2011 Nairobi International Marathon – good weather, half run

2011 Nairobi International Marathon – good weather, half run

It started on FB
On FB I had let the secret out thus, “The most secure marathon ever, has just ended. The 2011 Nairobi International Marathon ended at Nyayo National stadium a few hours ago.  Security was tight, towards paranoia. A chopper hovered overhead during the first three critical hours.  Mens 42km run was won in 2.10.54, while the ladies event was won in 2.30.17.  The half marathon run was won in 1.01.31 and 1.12.10 in the mens and womens events respectively.  I managed 1.32.45 in the half marathon, being a break from the 42k that I had done three years in a row prior to this. Good weather throughout the morning - cloudy, no sun, no cold - just perfect.  Water was available at all water stations... but there were no distance markers (again).”

That generally summarized the run of the day.

Early morning
When I arrived at the venue at 6.30am, the warm-ups for the 42km full marathon were ongoing.  This year, I had made a conscious decision to do a half-marathon.  I had not practiced much.  I believe that my body was just tired.  I did not do any distance more 21km during my year’s training.  I was therefore glad, albeit reluctantly, to take a rest.  I say reluctantly, since the 21k distance, that I should do in about 90minutes seemed short, compared to the longer run that was now in my system.  When doing a 42k, the 21k mark is ‘just the beginning’ of the run.  My body was kind of tuned to this state of mind.

All the runs started on time.  At exactly 7.00am the 42km full marathon for gents and ladies started at the main Uhuru highway road section, between the Nyayo stadium and Nakumatt supermarket.  Security was unusually tight.  Unlike last year, athletes had to display their run numbers to be allowed entry into the stadium compound!  Even to access the washrooms in that compound.  There was an increase in the number of uniformed security personnel and official vehicles at the venue.  This however did not dampen the usual pomp and fanfare that goes on during this event.  The runners were as excited as never before.  A police helicopter hovered overhead, from around 6.50am.  With every pass, the athletes waved at it and cheered.  An armed sharpshooter sat on the open side door of the chopper, aiming something that looked like a rifle barrel to the sea of humanities beneath.  It kept circling the venue, each of its circuits taking about ten minutes.  Even this did not stop the runners from making a joke out of it.

Chopper
“The enemy’s strategy would be to take out the sharpshooter,” an athlete amongst the crowd of those doing warm-ups said.
“Chances are that the enemy would be taken out first,” another responded, amidst hearty laughter.
The usual jostling towards the starting line started just after the 42km run was gunned-off (that is what happened, a gun was fired to start the run – there was no flag).  By the 7.30am starting time, the 21km crowd had virtually pushed out the human shield cordoning their advance.  I started my timer at the sound of the gun.  Later on, I compared the lead car’s large LCD display time and it was exactly like my own.  I had managed to sync my timer to the official one.  The rest of the job was now to put my body to the test.

The weather was very favorable this Sunday morning.  It was cloudy but not cold, nor was it windy.  Just cool and urging us on.  I started slowly and maintained a steady pace by 30minutes, just at the Parliament road section.  Our route was unchanged since last year.  Just a 10km tour of the city via Uhuru highway, with detours on Harambee avenue, Kenyatta avenue and Haile Sellasie avenue, to head back to the Nyayo stadium starting point.  After this, a 10km circuit of the other site of Nyayo stadium on Mombasa road to culminate into a final 1km to the stadium.

Distance marker
I wanted to test my timing at the 10km mark, which should have been about 45minutes, if I was to beat the 1.30.00 that was my target this year.  I had only done one 21k before, that was in 2007.  That was my very first competitive run, happening just two months since I joined the team.  I did this one in 1.43.02.  I was hoping to shave 13min from this last run.  I was on the lookout for the 10km mark, but by the time I was doing the extreme turn on Mombasa road, there was no 10km mark yet.  My timer was on 1.05.00.  Could I be doing a 10km in over an hour?

Finally, I saw the notice ‘2km more – 21km and 42km runners’.  This sign was just before the flyover next to the Nyayo stadium roundabout.  This sobered my mind that was wondering on various issues as I did the run.  So the organizers, for yet another year, forgot to install the distance markers, which they had promised on the runners guide that they shall position every 5km.

Gold
I was not as tired as previous years when I finished the run at the running track in the stadium.  I stopped my timer at 1.32.45.  I was ushered outside the stadium to the ‘watering’ tent, where I took four 250ml bottles of water and just down them one after another.  By the time I reached the next tent, marked ‘Finishers medals – 21km’, I was completely quenched and feeling quite normal.  I had the lower part of the runners number, which I had handwritten, with my name and contacts, torn out.  In exchange I was given a ‘golden’ medal with inscription – ‘Standard Chartered Nairobi Marathon 21km finisher’.  On the reverse side – ‘Standard Chartered bank 100 years in Kenya 2011’.  I was not expecting a certificate.  These are now processed by an online system about one week after the run.

As we celebrated the good run with three other colleagues, a far cry from the over forty that makes the team each year, we could not help but wonder what the insecurity fuss was all about.  After all, marathoners mean no harm and no one can surely mean them harm.

WWB – Nairobi, October 30, 2011

The Highland Run - part 3

The Highland Run - part 3


How it came about
When I arrived at the airport at nine, I went to the entrance where all travelers were going through.  Before the entrance, someone demanded to see the travel ticket.  I showed him a printed page, which he scrutinized, then shooed me on.  Straight ahead, a sentry instructed us to remove all metallic items from our pockets and put them on an open plastic tray, which were available for picking.  Then all hand luggage and tray contents were passed through the scanner.  We were asked to remove laptops from their bags and put them on trays, as they passed through the scanner.

“Beep beep,”  I heard the beep when I attempted to pass through the entrance, even after emptying my all through the conveyor belt to the scanner.
“Step back,” the sentry ordered, “Confirm that you have no metallic object on your pockets”
I rechecked and for sure, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, in my pockets.  Even my passport, flash disks and cash had been part of the contents on the tray through the scanner. 
“Remove your shoes, put them on the conveyor”
I thought that I did not hear right.
“What?,” I asked, more of “Are your serious” tone, than “What did you say” question.
Without even looking at me, he repeated, “Remove your shoes and put them through the conveyor”

With lots or reluctance and disgust, I removed my shoes, put them on the running conveyor to the scanner, and walked on bare socks through the entrance.  This time there was no beep, but my temper had risen a notch.  I reassembled my luggage at the other end of the conveyor, put on my shoes and stepped onto the check-in lounge.  It was about 9.15pm.  There was no one to show us where to go, nor any directional signs.  Travelers just guessed where to go.  I went to a place marked 'Immigration', after wondering aimlessly for about two minutes.
“I am traveling,” I informed the person, with a badge, stationed near the entrance.
“Do you have a boarding pass?”
“Boarding pass?”
“Yes, you need to get one.  Which airline?”
“Kenya Airways,” I responded.
“Queue there,” he pointed to his right.

I joined a queue that was surely headed to counters marked 'KQ'.  There were about eight other travelers ahead.  The queue moved fairly fast, with three counters in operation.  At the counter, I presented the computer generated e-ticket and passport.  The lady handed back the passport without any look and studied the ticket.
“Had you checked in?”
“No, I have just arrived”
She fingered her computer keyboard, then, “You had already been checked in,” she looked back at me, as if searching for answers.
“I was booked through our corporate travel agent.  It is possible that they finalized the process”
The answer was good enough, since she proceeded to give me a ticket and asked me to move on, even as she affixed a tag on my suitcase and let it slide away behind her sitting position.

At 'Immigration' I saw people filling in 'Entry declaration' forms.  I thought about it for a moment, wondering why folks were filling in entry forms on a departure lounge.  To conform, I filled in the blue card, which required details such as name, passport number, county of issue and country of intended travel.  I joined another queue to a counter marked 'Kenyan citizens'.  The other counters were marked 'East African citizens' and 'Other travelers'.  During my turn at the counter, the immigration officer pushed my passport though a scanner, then asked, “Where are you traveling to?”
“But this was written on that blue card you just shoved away under the table?,” I thought of saying.  Instead, “Ethiopia,” I answered.
“Mbio wanatuweza kweli?”
“Huu ni mwaka wetu.  Hawatuwezi kabisa.”
He stamped a page on the passport, handed it back and asked me to move on, through past his counter to the terminal building.

At the terminal various travelers milled around.  I looked for terminal 2, and moved to that direction.  I met Kef, my colleague. 
“You engineers, now where is TJ and colleague?,” she asked.
“I do not know.  I have not seen them.  I believe that they must have checked in”
At the boarding area, one part of the ticket was torn off, and a yellow plastic strip written 'Boarding pass' issued.  Nonetheless, the boarding was not devoid of drama.  The overhead sign read “Nbo – Joburg boarding.”  In reality, it was an Addis boarding time.  It is only after asking the staff at the counter did we understand that the board had jammed.  Just after the issue of passes, we were subjected to the last check.  We repeated the process of emptying our pockets, removing laptops from bags, passing them through the scanner, another beep-beep for me, and...  you guessed right – another episode of removing shoes.  After repacking again, we handed over the boarding pass to a waiting hand that had blocked the passage, as we walked through the narrow carriage that led to down to the tarmac, straight to the KQ plane.

I had expected a big plane.  One of those jumbos.  Even as I took the stairs towards the plane's entrance, I knew that this was a small plane.  From outside it looked like a toy.  In the inside, it was surely small.  Just two seats on each side, with a narrow corridor in between.  My seat, 15D, was just three rows from the very end of the plane.  I was seated isle side.  It was now about 10.15pm, and the travelers were steadily streaming in, and stuffing their hand luggage to the open overhead compartments.  In another five minutes, most of the seats were taken.  At least two were not taken.  It is around this time that TJ called to announce their canceled flight.

When the plane took off at exactly 22.30 as scheduled, I gave this small Embraer 170 plane, that sits seventy, quite some credit.  Despite its small size, it was quite comfortable and smooth.  It even felt smoother than the last Boeing that I took on a local flight.  I had already seen on the ticket that the arrival would be 00.35, at Bole International Airport, Addis Ababa.  A 2.05hr flight.  Once on air, about 30minutes after take off, a light meal was served, followed by a drink.  There was however no video screens on board.  Just a bus-like seating arrangement with nothing much.  It was almost like the Oxygen experience to the coast two months prior.  At cruising speed of 890km/h on altitude 30,000ft (about 10km up there), there was no discernible motion, just some faint far off hum of the engine.  We were virtually at standstill.  Being near the wing, I could observe the continuous red blink of the wing lights, on the right side that I was seated.  The lady seated on the window side seat just went straight to sleep after the meal.  I found myself glancing the KQ inflight magazine, without grasping much.  I was just flipping through, attracted by the pictorials.

It was not long before the captain announced that, “We shall soon start our descent to Bole International airport.  Those on transit to Eritrea, please remain in the plane after landing, since we shall just refuel then depart.  This shall be within 40minutes.  For those disembarking at Addis, have a good time.  Thank you for flying Kenya Airways.”
This was a bit sudden.  It did not seem that long.  Were two hours truly over?  I did not have time to answer that question since momentarily the plane touched down and taxied to the disembarking bay.  Out of the plane, a bus was waiting to transport us to the check-out area and baggage claim.

“Yellow fever,” a lady shouted as we headed to the baggage claim area.  This was after our passports had been stamped in exchange for the entry declaration cards, that we had filled in the plane, during the last ten minutes of our journey.  We raised our Yellow fever certificates for scrutiny, before being allowed to get through to luggage claim, after our hand luggage had been passed through the scanner once more.  Our suitcases were easy to spot, after which we headed straight to the exit.

Someone raised a sign having the name of the host organization, followed below with four names.  This attracted our attention.  We moved to his standing point and introduced ourselves as the guests that he was picking.  The time was now about 1.00am.  He led us to the van then opened the right side sliding door for us to put in our luggage.  I then went and stood on the front left, to wait for him to open the door.  He had already opened the front right door.  I had expected him to get into the van and just open the left door.  Instead, he left the right door ajar, and walked round the vehicle to open the left door.  I was taken aback to realize that the steering wheel was located on the left side.  The joke was on me when I had to move to the right side doors to get into the van.  We were on a left-handed van.  Soon I realized that we were on a 'keep-right' driving system.  Quite a mental challenge from the right-handed vehicles that am used to.  This first late night sleep marked the typical sleeping time for my whole duration in Addis.  Somehow I found myself sleeping past 1.30am each and every day.

Do not disturb
‘Do Not Disturb’, is the notice that I affixed to the external part of my room door.  I did this about mid-night as I prepared to watch the final news headlines on CNN before retiring to bed.  This was necessary because I intend to have the first long sleep in seven days since my arrival.  This would prevent the room cleaners from bumping in at about 8.30am.  Two days ago when I had extended my sleep beyond eight-thirty, the ladies had just knocked on my door, shouted some strange language, and before I knew it they were already in.  They had to give their apologies even as I struggled out of bed to wonder who had invaded my room.  I was not taking any chances this Saturday night.  The Addis weather was a replica of Uthiru weather - relatively warm day times and very cold nights.  The room offered four blankets and the heater though. 

The phone ring startled my deep sleep – and that room phone can ring loud!  I crossed the room in three steps to get to the phone set on the window-side edge of the reading table.  How could I have forgotten about muting the phone!  And who would have thought that someone would bother to call me in this foreign land!
“What!?,” I uttered to the mouthpiece.
“It is ten past nine and we are waiting for you at Gene Forage for a meeting,” came the answer.
“Eh, Why?,” I asked.
The previous day the three gents had had their customary dinner at Zebu club and had agreed to have the first meeting at ten.  This meeting would enable us get into a car to take us for a tour of Addis.
“There was to be the meeting with the Project Manager, to update her on the progress of our work”
“But… but that meeting had not been confirmed!”
“Get get here, you have five minutes.”
I knew that she had paid for the airfare, but messing my first good sleep was surely not polite. Nonetheless, I got out of bed, dressed and headed for the meeting room, laptop in hand. 

I did not take any breakfast.  I was at the meeting room in another two minutes.  The two ladies and two colleagues were already in discussions, which I just joined in.  When the meeting ended just about eleven, our host left even as the remaining Kenyans engaged in discussions.
“Why did you setup a meeting without giving us notice?  We had our own agenda today!”
“It had to happen.  Lexi is in Addis only for today.  She goes back to Nairobi tomorrow.  I had asked mzee to tell you of this meeting,” she informed us, “You mean that he did not?”
“He was concentrating on his own packing as he was leaving for the airport for this mid-night flight back to Nairobi”
“No wonder he forgot.  Nonetheless, am making it worth your while.  I shall buy you people lunch when we go for the outing,” Kef confirmed. 

That is how we landed at the injera place, followed by the tour or Menelik's place and eventually my Sunday evening run.

Beauty
One thing that the Abyssinians are blessed with, without a doubt, is beauty.  They are somehow the same pepite size, well rounded and yellow.  All of them are almost similar and very beautiful.  The Tuesday training run was therefore quite worth it. 

We had discussed what it took to get married to such women.
“It depends region where girl comes from,” Mich, a colleague from Addis Engineering said, then added, “In some place, they arrange cows and you run top of cows end to end!”
“You mean running on top of cows?”
“Yes, they arrange them and you run top.  If you fall or fail, then you wait one year”
The driver who took us to the museum had told me that the dowry was about three hundred herds of cattle.  That was surely beauty at a very high price!!

“You also must buy one kilo gold every year for her,” Mich said.
“And must be pure gold,” Kabe added.
“Every year, you said?,” the Kenyans wondered.
“Yes every year.  During Meskel, our new year, you give her gold.”
I had already been told that another qualification was taking your lady to the US, at least once.  In fact, the local staff SACCO had a 'US-tour' loan product, which was quite popular.

Now I was calculating:
(1) Investment = (Jumping row of 10cows) + 300 herds + (no. of years x (1kg gold)) + US trip
(2) Returns = (-)Investment.
(3) But, Returns > Investments = Profit
The equation was not balancing at postulate no. 3, though it would be made easier if we introduced a forth condition:
(4) Love your enemies
Then, we just declare them your enemies

After a hard day of work, which included an explosion from a baking even that we were repairing, we had had enough for a day.  When one of the locals gave us his story, of how he had worked for the organization for many years and survived many good and bad times.  He had concluded with, “My daughters in Sweden.  Now here.  Want to greet?”
TJ and Ben were starting to say, “Oh, no need...,” when I directed them towards Zebu with, “Of course, we want to greet”
To Zebu club, the four of us matched.  Seated at the low coffee table were two beauties.
“Hi”
“Good evening”
So we did the introductions, then small talk for about ten minutes before finally leaving.
This introduction was almost like an honour.  To us, this was a risky move that could easily backfire.
“Do you think any of our techs could introduce his daughters to our staff”
“Hey, mbuzi awekwe mbele ya fisi!”

WWB, Addis, 15-Oct-2011

The Highland Run - part 2

The Highland Run - part 2

Recognized
“You must be Kenyan,” someone interrupted my walking pace, as I headed to the Engineering block from Research Block 2.  She then extended a hand, even as she blocked by path.
“My husband said that someone overtook him so fast.  He said it must have been a Kenyan”
I shook her hand back.

“True, am from Nairobi.  Here for a short project”
“How long are you here for?”
“I have done two weeks.  I have one more week”
“You know,” she continued, “My husband is quite fit and fast.  He has been running for years”
She paused to gauge me.
“He said that you passed him as if he was at a standstill”
“Oh, thank you.  I just run for fun.  The campus circuit is quite good for a relaxed run”
“It was a pleasure meeting you.  I think Kenyans are now on top of the world in running,” she said.
“Sure,” I agreed, “This is our year.”
“I envy you.  Nice to have met you”
“Bye, see you again later,” I concluded.

This was quite a pleasant surprised at this lunch hour break.  A stranger recognizing your efforts through a story from a third party!  It couldn’t be any better.  I spent the afternoon at Engineering block office feeling on top of the world, even as I planned for the evening run.

Since my arrival on the wee hours of Monday, October 3, I had somehow managed to do my runs on this new land, some one thousand two hundred kilometers out of Nairobi.  On Tuesday, TJ and I decided to check out the routes within the new campus.  We just hit the tarmac and followed our instinct in making a run path from the hostels, to Engineering and back to hostels.  The circuit turned out to be only five minutes, at our very relaxed jogging pace.  This was therefore just under one kilometer.  We did a second circuit.
“You know,” I started, “I will have to do forty-two such circuits if am to prepare for the marathon”
“By then you shall be dizzy, with the locals wondering at your sanity levels,” he responded, even as we kept jogging looking for alternative routes.

We decided to just run through the compound through different paths, to find out if we could elongate our running route.  We stumbled upon dead ends, closed gates and even a football field – all in the quest for a route that was worth our while.  When we were warming down, thirty minutes later, the time being about six-twenty, we were at least happy with this inaugural run, hardly one day after our arrival. 

For TJ, his arrival was actually that very morning.  We were however booked on the same Sunday night flight, but he could not make it.  I remember his call while I was seated in the plane ready for takeoff.
“WB, I do not think we shall make it.  We arrived at the check in when they had already closed”
“How did that happen?,” I asked in shock. 
According to the itinerary that we had got on Friday before the travel, he and our other colleague were to be picked from Zimmerman at 6.45pm, for the nine o'clock check-in.  I was to be picked at eight. 
“The chartered van delayed, while the jam on Thika road was just crazy”
I remembered my own experience.  By eight there was no sign of my own transport.  At 8.15pm, the tour company had called to inform me that there would be a twenty-minute delay on my own pick up, though they assured me that they shall ensure that I check in in good time.
“So that is it?  The two of you are not traveling with us?”
“Yes.  That is it.  We hope to join you on the next available flight.  We may stay overnight at the airport, if the next flight in early morning.  Tell Kef of this development”
“OK.  Bye then.  Let us meet there kesho”

Keep running
The first run did not take a toll on us, at least not on me.  It was quite relaxed.  Generally a day of discovery.  The next run occurred the next day.  We decided to explore the compound some more.  We left our residence and went towards the gate that had marked a dead end the previous day.  Through this gate we found a graveled path, that led to a second gate, about twenty meters away.  After this second gate, we continued on the graveled path to yet another third gate hardly fifty meters away.  Running, stopping to open these gates, then closing them behind us was not fun at all.  However, we were on discovery and the route seemed more like it.

After the third gate, we headed left on the fork, instead of straight on.  Our left path met the perimeter fence some one hundred meters ahead.  Then we just followed the path adjacent to the perimeter wall all the way to join the main tarmac road that leads to the compound, just after the main sentry gate.  Through the familiar tarmac, we ran until we reached the right turn that headed towards Engineering.  At this point, we turned left to yet another graveled running path.  This led through the other extreme perimeter of the compound on the left, and a thicket on the right.
“Eh, look at this field.  Is it not the same one that we ran though yesterday,” TJ asked as he pointed to the visible field on the right side, just across the long grass.
“The high grass prevented us from seeing this running route,” I responded.

Finally, we were back to the familiar tarmac next to Borena cafe, where we crossed through the small sports field behind Borena and back to our starting point next to the swimming pool.
“That wasn't bad”
“It was a 15-minute circuit,” I checked my stopwatch before speaking.  
“Let us do another one,” I encouraged.
So we did three circuits on the same path, finishing at 0.47.02
“Good run,” TJ declared as we warmed down.
“But stubborn gates,” I decried.

During dinner at Zebu club, I met Dan once more.  My other three Kenyan colleagues were also around.
“Take it, here it is,” I said as I handed back his phone. 
During our previous evening's coincidental meeting, we had found ourselves seated on the same table at Zebu.  Four strangers, one table.  We just introduced each other and that is how we got to learn about his craze for smart phone technologies.  He had explained the kind of research that he proposed to do, using the various monitoring sensors on the phone to collect and interpret data.  He had said that such phones, being cheaper, would be cost effective in some operations instead of buying fully fledged measuring and monitoring systems.
“Look here,” he showed our table of four, “This is the map of Addis”
People craned their heads to glimpse the small screen.
“I can use this phone to record movement, and they shall be as accurate as ever.”
That is when I had challenged him to let me jog around with the phone and see if it could trace my path.

He pressed a few controls on this keypadless phone and then beamed.
“Look at this!,” his excitement was evident.
“I can tell you that you ran three times along this path here,” he pointed out as the group gathered over him to view the wonder.
We saw some three red lines that were the definition of our run.  He managed to zoom in and we could surely see the path as exact as we had taken it.
“This phone has a built in GPS.  That is why it can trace your route.  It can also communicate your coordinates to another device.  This ability to communicate its own location is the subject of my research.”

Four circuits
On Thursday I did four circuits of this path, starting at five-thirty and ending at stop watch time 0.49.26.  On Friday, I did another four circuits.  The time recorded was 0.47.57.  TJ made sure that he did not run with me, either by failing to show up altogether or starting the run earlier or later.  He claimed that I was getting too fast for him.  “And the food here lacks energy!,” he complained. 

During the Friday run, I tested an IDEOS phone as provided by Dan.  Since he was engaged for the evening, we had agreed that he would pick the phone immediately after my run around seven, instead of meeting at the cafeteria.  When he picked the phone, he confirmed that it had recorded the four running paths.  He promised to send the information and map, just as he had done with the previous path.  But I had to complain about the IDEOS.
“The phone was a bit scary.  It was interrupting me every four or so minutes with an announcement”
“What announcement?,” he asked.
“At every kilometer, it gave me a warning.  Each announcement was quite unexpected, making me jumpy”
I added, “The lady's last message was something like, 'Mytracks distance is eleven kilometers in fifty-eight minutes twelve point zero eight seconds.  Average speed thirteen point one kilometer per hour'”
“It was possible to shut her up, though I forgot to show you how”

Heavy
The running experience here was different.  There was some heaviness that one felt when running.  Almost like the route is fighting your advance.  This, I later learnt, was due to the high altitude.  That is why athletes train in high altitude so that they are ready to fight with any other 'lighter' altitudes.  The other difference was how fast darkness fell.  By 6.20pm it would be quite dark.  Running would became difficult due to the very low visibility.  Back home, it did not get dark until seven or thereabout.  This was explained by the far distance from the Equator.  Since it was past September 22, the earth has shifted along its axis, making countries in the northern hemisphere have longer dark hours – and winter to follow soon.  “We experience winter in Ethiopia,” one local had quipped when I brought it in the topic of early darkness.

Another differing experience on my runs was running with the wild.  Throughout the run, a dikdik would cross the path, run alongside or run after you.  Sometimes I met the small ones, which were easily scared.  Sometimes I encountered the bigger new, which would be scary.  With every run, I got used to them.  However, running when dark, anytime past six-twenty, was scary.  You could just hear some swished in the bushes.  You would wonder if there was a predator-prey run going on there or they were just dik diks running around.  And the dik dik's are preyed on by lions, leopards and hyenas!  These are not thoughts that should go through your mind when you are running – just keep running.

Daily runs
In the new week, I found myself running every day from Sunday to Saturday, apart from Thursday, when I stumbled upon a farewell party for the DDG.  The Sunday and Monday runs were four circuits each.  The timings were 0.46.34 and 0.47.46.  On Tuesday I did two circuits, as trained one of my new found friends at this campus.    I did not time this run.  It was more fun talking and sharing experiences.  The Wednesday and Friday runs were five circuits each.  Their timings were 0.59.30 and 0.58.21.  I was surely getting almost ready for the October 30 international marathon in Nairobi.  I was feeling good about it.  Four weeks ago, when I learnt of the travel, that was to occur at the peak of the training, I was not quite happy with this trip.  This is because I knew that my training would be affected.  However, the high altitude and good jogging track was still a good practice ground, albeit the occasional stony areas that were hurting the soles.  The running track was also relatively short, which I estimated at 3km, while the smartphone put it at 2.8km.

Sunday run
You may wonder why I was running almost daily.  Well, I was in a strange land with nothing else to do.  How about the Sunday run?  Just after the tour of the city?

After finalizing the commissioning works at the new generator, we got into a Land cruiser and headed to town.  The driver has been specifically assigned to show the four Kenyan the sites of interest in the city.
“Salamno,” I greeted the driver.
He was kind of surprised, “Salamno,” he responded, then asked, “You know Amharic?”
“Ishi!  Ishi!,” I responded, much to his surprise.
After some chit chat, “What does the name of the city mean?, ” I asked.
“Addis means beautiful,” said the driver, as he settled to a comfortable driving pace on the wide road.
“Oh,” all of us responded almost in unison.
“And Ababa means flower”
“Oh,” we found ourselves responding once more.

We went to an open air market, where some of the team bought shoes and clothes.  After than we went for lunch at some joint, which I can not pin point.
“Here you get raw meat,” the driver informed us. 
“Very sweet raw meat,” he added as we disembarked in the compound of the hotel.
The place was not packed.  About five of six other couples were seated, scattered all over.  Let me emphasize that they were couples.  I started to believe that love was brewed in this country.  I had observed it for seven days.  I had seen it and I was seeing it.
“I wish Kenyan men were like this,” Kefy observed, even as the guys were just awestruck with the beauty.
“No wonder WB wants to stay around,” TJ quipped as we now settled on the two tables that we had deliberately pulled together.

They brought a menu written in Amharic.  Each of the four Kenyans looked at it and just laughed.  They could not decipher even a jotter of it.  We left it to the driver to try the interpretation.
“Here, food like... like... teff, you know teff, and another like... eh, firr firr.  You like firr firr.  Eh or ambasha?” he struggled on.
“Drink is taj... eh 7-up, Pepsi, Mirinda, eh beer.  Want taj?  You know it!”
To save him from the tough task, we asked various questions on the type of foods we wanted, just to see if he could confirm them.
“Chips, you know, fries”
“What? Chips, fries? What that? Eh, you mean what?”
“How about meat, cooked meat”
“Ah, yes, yes, meat.  Meat there.  Want raw?”
Initially we thought it was a joke.  We now believed that raw meat was a reality.
“No, fried meat”
“Yes, cook meat, OK, Ishi, Ishi”
“What will we eat it with?,” we asked.
“Eh, injera?”
I just started laughing.  This is the food that I had avoided for the last week, only to go for an outing and find it waiting for me.  The rest of the Kenyans started laughing at me.  They had known that injera was not my favourite.  In fact, I was the only one who had managed a 100% resistance to this fermented pan cake.  The two other Engineering staff had resisted just for two days.  However when the pangs of hunger caught up with them, after many days of long works hours, they gave in and ordered injera.
My misery was made worse, when they finally brought me plain rice, even as the others got their injera and beef stew.
“But where is my beef stew?”
“Sorry, beef stew is only served with injera”

Museum
After lunch we went to Menelik's palace and museum.  At the museum we were prevented from taking any photos.  A guide took up around the almost circular room, hardly ten meters in diameter.  There were saw Menelik's things including swords, robes, bed, books, umbrellas, chairs, headgear, stuff and shoes.  We paid fifty Birr each to gain access.  We paid ten Birr for the entry of our driver.  The guide was quite humble and almost religious in his presentation.  He was quite good, though he would most often start his sentences in English and finish them in Amharic, before realizing that his audience was lost.  He was quite softspoken and convincing.
“We should proud of Africa.  Only Africans build Africa.  Menelik he know this and setup strong nation,” he told us while showing us the artifacts.
“Here you see Manelik's bed.  Where he was rest,” he continued, “See how simple.  He want to be like people.  United with people.  Simple wood bed.  Make of skin.  Nothing special”
We kept moving around.
“The medals won by Ethiopian runners.  Real gold', he pointed so some three gold medals.  One of them had been engraved Standard Chartered marathon. 
He continued, “They pray Lady of Guadalupe bless them win.  If win they give medal.  You see, they win, and give medal to museum.”
After doing the round, we were back to the entrance area.
“Finally, some items for Menelik,” the guide showed us with the stick he was carrying, while pointing at a glass pane, “These are gold shoes”
“Ethiopia has many gold.  When Menelik win war, his people give gold shoes.  But Menelik he is humble.  He say 'No'.  He can not wear gold and not people.  So he not wear gold.  He want to be like people.”
“But this glass has no lock!,” I asked or rather wondered loudly.
“Yes, no one he steal Menelik's shoes”
The Kenyans in the room just laughed.  They knew better.
“Amasagnalahu,” I told the curator, as we left.
“Amharic, you know!  Ishi, Ishi!,” he responded in excitement.

We then walked next to an Orthodox temple, then went behind it to see Menelik's house.  We found there another guide.
“You pay?,” he asked as we descended the steps from the temple towards the house compound.
“Yes, we paid,” we answered even as we showed him the pink tickets.
“Then here I show,” he pointed to a house and led us through the very high door.
“You see Menelik's sit room.  And here, horn, of cow.  For he put raw meat.  Raw meat he put here and here and here,” he said as he shown the various horns protruding out of the wall.
“Look up, the top.  You see top made skin of cow.  All sticks together, skin of cow only”
In another upstairs room, through a side staircase.  He then told us, “Here, Menelik and wife Taitu, they sleep together,” he then pointed through the window, to the grounds below, “And down there, the people, they watch King!”
We just burst out laughing, loudly!  Of course, the two sentences were not related, but he had accidentally related them.

Parting with additional Birr for the guide, despite having already paid, was a pleasant surprise.  But the history lesson was worth it.  After all this history, a Sunday evening run was surely the proper thing to do.  That is why the 0.46.34 four-circuit run happened.

WWB, Addis, 15-Oct-2011

The Highland Run - part 1

The Highland Run - part 1

I just sat there, wondering how it would feel. To finally seat on this chair, I had previously made four other false attempts. The first one was to the Coptic hospital, where they had no idea what I was talking about. The second was to Aga Khan satellite hospital at Prestige Ngong road, there they said that they did not offer that service. The third attempt was at the main facility of the same hospital, where they said that they did not work over the weekend. The fourth was at the very same hospital, where I had to skip my appointment after realizing that I did not have adequate cash for this process. And finally, here I was, on attempt number five.

When I came in, they had given me a form which they inscribed no. 12 on it, then asked me to sit and wait at no. 6. This back side of the hospital building looked miserable. Sickly looking people sat in queues next to various doors. Few children were running around, making noise oblivious of the otherwise quiet, almost eerie atmosphere. Occasionally, a uniformed personnel, obviously hospital staff, would pass by with some files, drop them in one of the rooms, then walk out. Thereafter, they would call some name from behind the many consulting rooms.

"Do they allow MPESA payment?," a question startled my thoughts.
I looked besides me to see a lady busy on her phone's keypad while gazing at me for advise.
"Good afternoon to you too," I answered.
Realizing I had answered the wrong one, "Sorry, am not sure. But I read somewhere at the reception that they only accept cash."
"Auch, I really fear needles," she told me.
I gazed at Room no. 6, with the conspicuous sign "Vaccinations", then responded, "You are not alone"
We continued small talk before I finally heard, "Number 12!"
Why do hospital call human beings using numbers? Isn't that against some article on the new constitution? "The bill of rights", to be specific?

I moved into the room and sat facing the nurse across the table. She looked at the form that I had handed to her when I sat and then asked, "What can I do for you"
I thought of how ambiguous the question was and was about to give an interesting answer, but I responded with the right one, "Am here for a Yellow fever vaccination, which has been forced on by my forthcoming travel"
"So you have not come here on your own volition?"
"Definitely. I should have been doing my lunch hour run back at Uthiru"
"You do not believe that vaccination is necessary?"
"Sure not. Am well and I would not like foreign germs being introduced in my system."
She laughed for a moment, scribbled something on the form, then asked me to take the form back to the Cashier at reception, then come back.
"Meanwhile, I shall start working on your card."

After paying KShs.2,620 and getting a receipt, I went back to the Vaccination centre. The lady I had earlier spoken to had left. I sat waiting for my turn to see the doc, even as I heard some children crying inside the room. As I waited, a nurse shouted somewhere, "Hi, congratulations, I can see that you have a baby!"
"Yes, thank you."
"How was it?"
How should someone answer such? Before the answer, I was called into Room 6.

"Sit on the bed, it is time"
That was fast, I thought.
I was not even ready for this.
"This is how it shall go. I will introduce this vaccine," she said while showing me some vial, which I did not want to look at, though I saw some words such as Stamaril G on the pack.
"This shall be through an injection on the hand near the left shoulder," she continued, even as she now started breaking the package to expose the needle - which I surely did not look at.
"Okay, here goes. Let me just trace the right place and have this done"
I was still looking sideways waiting for a sharp pinch on the arm, when she told me, "It is done, you can now sit at the desk and await your card."
I had to go through all that painlessness to get a yellow card for Yellow fever? Matters were made easier when I realized that it was a yellow booklet of eight or so pages, one of which now had the Yellow fever vaccination date, batch number, medical practitioner name and hospital name inscribed.

In part 2, the story continues on

The beach run – part 3

The beach run – part 3

The head of delegation informed the members that the hotel food was ‘already too monotonous’ and that he was aware of that. To save us from this, he declared that Saturday dinner would be taken at a location away from the hotel. He did not divulge the location, leaving it to the category of ‘surprise’. This is a declaration he made during the customary lunch time roundtable – a second such lunch at this location so far.

The afternoon seminar session became the longest ever. We had vowed to exit the ultimate session by six o’clock. However, by that time we were half way through the business of the afternoon. We had the option of formulating a new session for the next morning, or extending the current session. After a vote that was narrowly won, it was decided that the session be extended so that we can have a free tomorrow.

Exhausted
The folks left the seminar room at 7.40pm completely exhausted. In fact they did not even wait for a discussion on that evening’s program. I was left with the task of clearing the room of our materials, which included an overhead projector, a laptop computer, some stationery and the power extension socket outlet, which I had to return to the hotel management.

Slowly, the quorum gathered at the hotel lobby from 8.30pm. By nine o’clock the chartered hotel mini bus was parked outside the main hotel entrance, ready to transport the group. The mood in the bus was now jovial. All were happy to have cleared the business that had necessitated the retreat. The day-out was quite a welcome relief. All started to agree that the hotel food needed a break, even as the bus made a right turn into the busy Malindi road.

Five minutes into the journey, someone drew our attention to the right side of the road and showed us the flashing lights that were Karolina Inn. Momentarily I recalled how a team of planners that I associate with back in Narobi had taken a project in Mombasa, to do a digital map for Mtwapa. I had done their systems, software and databases and was therefore in the know of their now frequent coast trips. I had wondered why they had been devoid of details whenever they were late to come back to Nairobi. They were quite shy of revealing the going ons at Mtwapa. They would just say, “It was good. We did the business but needed two extra days to finalize.” It was during a spur of the moment outburst in their city centre office that they had mentioned ‘that Karolina place’, but changed topic when they discovered that a stranger was in the house, and started talking about the ‘that District Planning Officer’s place’ and how they met and discussed business.

Karolina
Here I was, facing Karolina with lights flashing and the music booming. I played a joke on the driver by telling him to stop briefly so that we can appreciate the place. The joke-loving driver stepped on the brakes and said, “Sawa bana, sasa utajua Mombasa raha!” He then released his braking and we continued with our journey. The same colleague who drew our attention to the place now went ahead and told his story, but devoid of any details. He said there was a time he was convinced to step into the place for a drink. He hardly stepped in before he was ushered in with a yellow-yellow who was almost in her birthday suit. When he was finally shown his seat, the y-y was already seated on him! When we pressed him for details, amid loud laughter, he just brushed off the topic and told our team of eleven, “It was an experience that am not repeating soon, but you people are welcome to find out for yourselves.”

The two members who were not from Nairobi responded almost immediately. The driver was the first one, “Niliwambieni Mombasa raha.”
The manager from our hotel, who accompanied us added, “That was quite normal. They have now gone a notch higher, lakini after the third drink, you shall not notice anything strange.”

We were still on that topic when the bus slowed down and then turned into a compound on the same left side of the road before coming to a stop.
“Shukeni. Tumefika,” declared our head of delegation.
“What, here! Already!!,” was the reaction of many. The drive had not been long. In fact we were only about fifteen minutes away from our usual abode. We had expected a long drive. Nonetheless, hunger was setting in and so the disembark was a good relief.

Big
At the entrance of the joint, now filled with fairly loud music, we met a group of about five. The seemed like the hotel security. Our host, the hotel manager, went in and had a brief discussion with the team. After his discussions, he came back out and told us, “Tuko sawa, tuingieni.”
One of the security personnel asked the men to pass through his frisking hands. Just ahead, the ladies were asked to go straight in where a female security personnel, in full uniform was waiting for them. This particular lady was big! She looked like the no nonsense type. One who would easily rough you up with the slightest or no provocation. I did not envy the colleagues going through her security check. Since we did not have any weapons, our checking in and entry was smooth. We even managed to get in without paying the mandatory 100/= per head, thanks to cooperation between hotels as ensured by our host.

Loud
When we moved in, the music got louder and quite inviting to dance. The dance floor, a depressed part, just after the main entrance was still empty, though the flashing lights were doing their thing on the emptiness. Scattered around the establishment were a few revelers – countable – most having a drink, few having a meal, one or two just walking about or idling aimlessly. There was a fountain that was combined with a swimming pool construct, on the middle part of the sitting arrangement. We found ourselves at the extreme end of the pool, just next to the perimeter wall. Our table had been booked and therefore set in advance of our arrival.

As we settled on the table, we wondered why there was so much hype about this place, yet it was just an ordinary place? The host just told us, “It is just a good place to eat and drink. They usually have some shows later on.”

Reflections
The next night when we went to sober up with a few drinks on the next compound to our hotel, we tried to reflect on the night before. This Sunday night sobering meeting was just for the three members of my committee and two other invited colleagues.
“Did yesterday really happen or am I dreaming?,” the lady in the group asked.
“That was reality, you are not dreaming gal,” we confirmed to her, almost in unison.
I was also in need of assurance that we were not dreaming, nor had stepped onto that insect! (But the insect caused only loss of way, not loss of reality!).

Two ladies hovered around our table, then sat just on the next table behind us. They ordered nothing. They just sat there engaged in small talk. They ensured that they kept glancing at our table of four men and one lady. Out of curiosity, the men folk on the table occasionally glanced in their direction. They were not bothered by the attention, nor were the folks on our table. On the next table, a white man and an African girl were in deep embrace, while sipping a common bottle of some drink. She had a small black tight sleeveless T-shirt that cleaved on her as if it was part of her skin. The front part was cut in V-shape – more like U shape. Exposing most of her frontness. She had a skimpy short pair of shorts. When she passed by our table, presumably to take a call, we were exposed to quite a view. She seemed not to mind.
On the table behind us, the two ladies kept their attention focused on us. We occasionally glanced behind, just in case they pounced – you never know – this coast place was turning out to be quite a challenge to handle the type of surprises that just emerge from the blues.

Reality
My mind could however not fully comprehend yesterday, and in the midst of football game being shown on the big screen elevated just in front of our seating location, I started to flashback….

After our dinner, which was quite sumptuous, we settled down to small talk and some drinks. As per tradition, it started raining, forcing those on the exposed parts of the establishment to move towards our tent. For a moment our sheltered sitting place was jammed by the steadily swelling crowd of revelers. The music had been turned two or three volume levels up. The ten minutes rain, with its characteristic heat, finally ended and the revelers resumed their scattered sitting places. We started seeing a main stage being swept, part of which was over the fountain pool. One side of the pool was just infront of our sitting position, though there was still an exact ‘pool side’ seating place, with the pool wall serving as a base of placing drinks. These seating places had however not been taken, and therefore we could have a view of the pool, stage and the activities.

Explosion
Alas! There was some distance sound that seemed like an explosion, followed by an abrupt stop to the music, then the lights were off.
“Ah, stima tena,” someone in the crowd shouted.
“Sounded like a transformer explosion,” someone else volunteered loudly.
After some moments of confusion, the lights came back and the music resumed.

At about eleven-thirty, we had the first official announcement, “Welcome to Saturday night show at Club Labamba. Tonight’s show shall be the bomb! We have lined up various activities including acrobatics, stage dance and the final show – the show! Feel comfortable and enjoy. Only one usual request…”
What would that be, I wondered.
“Please do not take any photos!”

The acrobats stepped onto the stage and showed their talents. They made various formations as they danced to fast paced benga beats. With every awe there was applause from the now jammed establishment. I saw them perch one of their members some three human beings up! The men-only troop danced their way out of stage even as the gathering asked for more. There was also a traditional dance by some girls. Thereafter, we saw a ballet-like performance between a gentleman and a lady, as they danced ‘lady’ by Kenny Rogers. But Kenya Power, being no respecter to even such a performance, ensured that the power went off for a few seconds. This forced the performance, that was about two minutes done, to be repeated from scratch. This repeat spoilt some surprises, but the elegance and dress, especially of ‘lady’ was something to be watched over and over again.

“Finally, ladies and gentlemen, the show!,” the announcer said.
And to keep all reminded, “And remember not to take any photographs, please!”

Sleep
I was jolted back to reality when our madam said that it was mid-night and she was not going to deprive herself of sleep anymore. I was voted to escort her to the hotel compound, which was just next door. I took the break and escorted her upto the hotel reception, a five minute walk.
I came back and found the two ladies behind our table still there. One was dressed in a short tight flowered dress and long black boots. The other was in a T-shirt and tight blue jeans. They kept their focus on our table, now with four men, even as we pretended to ignore them.

I took out my camera and took a photo of the three gents – just to have something to remind them of their escapades some day when we are back to the city.
“Wewe! Umesahau kwamba ulipewa warning usipige pige hizi picha zako!,” was the reaction I got from the guys.
“That was jana! And that final show, was it a reality?”
“I thought you see better with specs! And you had them!!”

Flash
The camera flash brought a flash of memory….

The final show started with four ladies dancing to some music as they moved towards the embankment of the pool, just in front of us. When they finally settled to their dance, I noticed that they had a loose blouse, the loosed ends tied into a note in the front. They had a wrap, whose ends were equally tied onto a note on their right waist. The wrap was too short. With their dark complexion, I needed to adjust my specs to confirm if there was anything beneath the wrap or this was it! As I started to comprehend, four gents, with swimming shorts and no tops joined the ladies from the opposite end. They did their dance, before finally doing a ‘bend over’ number. This song is supposed to imitate intimate action – and the four couples ‘did not disappoint’ in demonstrating ‘action’. Did I see some lady with legs raised, exposing her very small undergarment! Or there was none!! This part still confuses me.

At mid-night, after the show, the music was open to all. The dance floor was filled to capacity. The music was hot and varied. The DJ surely ‘rogad’ us, with his mix from all parts of Kenya and beyond. Our faint-hearted-four left soon after the final show. The die-hard-five remained to teach the Coasterians a few dance moves, especially the Western Kenya dance that requires an oiled shoulder, flexible waist and loose feet. And the dancehall had quite some ‘vituko’. From jungus that can’t dance – unless you call random motion of hands, legs and body in no particular pattern as dance. To ladies who were bumping us on the dance floor – was this a signal or what!

Interrupted
“Hebu turudi kwetu tukalale,” one of us declared, interrupting my busy mind. It was now 1am.

As we left the establishment, one of my colleagues confessed, “You know, when I went to the washroom, just a few moments ago, I found one of the two ladies on the washroom corridors. She approached me and asked whether she could come with me to my place.”
“Eh, wacha, urongo!”
“True, she said that she charges 2k for all services!”
“And….”
“And that is why we are getting out of here - fast!”

Back to business
One week later, we are presenting the draft report to the committee. We can not help but have the last laugh as we reminiscent what happened after the events of the Saturday night show. First, as we getting back into the bus ready to travel back to the hotel around 3am, when one of us asks to be shown the washroom. He is shown the tyre of the mini-bus… and that is the tyre that he washes! But precedence has already been set by someone else in the same bus!!

Secondly, in the bus, we all agree that the constitution recognizes Kiswahili as an official language. It is for this reason that we now decide to translate our policies, late in the hours of the night, into Kiswahili – just to obey the constitution. The group comes up with the following translations:
Liquidity policy – Sera ya maji
Savings policy – Sera ya uwekaji
Investment policy – Sera ya mali yetu
Dividend and Capitalization policy – Sera ya ugawaji and herufi kubwa
HR policy – Sera ya watu and nguvu zao
ICT policy – Sera ya tarakilishi
Procurement policy – Sera ya biashara
“How about ‘Loan policy’,” I asked aloud.
“Si unajua tu, kuwa lonely. Kwa hivyo, hiyo ni ‘Sera ya upweke’”

But wait till you hear the sentences that the 'policymakers' formulated from such innocent words like 'fanya' and its conjugations.

WWB, Nairobi, August 15, 2011

The beach run – part 2

The beach run – part 2

“Shemeji, ivula yanipiga sana”
“Na lowa sana khu ngulo”
That is what I heard from one of my strange colleagues struggling to shelter under a small umbrella. He was talking on phone, even as five or six of us tried to outmaneuver each other to seek shelter from the cold and heavy rain drops. He was delivered the status report on the going-ons at the bus stop.

To get to into this struggle, my two colleagues and I had left our residence and took a matatu from the Rock to Nakumatt Nyali. We arrived at the supermarket about half past eight, only to be told that they had already closed. This forced us to travel on the next matatu to ‘Lights’, a stage that would lead us to Nakumatt Cinemax. Our very helpful matatu conductor had informed that the next supermarket was quite near.
“Hapo mbele tu. Ni karibu sana,” he had declared as we alighted at Lights. We therefore saw no need to get into another matatu.

When a ‘very near’ walk turned into thirty minutes on the road, we started suspecting that we had stepped on that insect. The one that if you stepped on, then you would loose your way forever. The street were however still relatively busy with people. This encouraged us on. The spirit of adventure also kept us going, to a place that we did not know. The only reason why we did not ask for direction was the fear of asking a jinni such a question. If we made the mistake of doing this, then we would be lured into the ocean for our final swim.

Alas! We saw the big expanse that is the supermarket block, just to the right of the road. Our entry to the compound was marked by some showers. Do not wish for rains at the coast, because when it does rain, then the earth just opens an oven of hot humid air that chokes the nostrils. In the supermarket the airconditioning kept us comfortable, even as the heavy rain could be heard drumming the top of the roof.

Rains
We left the supermarket while it still rained. After a brief shelter outside the block, we decided to run in the rain to the main road to await a matatu. Momentarily the rain had subsided and our wet clothes dried up. If anything, I was already sweating from the heated humid air. A ten minute drive in the matatu got us back to the Lights stage. We were forced to disembark even as it started raining heavily once more. We crossed the busy highway to get to the other side of the road. This would enable us catch another matatu going towards Bamburi. It kept raining even as we crossed the road and run for shelter. The shelter that I could afford was the torn umbrella that was housing six other adults. The rain kept pounding my back while the drip from atop the umbrella fell on my face. To reward our stay, the trader whose umbrella we had invaded informed us that, “Ambrela mtalipa kila mtu shilingi tano.” I thought of telling him the provisions on the 'bill of rights' of our new constitution, that guaranteed shelter to all Kenyans, but kept this thought to myself as I searched my pocket for 5/=. However, the lady must have been feeling sufficiently philanthropic, since she failed to collect when we departed as the rains subsided.

By the time the three of us got a matatu back to the Rock, our once soaked clothes had already dried up. When we narrated our ordeal to our colleagues, they just looked at us and wondered, “What rain? You people are as dry as a Rock!”
Our case was not made any easier by the lack of rains on this part of the city.

I found myself going to bed past mid-night. I had hardly slept the previous night due to the bus mishap, yet I was repeating another late night. For consolation, this seemed like the first time I felt a heated cold during a visit to this ocean-side town. With the air conditioner and fan both turned on, I covered myself and drifted to sleep.

The route
Even as I slept, I was filled with a sense of fulfillment. That is because in the evening during a thirty-minute break amid the seminar sessions, I had moved onto the white sandy beach, bordering the hotel establishment, and walked along the shores. The sand was warm and soft. The beach had lots of revelers. A group of about twenty young children, I guess primary school level, were swimming on the edges of the giant natural pool as a big group. From afar they looked like a collection of leaves floating on the seashore. Walking near my standing position was a foreign lady, I would guess above forty, stepping onto the edges of the water. She had a thin strip of something that looked like cloth on her waist and another on the chest. Am just being polite by saying this. She had surely put dressing to shame. Towing behind her were a couple, probably her children or some relation, in similar dressing. Shock would have registered on me, but I realized in good time that I was going to get used to seeing this type of dressing.

From where I was standing, I could approximate a one hundred meter distance on both directions of the shore. My idea was to organize the run as a circuit between these two extreme measures. The circuit would therefore be a 400m distance. I did not plan for a sprint. I wanted a jogging route or circuit. Something that we could do as a team, without being too tired to enjoy. How to setup the relay points was however proving to be a challenge. I could make a relay at 100m intervals – but this would seemingly be such a short distance that the members would easily sprint instead of the comfortable jog that I had in mind. However, a longer distance would prove a challenge as team members got tired or bored. The cheering and monitoring that I had in mind would not work if the route was too long. I also had to factor in the humidity and heavy air in my planning. The sea breeze at this time was however quite refreshing and was neutralizing the humidity.

I marked my current point with reference to a coconut tree on the hotel fence, and walked one hundred meters to the left of the hotel. The signboard on the shore read “Sarova Whitesands”. I know the feeling of 100m. This is because distance finally inculcates in your system when you become a seasoned runner. Generally, these were one hundred steps. As I stopped at the hundred-meter point, I could see the coconut tree swaying about. It did not look very far nor was the walk a strain. My mind was already made on the relay points. I now had to figure out the team compositions. I would either do the battle of the sexes or the battle of the committees.

Shoes
I was doing a loud piki-piki-ponki, father-had-a-donki, to choose amongst the two battles when I was interrupted.
“You can easily size up a man by the size of his shoes,” my colleague stated as a matter of fact.
We were generally grouped near the hotel perimeter as we enjoyed the last moments of the breeze as we headed back to the seminar room. This observation did not benefit all the menfolk in my team, since some had already left for the seminar.
“What is your authority?,” I asked.
“Many years of experience! And believe me, the truth does not lie.”
“Kweli kabisa,” the other lady colleague confirmed. “When I met my current huby, I knew in advance exactly what I was getting myself into.”
“And what were you getting yourself into?,” I enquired, wondering whether I was ready for this.
“If you sneeze, he’s out!”
“What the….”

While at the seminar room, I absentmindedly drafted the relay map on my notepad, even as the proceedings were going on. The seminar material was being projected on the big screen. Four relay points, one hundred meters apart in a circuit format. That is what I was now crafting on the A5 page. The battle shall however be…. I wondered once more. Meanwhile, I could not help looking at the feet of the men sitting around the three sides of a square-like seating arrangement. My mind wondered to the supermarket visit of the previous night. I had failed to get my size eleven sandals, at which point my colleagues had told me to “nunua size 5 and 6 kama hizi zetu, halafu uunganishe pamoja.”

The run is cancelled
When I woke up a few minutes to eight and later on went for breakfast, an amazing thing had happened. The once white long expanse of sand on the sea shore was non-existent. The ocean waters had risen to almost reach the hotel perimeter. There was hardly any shore to walk on. Were we supposed to run in the water!? How can water be existent one day and not existent the next day at the same place? This particular situation was a contradiction to the principle of contradiction, which states that nothing cannot be and not be at the same time! I momentarily removed my specs, which blurred my view of the ocean, forcing me to put them on again. I was surely not seeing double, nor was I being blinded by some substance consumed last night. The waters had surely engulfed my running circuit and my planned white sand relay was surely off.


On part 3 of the story, to be published next, I tell you of my final attempt to organize the run.

WWB, Nairobi, August 11, 2011

The beach run - part 1

The beach run - part 1

Aeroadplane
“This is like an aeroplane,” commented the lady sitting next to me. This was about five minutes after takeoff.

Early in the evening, I had left my workplace and got a taxi to town. The taxi ride was the employer’s way of getting me home after working me past work hours. How my ‘home’ turned out to be town on this particular Thursday, was just pure calculations on my part. My usual residence is a stone throw away from the workplace. But this is a story for next time.
At the bus station, various buses parked, filled-up and left, while we awaited our ten o’clock boarding time.

“Wanaosafiri Mombasa kwa Modern Coast, basi aina ya Oxygen, tafadhali nendeni kwenye basi KBD…,” the announcer started, and searched her words for the reminder of the registration plate.

Our team of eight had managed to get fairly scattered seats. I had managed a number 11. I remember calling the booking office six hours earlier, to reconfirm that this number was an aisle side seat, which they did. I do not fancy the window side during a night travel due to the cold.
There was no security check even as we boarded. All just filed in without any hassle. The only requirement was that each had to display their tickets for confirmation by the attendant standing outside the bus door. I was just about to ask the lady apparently sitting on no. 11 to move to the window side, when I noted that number 11 was actually a window side seat, about four rows behind the driver.

“What was the use of that confirmatory phone call? Cheating Kenyans!,” that is what my mind said. My mouth however said, “Excuse me, please let me through to my number eleven seat.” I settled on my seat, adjusted the headrest by lowering it backwards, then fastened the seat belt.

Videography
Before our departure, a video cameraman had gotten into the bus and without warning or notice, went ahead and took video coverage of the whole bus. As he moved around, he momentarily focused the lens on each passenger. Occasionally, he asked particular passengers to remove their specs and head gear and look straight up. This was quite strange. However, since no one seemed to worry or question the going ons, I followed suit.

At exactly 10.30pm, the hydraulic doors closed and the bus left the station. I hardly noticed this departure until the ‘aeroplane’ comment was made.

“I did not even notice that we are in motion,” I responded, by way of introduction to the person I was sitting next to. I was still bitter in the mouth due to my sitting position, but nothing beats a good conversation.
“What takes you down coast?,” I found myself asking, for no good reason, just to get acquainted.
“I live there. I was in this forsaken city for a graduation ceremony”
“You do not like the city much, do you?, ” I wondered aloud.
“With traffic jams that are a national disaster! Spare me!!”
So we kept the chit chat, even as the air-, sorry bus-hostess served bottled water, packets of juice and some nuts.
“Next they shall be offering 3D goggles for the movie,” I quipped to my partner. This got her off guard, forcing her to laugh this off, loudly, for a moment. My colleagues, sitting on the opposite aisle glanced at our direction with some envy and moved their gaze straight on after a moment.
“I have to be on duty early morning. I therefore have to obey the sleep that is catching up with me. The graduation ceremony took a toll on me.”

Comfort
When we hit Mombasa road, the coach settled onto a comfortable but relatively slow pace. There was hardly any discernible motion. It was as if we were at a standstill but the movement was real. This was super comfortable. The lights has been switched off, but the movie show must have been cancelled! Large red LCD display just above the driver position, visible to all, indicated, “Date: 7-28” then “Time: 10.50” and then “Temp/Humid 25 C, 65%”. The display alternated every fifteen or so seconds. The air-conditioner was real. At some point I actually directed a jet of cold air onto myself from an overhead knob. But eventually I settled onto the trip and started enjoying the ride. I started planning for my inaugural run at the coast – a beach run competition by the team of ten. Something like a relay between the dudes and the dudettes. How to position runners at the relay points still needed a calculation. Nonetheless, this scheme would only work if we were capable of making some time, especially in the morning or late evening. However, there is no harm in planning – the worst that can happen can be a cancellation.

“Lord have mercy!”
“Shindwe!!”
“Oh my God!”
“Reswa!”
I heard all such shouts almost simultaneously. This was hardly thirty minutes into the journey. As I was digesting the situation, I remembered the sound of a loud burst, followed by wobbling motion of the bus as it moved left and right for a moment. One minute later, the bus was at a standstill on the opposite side of the road, just at the edge of the road shoulder.
“That was a tyre burst,” someone said, even as passengers craned their necks to glimpse the windshield or impossibly look through the dark painted windows.

The lights were turned on and the driver stepped out. Our hostess disembarked and folded her seat to give passage to travelers who were now disembarking in total confusion, and some in panic.

When it sank in, we realized that we had had a front tyre burst on the driver’s side. But because misfortunes must always come about in good measure, it was not a coincidence that we did not have a functional spare tyre nor the tools to change the tyre. I also disembarked, finally, and passed by the red LCD that now displayed 11.00. I noticed that we were not far from the city. In fact, the lights on the horizon dotted the outline of Nairobi. The billowing smoke in the nearby industrial establishments signaled that we were actually at Athi River. The night was chilly and hence I got back to the bus after my short stint on the dark road that was seeing vehicles, especially buses, zooming through at lightning speeds.

Silence
There was no official word from anybody on our mishap nor the course of action. Everything happening was an interpretation of what ‘some passenger heard from the driver’. At some point, we heard that the bus was completely incapacitated and that there was no chance of the journey continuing. Some passenger came back to the bus, picked his bags and said that those who needed to travel to the coast urgently were supposed to board any other bus of the same brand heading to the coast. With fear of the unknown, I was one of the people who found themselves in a non-comparable bus, looking for any available seat. My colleague, who was ahead, had already managed a seat. I tried the empty seat immediately behind, but was told that it was broken, unless I was willing to travel ‘with a straight back’ to the coast. I had to disembark and wait for our unknown eventuality.

Later on, a mechanic came from Nairobi and changed the tyre. The replacement was not any good and could not sustain a long journey. We were informed of the big issue, that there was a mechanical fault that was causing the tyre to be eaten into by a metallic part of the wheel compartment. With this fault, any tyre changed would eventually wear out and burst, when the tube surface is eaten into. For our own safety, the bus was driven slowly to the nearby Athi River Police road block. We now had only about half the passengers, after the others got into other Mombasa-bound buses. Even at the road block, more passengers decided to jump bus and got going.

“We are staying here till morning, since there are only two buses of this kind,” one passenger volunteered loudly, in the midst of the chit chat in the bus. There was laughter, anger, disgust and some few 'Shindwe's in reaction to the statement. The number of buses was a sure statistic, but the waiting period was based on lack of information from anybody. We were just there – in the cold bus, with the AC now turned off, in the dark… and in a restless panic. The time was now 12 midnight. I just sat there. Resigning to fate I closed my eyes even as I said, “Good morning my team! It is a new day. Let me catch some sleep.”

Water bottle
Something hit me and I stirred.
“Sorry, it was not meant for you!,” I heard from deep sleep. I struggled with wakefulness to notice a half empty bottle of water lying next to my seat. That is what had hit me, that was the subject of the apology. I noticed that the lights in the bus had been turned on, but turned down.
“Wewe sleepyhead. Bure kabisa! Hebu amka! We are about to start our journey,” the same lady who had dropped the water bottle told her girl-friend. Their seat was just a row behind, on the opposite side. I had to rub my eyes off sleep, since I momentarily saw her plant a kiss on ‘sleepy’s lips and tell her, “Sweety, kaa vizuri. Our trip to the coast is back on track.”

I become more sober when they clasped each other in an embrace that I would interpret as romantic and soothed each other to sleep. To keep me guessing, they covered themselves with a sheet and made sure that there was good exposure around sleepy’s dropping trousers. As the bus turned back to face the direction of Mombasa, the lights were finally turned off and we started our journey to the coast. The time was 2.30am.

When we broke a record of arriving at Mombasa at 10.30am, four hours later, I got to understand what happened at the Athi River Police road block. The narration occurred as we got into our chartered van heading to our hotel rooms. We heard that a mechanic came from Nairobi and fixed the problem and realigning the front wheels. The adjustment removed the metallic protrusion that was eating onto the front right tyre. The problem of the tyre had been with the bus since its trip from Mombasa to Nairobi before our boarding. The very wise mechanic back at Nairobi had given the bus a clean bill, stating that the problem was ‘not too serious’ and could be resolved at Mombasa after this particular journey. One of the phone calls that the hostess made early in the morning was a status report to ‘someone’ on the other end of the line. “You mean atapoteza kazi?,” was one of her statements over the phone.

With four lost hours, my planned beach run was not having good prospects on a now tighter programme.

On part 2 of the story, to be published next, we find out how my run at the coast went.

WWB, Nairobi, August 10, 2011

Running the wrong way – the Chancellor teaches marathoners a lesson

Running the wrong way – the Chancellor teaches marathoners a lesson

Rumours turned to reality when the Chancellor of the Republic of German visited the institution on Tuesday, July 12, 2011. But the visit was a challenge, even the seasoned runners like me.

The rumours:
Two weeks prior to July 12, rumours of the President visiting the institution (again) started. This however was very unlikely given that the previous visit was just late last year. That bit of rumour run around for less than two days, since the clincher came when one staff, inadvertently, informed our maintenance team to paint some walls at the main Admin block in readiness for the visit by Angela Merkel. For damage control, the management finally released an official communique to the effect that surely the Chancellor was visiting the campus.

Wrong runs start:
On Friday before the visit, we were given a preliminary schedule that indicated a 4pm visit, followed by a meeting with staff. That meant that staff had to be seated at the address venue by 4.00pm. They had to have vacated their offices by 3.55pm (or be locked in until five). We were all eagerly awaiting this once in a lifetime meeting, when a new message was sent 24-hours to the visit canceling the staff meeting. Nonetheless, staff had to clear out of the tour route by four, by remaining in their offices or breaking for the day.

Photo runs:
I had charged the camera battery the previous evening and by eight on the D-day, the camera had been assembled, checked, tested and counter-checked. The cancellation of the staff address was however weighing heavy on me. I started planning to be out of the compound by 4pm, though I did not have any other plans for the evening.

Engineering runs:
As a service provider, I found myself in the mix, when I was called over to the venue of the meeting to confirm that all installations were in order. I had to give directions to some staff to ensure that everything was functional. The sound checks and recording tests were verified and re-verified. The public address system was tested and retested, with each test resulting into reposition of the loud speakers. The red carpet was rolled, cleaned then re-cleaned.

Running with the flowers:
The young girl, hardly four, who was to present the flowers was coached by the mum, a colleague, on what it shall take. To her it was just an amazing experience. Her young self and small size could not comprehend what was going on. She run away with the flowers, when they were first given to her – and the bouquet was quite heavy that she almost dropped them.
“Hey girl, come to mummy”
She changed direction and moved toward mum, the flowers evidently heavy.
“Say, 'Welcome to Kenya', then give me the flowers”
“Welcome... thank you,” she struggles to say and gets a relief as the mother takes the flowers. She laughs shyly, covering her face then runs down the red carpet, totally impressed.
A few trials later and she is ready for the task. I am also confident that she shall manage. I give the mother a few tips, “Tell her to say 'Guten tag', and see how the visitor shall be impressed”
“Kutak... mummy, what did you say?”

Running motorcade:
When the three minister arrived, that of Public Health who is also the area MP, that of Agriculture and that of Livestock, we knew that the dignitary was not far. Their motorcade did not raise much attention, after all staff were still generally out of the vicinity of the event. I was in thick of things due to my Engineering pass. It is the Landrover of the Traffic Police boss that caused some excitement as it arrived at the Green House site. The driver must have ignored the 25kph sign and the 'bumps ahead', since the big vehicle was tossed so high by the two consecutive bumps that we thought it would overturn.

Run to carpet:
It was now 4.10pm and the air was full of anticipation. Any time now and the mystery of the visitor shall be unveiled. Two outrider motorcycles signaled the arrival of the VIP, who was in a dark blue Mercedes Benz, with four additional security men running besides it, two on either side. The vehicle of the guest was to stop just next to the red carpet, so that the visitor can disembark from the right of the car, straight to the carpet. The DG and the welcoming party had positioned themselves just at the start of the long red artificial turf. However, the limo driver had different ideas – he drove and turned into the carpet. This confused all the welcoming party, not knowing which limo door she would disembark from. The confusion won – she disembarked from the left. I was standing at the tent to the immediate right, just next to the sound mixer. Her disembark on the opposite site obstructed my photography – but it had been a day of wrong runs so far.

Public address:
“Wilkommen Madam Chancelor fur Deutsch Bundesrepublik in ILRI,” the DG started off. We had hoped that the speeches would be in English but we were on a different run. As he spoke, all were standing, with the five dignitaries at the makeshift podium near the Green house. The other dignitaries apart from the Chancellor and three Kenyan ministers, was the German Agricultural minister. During the silence there was a thick presence of security agents. About five had an earpiece. Nonetheless, those who heeded the warning of putting on their staff IDs visible at all times did not suffer any adverse security inconveniences. Anyone without an ID was physically blocked from moving anywhere in the vicinity of the Green House.

“Danke Doktor Carlos Sere fur Seine gut Wilkommen. ILRI ist wunderbar” Madam Merkel responded when her time to address the gathered commenced. She went on to deliver her address, while an English translation was relayed through the public address, by a translator just next to her podium. Her remarks lasted about five minutes. Immediately thereafter, the guest and team toured the Green House then the Lab complex.

Running the wrong way:
After the tour, which was restricted to accredited passes only, there was to be the signing of the visitors book, then a press conference in front of the New block. Since I would not make it to the lab tour, I was eager to be part of the group steadily gathering at the New block in readiness for the signing ceremony. We had started taking some of the snacks marked 'Press only'. However, when the blue limo with the German flag zoomed past the block towards the rear entrance of the Lab. complex, I knew that something was about to happen. I took off, camera at hand, in the direction of the vehicle. Behind the lab, I found some members of the press and visitors waiting for Madam Merkel to leave the lab. Momentarily, she did and proceeded to sign the visitors book, which was in a new tent just at the parking lot. After the signing, she proceeded to the lawn next to the lab and answered a few questions from the press. She was just a meter away from me as we, the press, pressed forward to hear her address in Deutsch. A colleague journalist was still asking a question when she turned back and headed to her limo.

Final run:
The uniformed security personnel in her blue airforce like regalia opened the left door to enable the visitor get into the car. She then took the front seat, while another civilian lady moved swiftly from nowhere to block the back left door with her frame. There was a human shield around the limo that just stood there with no action. It was as if she had decided not to leave! After about two minutes of calm, at exactly 4.55pm, the outriders cycled off, followed by Angela's car, as the human shield run after the car and progressively jumped into their dark blue cars as the chase hastened. All other vehicles followed in tow.

Back to the New block, the few staff from the event gathered to munch on the bitings as they reflected on the busy day.
“Why were so many things in the program changed? This must have been bad for the visit,” I wondered aloud, to my colleagues.
“Nothing in the program was changed. The event just went on as planned. It is only that the wrong programme was released to the public, for security reasons,” I was told.

Those of us who like running, this 'as planned' program was good for practice. One more reason why running is good for you.

Wanjawa, W. B. - Nairobi, July 12, 2011

Sotokoto 2011 – held in May but…

Sotokoto 2011 – held in May but…

When I left the house at 8.15am for the morning run, I deliberately put on the Sotokoto marathon T-shirt issued last year. This was to enable me compensate for the third annual edition of the run that I had surely missed. The inaugural run was held on May 15, 2009. The 2010 run was held on May 23.

Bad memories
I had heard little about the Sotokoto Safari marathon since the year began, apart from it being held in May as per tradition. I was not surprised that Sotokoto had not publicised the run. It has been their bad tradition to do everything wrong in organizing this marathon. Take last year for example. They had launched the run about six-weeks to the event and indicated registration centres as AK offices, Equity bank branches, Uhuru gardens secretariat and KWS offices. None of these listed centres were aware of this run weeks after the inauguration. Even the KWS headquarters offices seem to be lacking in details of the registration process. By one week to the run day, only KWS offices were accepting registration and payments, though they did not have the running kits. The kits were availed a day to the run. By run day, registrations were still ongoing. We did not get any medals or certificates. Enquiries one year later have not yielded any information on the fate of the participants certificates. That is what I mean by badly organized.

Revenge
My Sunday run was to be a slap on the face of the organizers. I was confident that the Safari marathon was being held on this Sunday, the 29th day of May. Their lack of proper publicity had prevented me from registering. Nonetheless, there was a good level of satisfaction, as I started my run with the Sotokoto kit. Revenge felt good. I would run my half-marathon at the comfort of the routes that I knew, even as the real Sotokoto took place on Langata road.

I had forgotten to carry my stopwatch from the workplace, having used it last during the Friday mid-day run. Nonetheless, I still had to determine my run time. The wall clock read 8.15am as I left the residential compound for the walk to the main road to start the run about a minute later. I started the run slowly to navigate the busy Uthuri main street, now crowding with church going people and noisy matatus, which have specialized in stopping anywhere in the middle of the road. These same brand have no respect for pedestrians or runners.

No runners
I took the flyover to Ndumbo at a slow pace and headed for the Vet loop at an increased pace. By the time I was through with the loop back to Ndumbo, I had settled on a comfortable pace. I went downhill toward the river, then uphill to ‘tarmac’. The run on Lower Kabete road to Ngecha diversion was uneventful. For the first time during a weekend run, I failed to meet a single runner! I usually meet one or two on this stretch. The Ngecha road to Getathuru road, a stretch of about 10 minutes, was fairly downhill, on road section that is in dire need of repairs.

The Getathuru road towards Kitisuru estate is uphill all the way to the diversion to the river and upto ‘tarmac’. This ten-minutes section was a big stress. At the Kitisuru stage, I pass a group of bystanders. They observe my approach having muted their conversation to let me passby. I glance backwards just in time to see one of them pointing in my direction while saying ‘Wanjiru’.
Thirty minutes after hitting the tarmac, I manage to retrace my route to Ndumbo, back to the Vet loop through the flyover and back to my residence. I read the wall clock at 9.59am. I had just conquered 21.5km - just like that. (G-map says 21.3km, but it does not cater for the terrain. My pedo has averaged 21.8km after about five runs on the route over time)

Happy
I am happy that I managed to do my own Sotokoto marathon in good time – 1.44.00. This is prefect revenge for the actual run that should also be finishing at Uhuru Gardens. After refreshing and even taking a day out to visit a colleague, I was eager to watch the evening news and confirm that the Sotokoto event actually happened. Why the sports news is usually the last part of news still puzzles me. (Probably a proof to humanity that sports issues are more trivial that we make them look). I had to wait until about 10.00pm for the sports news to be broadcast. There was nothing on Sotokoto. Was it because of the Wembley UEFA Champions League finals excitement where Barca trounced Man U, and in good fashion too? (From ‘trounced’ to ‘fashion’ are not my words. That is what the broadcaster said). I was left puzzled by this lack of mention to such an event that should have closed a major city road for over 3-hours.

Last laugh
The event organizers finally had the last laugh, when I visited their website…
Welcome to Sotokoto website – the third edition of the event shall be held on 31st July 2011. Countdown 61days 12hours 36minutes 40seconds.

WWB, Nairobi, May 30, 2011