Which day is this?
Cold
I could not even step out of the house. My head was aching. My eyes were painful. Any shred of incoming light contributed to the increase in pain deep inside the head. My throat was all croaky and it was becoming increasingly difficult to talk. My nose was painful too. Mostly from the friction caused by the continued use of tissue paper. Every sneeze hit the middle of my brain like thunder, causing paint to then spread to the rest of my body. I was on ‘natural’ therapy though – hot water, occasionally adulterated with juice from squeezed lemon or …. cayenne pepper – this latter one was a first one. Lacing with some honey made the concoction drinkable.
This was an anti-climax to an end of year season that had run quite smoothly from that Friday, Dec. 22nd when I travelled from the city by a 8.30am bus, which left the city at 10.30am, to the south rift town of Eldoret. I had booked this particular bus early December, just at the nick of time. I thought I had all the time in the world, but I somehow managed to get the very last seat available when I booked on Dec. 5. This type of calculation guided my decision to book my bus back for Jan. 2 the very moment I landed in Eldy.
The four-day long weekend was quite something. I found myself at the bus stage early Sunday morning for a trip to my roots in Diriko village. To get there one either approaches from Kakamega then Mumias then Butere, then a final vehicle to Manyulia. Alternatively, you get to Kisumu and take the Busia road, then alight at Dudi. After either of these stops, you face a 5km walk to my home – which is equidistant between these markets. These days the okada, sorry, boda boda motorbikes have taken over the walk and we no longer have the good fortune of having the walk as the only alternative. People are getting lazy… but not me, since I alighted at Dudi and took the walk despite the bodas scrambling for me.
Makanga
Before this particular walk, I had woken up at four-thirty and got a taxi at five to take me to the Eldy matatu stage. I was lucky to get the very first 8-seater mini-matatu headed to Kisumu via Kapsabet. While the normal fare is usually 500, that morning the makanga had ‘decided’ to increase it to 700 in the ‘spirit of Christmas’. But that is where the first drama of the day started. The makanga had apparently been so casual about this increase in fare.
“Hawa watu watalipa soo saba, au washuke,” he had declared just when the matatu was now full and we were waiting for what next.
The passengers started murmuring immediately, “Mia saba kitu gani. Fare ni soo tano,” one started.
“True, we cannot pay 700. Why should we?,” another asked.
The evidently drunk makanga then momentarily came for the money. He flicked a finger to the first passenger, among the two seated on the first class, next to the driver. They did not respond.
The makanga opened their door, “Shukeni,” he greeted them.
None of the two ladies made any move. The infant they were carrying stirred and went back to sleep. I was seated on second class, on the seat just behind the driver.
The makanga flicked his fingers pointed to the three of us. None of us responded.
“Shukeni,” he commanded. Then started throwing tantrums to the air of the otherwise quiet morning.
“Watu wa kusafiri ni wengi, na hawa abiria wa kisirani hawataki kulipa,” he shouted to the still air, “Aki ya Mungu lazima watalipa soo saba. Hata wakicheza watalipa ngiri saa hii”
Loose
That is when the first round of hell broke loose. The passenger who was all English, and seated to my right asked me to excuse him so that he can go out for a moment. That is after the passenger on my left had also momentarily left.
“Who is this thug demanding for money,” the disembarked colleague asked, “Why is he being rude?. We people have money and can even pay the one thousand. I am just from drinking ten thousand. What does this animal think it is?”
Soon it was the whole full matatu against the makanga, who was also not sober enough to take anything lying down. Our matatu become the centre of attraction for a good ten minutes as insults, some quite big, were thrown left, right and centre. When the driver finally salvaged the situation by asking all to get in and then took off, the still morning air had been substantially polluted with quite unprintable words. We ended up paying 700 to the driver, who landed us in Kisumu at 8.30am. Another matatu charged me double, 250/=, to get me to Dudi in about an hour.
No run
I was stuffing delicacies around two with my in-laws who had come to once again brought a token to the family as a result of my elder sister. In the preambles I re-learned that there was no end to payment of bride price and it continues literally for ever. My elder brother was also there.
“Thanks for the two animals. However, let this not be the end, but just the continuation of what we expect.”
I was back to south rift in high spirits and the festivities were quite good, only that I did not come along with my running gear and felt quite bad seeing the many great run routes that I could have exploited.
The good season was however not meant to last forever when I woke up on a Sunday morning with a slight headache and a blocked nose. Twenty-hours later sees me here taking uncountable cups of water and other concoctions. I have just switched on the phone at mid-day when I see several messages of the same tone…
“Happy New Year 2018”
WWB The Marathoner, Eldoret Kenya, January 1, 2018
