am (yes he went there) etc. He wanted me to cram my cv in that small time period to save himself from having to buy me kwon gi rech and talk about my awesome self. Talk about speed dating on high gear. Good thing I was able to bs my way out of it.

I think aging is the wrong reason to have kids. Always have kids when you are financially, psychologically, emotionally ready. The people who pressure you won’t be there to help when you got formula and diapers to buy. All the morning sickness, the stretch marks, swollen feet etc will be on you alone. I said in this post that I want people to leave my uterus alone but I guess they didn’t get the message. Hope they will get it when I say it in Swahili... sigh! Or maybe i should beat him like a rented mule to send a message to all other men, maybe then I will have piece of mind!

ps- Nyumba yangu ya mtoto si ya kukodisha, translation - My uterus is not for rent

Do the Feminine product commercials have to be so f-ing ridiculous?


There is always the pad, panty liners, tampon etc ad with young girls wearing white pants dancing all over the place. They are all dolled up with great lighting telling the young girls how having your periods is cool. Nothing like great marketing glib to make you buy ridiculous products which promise heaven but in reality aren’t all that special. They forget to mention the cramps, the bloating and the many trips to the bog to constantly check if things are cool. (btw men that’s the reason why women sometimes go to the loo in groups, if anyone needs a tampon she will be assisted and maybe even get some bascopan (sp) for the pain). No one even tells you how them ‘booma clot’ sometimes leak at the sides when the meeting at the office takes too long or during the road trip where there is no loo in sight. Just you try to wear white pants during your periods then see if your ass won’t look like the flag of some Asian country whose name escapes me now.

They always insist of saying shit like blah blah brought to you by *insert brand here*. Or it has wings but it don’t fly. Am tired of lying to my nephews and nieces when babysitting what exactly those “things” are. My friend told his son what a pad is. During one of the many commercials he turns to me and tells me that pads in pampers ya wamama. Clever mama right there!