The truth is out… there is nothing called Christmas

The truth is out… there is nothing called Christmas

I did not even think twice when I was told there was a private car to Eldoret for two-thousand five hundred per person.  I was already seated without hesitation, with the young runner travelling alongside.

“Umpatie fifteen,” the stage hand whispered as I settled on the back seat.  There was already another woman seated back left as I sat middle seat.  The front left had an elderly man.  We waited briefly for the driver.  All were quiet.

“Nakuru ngapi?,” a new person came to the driver’s window just as the driver got in and adjusted his seat.

The driver looked back at the full backseat with three seated.

“Naona kumejaa.  Utatosha kweli?  Ok, lete thao!”

We were wondering how a fourth person would miraculously fit onto that back seat and were already murmuring out protest.  In fact, I had told the young runner that we would have to abandon the ride and wait for another opportunity, than be squeezed with another person in that full seat.  The driver must have got our sentiments, since he momentarily acknowledged that the car was full and drove off.

It was now seven-thirty on this Thursday, December 23.  We soon got to the petrol station at Cooperation, hardly a kilometre from our pickup point in Uthiru.

“Lete hizo pesa tuweke petroli,” the driver held back a hand in my direction.

I handed him three notes of a thousand-shilling denomination each.  He counted and returned his hand towards the backseat.

“Hazi toshi.  Ongeza soo sita”

“Lakini tuliambiwa ni fifteen!”

“Ai, hapana.  Hata ilitakiwa iwe thao mbili mbili, lakini nikatoa ka discount.”

That is how I paid the balance by MPESA and got to know the driver’s name.  So, James drove off and we joined the traffic jam just before Gitaru.  The vehicles were jam packed and hardly moving.  We kept going slowly.  We diverted from the parking yard of the main road and got to a side road just before Limuru.  We endured that rough side road before rejoining the main road where vehicles were hardly moving.

It continued being slow going.  At Kinale we did another diversion to the sideroads to emerge somewhere past Soko Mjinga towards Flyover.  These diversions were helping us move albeit through rough roads, but we would be back to the traffic jam whenever we got back to the highway.  We kept going that slowly with the jam not relenting at all.  We hardly travelled at over 40km per hour at any time in the drive to Nakuru, where we reached at 12.30pm.  It took us five hours to cover that 160km!  That is like 30km per hour speed!  Even the train could have been faster!!

We took a short break at Nakuru and resumed our journey at one.  The road from Nakuru to Eldoret was equally jam packed, though not as slow as the first phase to Nakuru.  I even afforded a few episodes of a nap before I felt the car come to a stop at some point.  It did not take me long to realize that we were around Timboroa.  The weather remained sunny.  I soon realized that we were on at a police road block.  This was the first one where we had been stopped, since the other blocks were mainly targeting public service and heavy commercial vehicles.

“Lazima ni mambo ya pasenja,” the old name told the driver, “Yani mtu hawezi kubeba relatives?”

“License?,” the cop asked and presented a hand across the front passenger towards the driver’s seating position.

The driver searched around and presented a red wallet.  The cop left with the license and walked to the back to the car, then round towards the driver’s side.

The cop then stood just outside the driver’s seat and asked the driver to disembark, “Shuka nikuenyeshe makosa yako.”

The driver was just about to disembark when the front passenger called the cop, “Officer, hebu rudi.”

The cop made a motion of turning back.  He was already set to wait for the driver somewhere behind the boot.

“Officer, I am Mr. Okeno, the deputy county officer in charge of […..], and I am here with my family heading home…”

The cop did not even wait for the completion of that sentence, since the red wallet was soon handed back to the driver and we were on our way in a hurry.

We encountered another road block at Burnt Forest, where the driver was once gain asked for this license, then asked to hit the brake lights while the cop observed the hind lights.  The driver got his license back and we drove through the jam slowly but steadily all the way to Eldoret.  We disembarked at 4.30pm.  We had just done another three-and-a-half hours for that 160km distance – an average speed of just 45km per hour.  What a journey we had had!

It is finally a Saturday, December 25.  The day started like any other.  The sun still rose from the East.  The wind and cold expected of this town have continued to live to their expectation.  There is no shout or noise.  All is quiet.  The ‘silent night’ song has become ‘silent day’.  So, may I ask what is this Christmas that we are hyping about?

WWB, the Coach, Eldoret, Kenya, Dec. 25, 2021

A birthday run that never was

A birthday run that never was

If there is a time that I thought I had COVID, and specifically Omicron variant, then that time was last week Friday.  COVID due to the symptoms and that particular variant due to the fast progression of the symptoms.  I had started feeling the signs of a common cold on the Thursday but had not taken any second thought of it.  However, on Friday the symptoms had multiplied ten times in less than a 24-hour cycle.  My throat was sore, and my body was weak.  However, I was not having a running nose nor a fever – just the urge to clear the throat and feeling tired for no reason.

Had it not been for the evening meeting that I had no power to cancel, I would surely have taken an early break and taken a bedrest.  I nonetheless persevered through the evening meeting that was to run from six to seven on that Friday and was glad when it eventually came to an end.  I had struggled to stay online and pretended to concentrate, but my body was telling me otherwise.  I needed a rest.

I was still contemplating on how to drag myself home when the meeting ends when there was a knock on the office door.  I suspected that it must be the sentry checking on who was still in office to alert them to lock-up the block as they leave.  I was however getting irritated.  I think that people get unnecessarily irritated when they need a rest.  I had previously told the guard that he did not need to keep reminding me to lock up.  I would do that automatically if I was the last person leaving.  I therefore did not know why he was still insisting on reminding me.

“Come in,” I said and continued conversing with the computer screen, counting the last fifteen-minutes of the evening meeting.  I could not wait to get it done with.

The door remained closed.

Another knock.

“Come right in!,” I raised my voice.  I was not going to answer that door in case nothing happens after this.

The door creaked open.  I was still concentrating on the screen.  I expected the guy.

“Happy birthday!,” I voice shouted from the now opened door.

“Happy what?,” I reacted, slowly turning my gaze from screen to door.

“Daktari, what did you say?,” I heard a participant on the Google Meet event ask.  I had already cautioned that participant that I was not yet a Daktari but he refused to live in the now.  He lived in the ‘by faith’.  I had told him that the ‘Doc’ thing would be happening next year, but I was manifesting it now.

I had to mute the online meeting first, to absorb what was going on.  Into the room matched in the young runner, Atieno, with a big white box at hand.  She proceeded to lay it on the desktop.  That box did not need any imagination to figure out the content.  She laid a Club soda besides it, the two-litre version.

“Have a seat while I get this meeting done with,” I motioned.

The meeting was done by seven.  I was back to the reality of the situation.  It was December 17.  

“You know it is your birthday, right?,” the architect in training said once I had closed the online meeting.

“Oh, how can I forget,” I lied.

I did not know that adults still had birthdays.  I have associated birthdays with the young ones and any other person.  I was still wondering how this birthday event even came about.  Unfortunately, my body was still weak and my throat could not partake of that soda, nor did I have an appetite for food, leave alone cake.  This birthday would have to be postponed.  I just needed a rest.

I tossed and turned and tossed and turned on that night.  I had a fever.  Covering up with three blankets did not even work.  I still shivered and felt cold.  I feared that I had been infected with the corona virus, though when I woke up to reality of the Saturday morning, I was a bit better.  The chills had gone, and the sore throat had gone down.  My remedy had just been hot water laced with lemon, masala and honey.  It seemed to have worked.

But I still had some last minute COVID jitters to contend with….

“I am not reporting for duty.  I have a bad cold.  I suspect I have COVID.  I am going for a test today.”

That short text beeped on my phone at around eleven on Saturday.  A colleague who was to be on duty on this Saturday was cancelling.  We had discussed so many projects the previous day in the small office.  If she was suspecting that she was having the corona virus, then…..

Anyway, I kept getting better, masala and honey at hand, and was surely back to normal by Sunday.  My method of recovery has always been to identify the onset of the flu before it hits, and then take it down with some honey.  This modus operandi enabled me to have less than two-days of downtime whenever the flu hits.  That works for me but maybe not for others, since that young runner would report a flu of her own two days after that birthday surprise and be forced to seek medication in her case, incurring a bill of over 10k.

So, was it COVID?  The Omicron variant of COVID?  The very COVID that has now infected 276,724,130 people with 5,388,439 deaths globally*.  Kenyan numbers are 267,571 and 5,354 respectively.  Could it be the one?  Did that double-jab of Astra-Zeneca vaccine contribute to my low downtime or I was just having a normal flu?

*source: worldometers

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Dec. 22, 2021

Running into a taxi business with a twist... four twists

Running into a taxi business with a twist... four twists

Today I added one more view to the most viewed videos on YouTube.  I was just curious to know what makes the billion-view videos be worth their ‘B’ achievement.  It is a question that I had already asked a few members of a ‘friends’ group to contribute to not so long ago.  They had told me that such a B-viewer video needs to appeal to, or be for…. guess…. the kids!  And surely video number 1 was a kids’ video – with 9.81B + 1 from me!  It was a sobering reminder of what the innocence of the young can achieve.

But it was not long when I had another kids’ discussion, but in a different context.  That was last Saturday, just seven days ago.  I was eventually travelling from TRM on Thika Road on a taxi.  I was coming back to Uthiru after a day out, probably the first time out of my comfort zone in over a year.  Even that three hour stay in that mall had already been a too much outing based on circumstances.  You know what to blame for this situation of not going anywhere else don’t you?  Of course, corona, silly!

So, the discussion started with kids as I was seated on the taxi from TRM about seven in the evening.  The driver who had already told me to cancel the Uber request and pay the indicated amount offline was driving smoothly on the almost deserted Thika road towards Pangani.  He had already lamented that the app only benefited the app.  He had said that the drivers were hardly even getting the crumbs, since they had no say in how the fares were being set nor were they even employees of Uber.

We were discussing corona in general, and why we would soon be having another lockdown in Kenya, or even not at all.  The pros for a lockdown was due to the ‘new Omicron’ variant of corona virus, while the cons were ‘the youth’.  Omicron has just been ‘discovered’, of technically speaking, had just been ‘sequenced’ in South Africa on November 24, just ten days prior to this taxi ride.  

Of course, SA and another eight of its neighbouring countries had faced a travel ban from most Europe and Americas, hardly one-week after that sequencing activity, leading to much uproar over discrimination in how international bans were being imposed.  The argument being that the ban had been rushed, and that SA had just been forthright with scientific truth.  Keeping quiet was the alternative, and that is the alternative that many on the web were now advising SA, in hindsight, to have done, instead of speaking the truth and now being banned (plus its neighbours).

The new Omicron variant was believed to be more transmissible, though its ‘deadliness’ had not yet been determined.  Even as late as today, some three weeks later and its deadliness is not yet determined.  Nonetheless, it seems to be less deadly than other variants or than previously feared.  The corona numbers* now stand at 269,570,565 infections globally from all variants, with 5,315,126 deaths since December 2019.  Kenyan numbers are 255,932 and 5,342 respectively.  On that Saturday, as I sat on that taxi, my Uber app off, my phone also off due to lack of charge, the global numbers were 265,795,997 and 5,268,209 respectively.  

*source: worldometers

Interestingly, the infection rates had gone up on a week-by-week comparison, while the deaths had gone down in the same period in the last one week.  A new highly transmissible variant was therefore ‘in the air’ yet the death rates had gone down.  The general prevalence and case numbers were even higher in the countries imposing the ban.  A punishing ban in the southern part of Africa had come to naught.  What a contradiction!  It did not even take long before the variant was being detected globally anyway, including in places that had no links with SA at all.  The variant was already out and it was its turn to do the rounds – live with it, as we now say in these days of corona.

Back to the taxi, where my phone was about to go off due to lack of charge.  The phone that I attempted to replace hardly a week prior with little success, after the replacement phone developed a starting error forcing me to return it to the vendor, and now be reluctant to migrate from my old phone.  The young runner, Atieno, had already laughed at me even before that one-week-old phone got faulty, telling me that I could do better than an Umidigi, her words, not mine.  I had and have no love to any brand of phone.  I buy according to my money and live with it.  Anyway, with my phone almost off, I paid up the initially indicated fare on the app before I had cancelled, by MPESA.  I did not want to be reach my destination and fail to payup due to a phone that was off.

However, before we had started that corona discussion, and the pro-cons of Kenya shutting down soon, we had discussed this issue of phones going off before paying up for the taxi.  The driver, who had been on ungoverned talk since I stepped into the taxi, had volunteered his wisdom on this.  He had disclosed that some drivers can screenshot a different fare display and show it to the passenger at the end of the trip in cases where the passenger’s phone is gone off.  

It would usually need a keen eye to detect the deception, though by such a time it is likely to be too late, usually after the fact.  However, he then confessed that it was possible to report such cases to Uber for resolution and penalization of the offending driver.  This would usually lead to the reduction of the driver’s ratings and the eventual crediting of the passenger’s account with the difference in charges, ready for use during a next ride.

We discussed the joys and the ‘not-so-joys’ of being the in the taxi business.  It was now almost seven-thirty as we joined Waiyaki way from the Museum hill roundabout.  He has told me that he would be closing business after he dropped me, since it was already night.  This seemed a contradiction the expectations of the current business environment.

“But we no longer have a shutdown?  You can surely work for 24-hours!”

“I just fear the night,” he said casually.

“Must be due to bad people,” I nodded in agreement.

“Not bad people, the good people!”

This got me thinking!  Fear of the good people?  Was I missing something?  He then opened up the story telling session with the top four reasons why he feared the good people and hence would like to avoid them as much as possible.  Do not hold me to account or call me names as I state the list, his list.  I am just reporting what the driver told me.  We were now on Waiyaki way, heading to Uthiru.

Good people number 1 – the drunk girl

He said that these are the types that he picks up from some nightlife joint, already tipsy.  The girl settles on the back seat and stays restless, asking him why he is not getting to his destination quickly.  They get into the list due to what happens at payment time.

“Nipe namba ya MPESA!,” the girl says, slurring with every word.

He gives the number, taking maybe five or ten times just repeating the simple ten-digit number.

They have now arrived at the destination, but the MPESA has not yet reached the driver’s phone, who then complains about it.

“Yani, hujapata!  Hebu nipe namba ya MPESA tena!”

He says that this is the cycle that makes him avoid doing night rides.

Good people number 2 – the drunk girl no. 2

This was a particular girl, but the cab driver still gets the jitters just imagining how he got himself into this situation.  He had responded to another call for taxi and had ended up in a nightclub.  A lady approached his taxi and stood by the rear window, leaning of the boot of the car.  The next sound was that of shattering glass, as the hind window smashed through.  He got out of his seat and went out just in time to see the impression left by a drink bottle that had hit that window.  He still does not know how and why his car was smashed, but it ended well, with the girl agreeing to repay.

Good people number 3 – the guy who sleeps

This is a guy he carries from… guess… from a nightclub yes, already drunk.  He tells the driver to wake him up when they get to the destination.  Many things happen at the destination.  They start by arguing over the destination itself.  The Uber app would be showing the pin confirming that they are at the destination, while the guy on the backseat would be swearing that that was not it.

“Nirudishe penye ulinitoa!,” the drunkard would finally slur out loudly.

They usually, somehow, get the right house.  He had not returned a client in his experience.

At alighting time, the driver stops the app and presents the figure to the guy who is now just awakening from the usually deep slumber, now trying to figure out his current whereabouts.  I will never forget the gesture that the driver made at this point, as he impersonated the drunkard.  We were now just past Kabete Polytechnic, about to get to Uthiru in less than three minutes.

The taxi driver pointed ahead, and continued to say what he was told, his right index finger being wiggled towards the windscreen, “Wewe… we… we… wewe!,” he shook his finger, his tone changed, even as he kept driving with one hand.

“Unataka nikulipe mara mbili eh!  Unafikiria nimelewa!, Eh! We, wewe, we!”

That reenactment was just magical.  It was like the drunkard was in that taxi at that very moment.  I could feel him.  I could feel the driver’s shock at the turn of events.  He did not tell me how he resolved it.  I can only imagine.

Good people number 4 – the guy who does not pay

This one is a story that I have heard before.  I was even ready to tell him the story myself.  This is the guy who is dropped at an apartment block and claims to go to the house to bring back the money for the taxi charges, never to come back.  However, this was a story with a twist.

He had waited for over ten-minutes and the guy did not come back, nor did he have any idea of to which house among the many in the storied complex the guy had disappeared into.  It was in the wee hours, as wee as three in the morning.  He got his courage and alighted from the taxi.  He then approached the sentry’s cubicle at the gate and asked the watchman for help.  The watchie had been one of those who just sleeps the night away, and was now also coming out of slumber.  He had just opened the gate to let the taxi in and had resumed his sleep, not caring whether the taxi was to leave or not.

After jolting the watchie back to consciousness, he started to ask him where the person whose name he knew as James, from the casual conversations, lived.

“Ai, hapa kwa hii plot hatuna mtu anaitwa James!,” the watchie was categorical and now fully sober.

“Ule jamaa nimelete hapa saa hizi!”

“Hata sikuona umelete nani,” the watchie confessed, truthfully.

The taxi man was at a dead end.

“Pole,” I told him, “Such loss of money!”

“Not so fast,” he continued with his story.  We were now at the Uthiru roundabout.

He had proceeded to describe the guy to the watchie.  It happened that the description that he gave were spot on, since it did not take more than two minutes before the watchie had a smile in his face, “Ah, huyo anaitwa baba Angel, anakaa B6!”

He found the guy in B6 collapsed on the sofa set, with the wifey trying to revive him with some early morning bowl of hot soup, which he was not responding to!

We did not get to conclude the pros and cons of closing down the Kenyan economy, again, due to the new Omicron variant of corona.  However, just like the YouTube videos that are a hit due to young people, the country was not going to be closed due to the same young people.  If you guessed that the this is due to some young persons’ street protest or some social media anti-Gov movement by the youth, then you are wrong.  The reason is that corona has not had an effect in the schools and there is no reason to close the schools and mess up the status quo.  Life shall continue as is, as usual.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Dec. 11, 2021

Running into an exam that was not to be

Running into an exam that was not to be

“Be with WB and others as they prepare for the exam…,” the trainer started the morning with a prayer.

I did not believe that I was hearing right but this was happening realtime.  But how did we get here on this Friday, November 19?

I had already attended a fire marshals training, which is close to my heart.  The trainers of the two-day event had threatened a fiery exam, which they failed to deliver.  I had already taken two such fire exams in previous years and I was not worried any bit whether the exam was to be there or not.  Anyway, it is those trainers who recommended that a good fire person should also know some first aid.

That is why I found myself, one week later, sitting in a three-day first aid class.  I am one of those people who have had a hard time with the biological sciences.  I was forced to take a course in biology as a compulsory subject in high school.  I am even lucky to have attained a grade B in Bio in the finals.  This was after real struggle and many hours of dedicated reading.  I was glad to finally do my ‘adios’ to bio after high school as I pursued the physical sciences.

I was therefore not looking forward to this first aid course.  I do not like issues to do with health distress.  I am one of those people who hate going to hospitals, for self or to visit.  The misery that I see there just gets me back to being well, even if I was the one unwell.  However, I was in the class, and I just had to see how it goes.

I had already gathered information from a previous year’s class attending by other work colleagues, that there is usually a ‘hard’ exam after the course.  I do not like exams at this stage in life.  I detest ‘hard’ exams.  I nonetheless went through the motions of attending the training.

The training turned out to be more enjoyable that I thought.  The material was presented in small doses.  It did not take more than half a day before I was adorned in hand gloves, having a feel of the latex for the first time in like forever.

“You must have your gloves on before performing any first aid,” the trainer reminded us as she demonstrated how to put them on, and then watched over us as we replicated her instructions.

We were already performing cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) by day two.  I had just heard about this on the news.  I was now an active participant, albert performing this life saving process on a dummy.  This is a chest compression procedure done when a casualty does not show any signs of a heartbeat.  It seemed easy when seen on TV.  

It was more difficult that I had imagined.  At two chest presses per second, powerful presses if I may add, you get tired hardly 30-seconds into the procedure.  But that is not all – once you start the procedure, there is no stopping until the casualty’s heart becomes responsive or until medical help arrives.

Many abbreviations later, including DR ABC, and we were on day three.  The word ‘exam’ had just been mentioned in passing at the end of day two, with no much emphasis.  If anything, they told us not to write too much notes since they would give us the handouts of the training, after the training.

However, when day three started with that prayer then I was brought back to reality that this exam thing could as well just happen.  The day started like any other and we were soon doing both theory and practical sessions.  We were dealing with fractures in no time and stopping bleeding like pros.  We were kept busy with no sign of any exam.  

By lunch hour the exam thing had been forgotten.  It was even now too late to do it.  We even came back from lunch and started preparing for the end of day and the future outlook on how we shall be deployed at our various stations.  We even took our evening tea!  This is usually the last thing you do before you break!

It is just as we were preparing to call it bluff, a few minutes past 3.30pm when….

“Now we shall be giving out the exam papers and you have 20-minutes to answer all questions!”

At four we got our certificates and the one-year first aider license.  The morning prayer must have worked.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, November 25,2021

Of being a doctor and the mathematics that did not add up – the Lakeside story

Of being a doctor and the mathematics that did not add up – the Lakeside story

I was ready for anything on this Wednesday as I prepared to travel to Kisumu.  My travel time had already been changed, I had already sent MPESA to a wrong number and my accommodation bookings had already been cancelled… twice.  The flight on a Bombardier dash 8 Q400 branded Jambojet left Nairobi’s JKIA at 1857hrs, instead of 1745hrs.  It took exactly 40-minutes to touchdown at Kisumu International.  It was already dark.  

The COVID19 port health declaration forms that we had been compelled to fill-in on the MOH portal while still at Nairobi, and had even got a QR code to show at the port of arrival, had come to naught.  No one asked for this QR code nor was there the usual COVID19 hype that had accompanied such a previous arrival.  No temperature checks, no hand sanitization, no MOH declarations and even no masks on most people.  Corona was no longer an issue.  The very corona that had now infected 253,082,160 people and led to the death of 5,114,568 on planet earth, with our Kenyan numbers being 254,297 and 5,316 respectively.

I got out of the terminal building and checked the Bolt taxi hailing app on my phone to confirm the cost of travel to Mamboleo area where I was going.  The fare was 420 on regular and 480 on comfort variants of the cabs.  I had a waiting time of 10 and 2 minutes respectively.  I however thought of getting a better deal from the already parked taxis at the outside parking lot that were already beckoning the travelers to take them up.  

One person approached me and offered to take me, “Chukua taxi twende.”

“Kama ni kama bei ya Bolt, basi ni sawa,” I told him.

“Kwani Bolt ni ngapi yawa?”

“Four-eighty.”

“Ai! Iyo awesi yawa!  Si wewe nalipa tu twelf-handred naenda na wewe msuri mpaka Mamboleo,” he responded.

“Bolt ni four-eighty na unataka nilipe twelve-hundred?”

I saw him beckon another person next behind him, “Bi ilos gi ja Narobi ni.  Tinge gi eight-hundred udhi”

The new person took over the negotiations, “Wachana ni hiyo twelf-handred.  Wewe lete tu one-thao tuende Mamboleo.”

“Four-eighty, au niende na Bolt!”

“Yawa jo Narobi gi!,” he turned back to talk to his colleague momentarily, then back to me, “Sawa, toa mia saba, tumalize hi mambo, si we najua hata gate ya airport sisi nalipa so moja!”

“Sawa, six-hundred, na utasimama kwa supermarket ninunue kitu.”

“Eh, yawa, po! Twende!,” he led me to a white taxi cab.

It was almost eight as we left the airport.  The driver just waved at the gateman as we exited and was not charged a dime.  We would then get onto Kakamega road where he pointed to a supermarket and stopped the car at the roadside.  He allowed me to alight, cross the road and get to that former Kondele Ukwala/Choppies supermarket to pick some items.  I had taken the risk of trusting the car and driver with my valuable left luggage as I went to the supermarket.  I relied on the expected honesty of the lakeside people and Gor Mahia their ancestor.  It worked, since I found the vehicle waiting for me with all my luggage intact, some ten minutes later.  This is not a gamble I would have taken in the city.  

We left Kondele and kept going on the Kakamega road.  It was not long before we hit a dead end after the railway crossing.  The road under construction had been blocked on the side that we had attempted to use.  I was about four-hundred metres from where I should have alighted.  I agreed to take a walk while the taxi driver navigated his way back.  I did not ask, nor get partial refund for this incomplete journey.  If anything, I took the drivers telephone number for a pickup on Sunday when I travel back to the city.

I got to the residence at about eight-thirty.  The gate was locked, and the gateman was nowhere to be seen.  His phone went unanswered.  I had to call the house owner to report that I was unable to get in.  It took about another ten minutes of waiting before Wasike came by.  I thanked him once again for having agreed to send me back the MPESA that I had erroneously sent to him the previous day.  He was soon struggling himself to open his own gate.

“Sasa nani alifunga gate and kuenda na kifunguo?,” he asked me.

I had no answer.

He soon ran out in his gumboots to the darkness of the retreating road and disappeared in the background.  I did not know where he had gone or what he was planning to do, nor did he tell me anything before he left.  I remained stuck outside the imposing gate, with the apartment block visible just a few metres inside the compound.  I would wait another fifteen minutes before I heard the gumboots running on the ground emerging from the darkness to join me at the well-lit gate.

“Tungoje tu, mtu atakuja fungulia sisi,” he updated me.

Finally, he shouted at someone on one of the upper houses on one of the apartment blocks to come down and open.  I finally got into the house tired and ready to take a shower and sleep.  I had bought some bread and milk already.  I had forgotten to get some sugar or beverage.  The tea intended for dinner was now seeming quite unlikely, until I found some tea bags and sugar left at the kitchen.  That is not all that I found in the kitchen.  Those scary giant roaches had multiplied since the last time I was here in June.  I counted over five big ones running on the floor in different directions when the kitchen light illuminated the room.  I thought nothing of them and continued with my life.

It was the very next day, Thursday, November 11 when we started the two-day capacity building workshop on processing data of the African languages of Swahili, Luhya and Dholuo.  A continuation of what had brought me here in June.  We were holding the meeting at the same Kisumu hotel.  The sessions went well and uninterrupted.  Last June was different, since our seminar came to a forced halt a day later when the Kenyan government had imposed an immediately cessation of movement in Western Kenyan and halted all gatherings with immediate.  That was then.  We were not even back to a 24-hour economy.  

We continued with our workshop, some plenary, some group works.  The group works would eventually lead to group discussions.

“Daktari, as I was saying, our Swahili data needs to be broken down into text spans for the machine to process,” George address me, in the group of four.

We were discussing how to process Swahili text to a format that would make it ready for machine learning tasks.

“Thank you, George, but I had told you before that I am not yet Daktari.  I am still working towards that.  Just call me WB,” I corrected him.  

I was just being academically correct.  I did not want that envious lot to see me pretending to have joined their club when I was not yet in it.

“Sawa WB, sorry for that,” he resumed, “So as I was telling you, Daktari, this formatting is what we need for machine learning!”

I accepted the situation and lived with it.

We would eventually take an evening break just after the evening tea.  Their serving of boiled bananas was quite something.  I had to get a second helping of this.

“Nikubalie niendelee,” I added some more to my plate, as I updated the catering staff, who was now clearing the used-up utensils and clearing the tables.

“Sawa,” he said jovially, “juzi kuna mtu alisema ati mtu inatakiwa akule mpaka achoke!”

“Mpaka ashibe au mpaka achoke?,” I reconfirmed.

“Mpaka achoke!”

My stay at the apartment would be uneventful, with roaches, mosquitoes, small black dot-sized insects running all over the kitchen and the unsightly paintworks that was peeling off especially in the washroom and kitchen.  I would however still stay here in future if the booking frustrations I went through is anything to go by.  The internet speed and the quiet ambiance compensates for any shortcomings of this one-bedroom apartment.  

Anyway, it was soon a Sunday, and I was already set to travel back to the city.  My newfound taxi man of last time had already dropped me at the Kisumu airport.  The check in process was quite fast, since I was seated at the departure lounge hardly ten minutes since getting to the port.  The airline kept the departure time, though the cost of travelling on a Sunday was almost double that of my inbound travel last time.  And we blame matatus for hiking fares when it rains!?

WWB, the Coach, Kisumu, Kenya, Nov. 14, 2021

When trouble follows you through and through – my Lake Victoria run experience

When trouble follows you through and through – my Lake Victoria run experience

“Hi, Is that Alvin?,” I talked out loud when the phone that had rang for almost a minute was finally picked.  I even though that I would not get an answer and was just about to tap on the cancel button on the cell.  It was just about seven in the evening on this Tuesday, November 9.

I was just from a 25k evening run, the first long run since the Stanchart virtual.  The heat and the hilly route has now won the duel, and I was once again just glad that I had managed to average a 5min 19sec.  I was still good with this.  It could have been worse.  The hilly terrain from Uthiru to Lower Kabete road via Kapenguria road, and eventually through the Uni farm past Mary Leakey is no easy feat.  I had almost collapsed with exhaustion after that 2hr 13min run.  It however just took a one-litre gulp of water laced with some 300ml of Fanta soda to get me back to normal.  It was now just about seven in the evening.

“Yes,… eh… whom did you want to talk to?,” a hesitant voice responded onto my ear.

“Is that Alvin?,” I had to reconfirm.  This is not what I expected.

“Ye…es…. But whom did you want to talk to?”

“Hi, I booked with you online two-days ago, and wanted to know how to get the keys tomorrow”

“What booking was that, are you sure it is me in Kisumu?”

“Yes, that is how I even got your number, from eh-ah-bee-en-bee,” I pronounced.

“But are you sure?”

Now, something strange was cooking over here.  I was already getting panic stricken.  Could there have been a mistake on the online booking system?  My worry was that my money had already been taken from credit card in advance.

“Yes, sure, I even paid already.  I booked your place.  The one you confirmed.  That is how I got your number.  Tomorrow is the day,” I said in quick succession.  Not know what was now relevant information or not.

“I am not sure, but I did not confirm any bookings.  I have nothing available.”

So, we went on to discuss how this issue came about.  His guess was that the system had auto-booked me within his information or consent.  He could have helped had he had places available, but it was not possible.  Now we had to discuss the inevitable topic of the refund process.  I was back to the situation that you would usually face with Uber taxi cancellation.  The ‘you cancel, no, you cancel’ exchange.  I asked him to cancel, and he said that he did not even know that he had a booking, so he advised that I cancel on my end.

I logged onto the booking site and tried cancelling.  I got a message that I would be charged for one-night for cancelling 24-hours to the accommodation date.  There was however another option of ‘let the host cancel’ in case it was them that had initiated the cancellation.  So, I once again called Alvin and informed him of what the online system was advising.  He agreed to try on his end and soon he was the one calling me to report that it was still not possible to cancel from his end.  He even sent me a WhatsApp screenshot of his system where the ‘cancel’ button was surely disabled.  

We were not stuck between cancelling from my end and losing 1 night charge of about $20, or him cancelling when he could not cancel anyway.  Meanwhile, my money was stuck somewhere ‘on the cloud’, but not with me.  This situation needed intervention.  I initiated a complain to the booking site and stated the issues that were facing the two of us.  There was an option of sending the complain by messaging and getting a response in 24-hours, or calling them and getting attention in 2-minutes.  I was not calling the US, so I sent a message and was ready to live with my 24-hours waiting period, as I waited for the refund.  Meanwhile, I still had to search for and get another place to book, with or without the refund.

But this was not the first time that I was facing a refund issue in less than 3-days.  Just three days ago, I had booked on the same site and got a confirmation, only for the host to send me a message the next day that the accommodation was not available.  I was about to ask him why he lists a property that is not available, which I actually did by messaging anyway, but for this occasion, I had been able to cancel successfully from my end.  He had once again taken me through ‘you cancel, no, you-cancel’ exchange.  I cancelled from my end and got the money almost immediately.  Maybe I was not yet on the 1-day to accommodation window.

I was just about to go to the online booking site once more to now try my luck at securing accommodation hardly 24-hours to my travel, when my cell rang.  There was a long number on the phone display, starting with a +1.  I knew that it was a USA number and I guessed that it must be the booking company calling.  And for sure it was, starting with the issue of the phone shall be recorded, a hearted apology, a promise of immediate refund, but not later than 24-hours and even a ‘small’ coupon to my account to console me.  They said that they had also called the host and agreed on the full refund to my account.  This was just too good to be true, but maybe my day was getting better.  I sighed and went back to the booking site ready to be frantic on what could be available at this last minute.

I however remembered the last place I had booked for my last stay in Kisumu hardly four months ago and recalled that I had even seen it still listed online.  I have ignored it this time around since it was a bit pricy than the two options now cancelled.  In desperation, I was now ready to pay more – pay any price.  I decided to call the host first just to confirm that it would be OK to book their place online, and if they would be kind enough to accept the booking upon presentation on their end.  The phone rang and timed out before being answered.

“I am roast!,” I kicked the underside of the desk where I was seated and shouted.  It was now dark.  I was still sweaty from the evening run.  I was yet to bath.  I was yet to get accommodation, less than 24-hours to my travel.

I momentarily saw the WhatsApp installation on my computer pop up.  I immediately recognized the icon on the message.  It was the host that I had only known as Diana sending a message.  Her marketing name was ‘Simply Diana apartments’.  Last time I had paid through the booking site, and hence did not have any other name of the host apart from the marketing name provided.  We exchanged a few messages, generally telling her that I was about to book her place if it was available at this last minute, and that she should accept the online application when she sees it.

“I can book you immediately, just send 1800 per night”

“But I was about to get online to book?,” I was about to say, but thought the better of it.

“Do I send to your usual number?”

“Yes”

Before I could even start the MPESA payment process, I saw other messages in quick succession.

“James Wasike of 07… shall receive you and show you the house”

I did not even think twice.  I was soon sending the big money to James, and I responded to the chat as such, “I have sent to James as instructed”

“No!,” she shouted on WhatsApp.  I did not know that you can send shouts in that messaging app.  Now I knew!

“That is the caretaker!!  You should have sent to me!!!  Ask him to send back!!!!,” another shout.

“For crying out loud!,” I typed in shout letters and was just about to send the text over, when I thought the better of it and deleted the message.  I instead retyped, “Let me try, but I can count the money lost, but let me try.”

Wasike answered the call almost on the first ring.  I explained to him that I intend to stay at Diana’s block, only that I had send the money to him instead of to her.  I think that the spirit of the good evening was with Wasike on this Tuesday, since he seemed to understand the situation faster that I thought he would.  I had imagined a protracted argument at best, and a switched-off phone at worst.  Instead, we were just talking about who would meet the MPESA sending charges.  I told him to deduct the charges from the amount he had received and send over whatever remained.

I did not wait long, since the spirit of the great Lake Victoria was surely still alive on Wasike as I got the full amount back.  He had not even deducted the charges that we had hassled over earlier.  I called him back to thank him for his quick action, before I sent back to him triple the sending charges that he had paid.  I soon resent the booking money to the right number and this also gave me the opportunity to get to know the name behind Simply Diana.  Thank you MPESA for being such a full disclosure payment system.

Now that I was not going to the booking site after all, I decided to catch up on emails, having been out of office for the whole day attending a fire marshals training.  I usually keep my inbox fairly well managed.  It therefore did not take me long to spot a mail that needed attention in the collection of the twenty or so unread messages.  This one was from Jambojet with the subject ‘Action needed or you risk cancellation’.  This sounded alarming enough to get me straight to it.  It was direct to the point.

“Your flight has been rescheduled from 5.45pm to 6.45pm. Click Accept or Cancel booking.  Respond immediately or you risk not traveling in case we do not hear from you soon.”

I was now facing a late arrival at the lakeside city, but there was no other option at the last minute, so I did accept the changed time and left that issue closed.

I walked home exhausted, planning to get to the house, watch the nine o’clock news, listen to loud rumba for an hour as I put together a travelling bag, think do dinner at some point before going to bed by ten-thirty.  This would enable me to sleep early enough and be well rested in readiness the upcoming travel, with the anticipated two days of full-day seminars that are known to drain the energy from the strongest of the strong.  I got to the house and switched on the main power just behind the door.  I have formed this habit of switching off the main power as I leave for duty in the morning.  It has the potential to conserves power from any leakages within the house and is also a safety consideration, but that is just me.

I was therefore in surprise when I switched on the living room light and no light came up.  The room remained dark.  That could only mean that there was no power for whatever reason.  I had paid my postpaid bill already and had just confirmed earlier on the day that I had a zero balance.  Disconnection was therefore out of the question unless…. 

“Oh, hech!”

I immediately knew that the place where I was staying was having one of those phase failure situations, where some houses have power while others have none.  It does rotate over collection of houses, though I tend to believe that my residence suffers more failures on the rotation than my neighbours.  And the way the failure works is so interesting.  The neighbours on both side of my residence would have power while I do not.  On those other rare occasions, I would have power while they do not.

With all plans now through into the darkness of no power, I found myself still writing the blog story on the laptop that was now about to run out of power being just past midnight.  Have I even taken dinner?  Have I even packed?  Can I even see in the dark?

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Nov. 10, 2021

One week and three marathons – why virtual is good and bad

One week and three marathons – why virtual is good and bad

Today is a Sunday.  It is the last day of the 2021 edition of the Standard Chartered Nairobi International marathon.  If anything, it is actually the real day of the run.  It is usually the day of the real run, until ‘virtual’ spoiled the party.  Virtual running has meant that there is a one-week window to do the run, from wherever you are.  We would usually have this run at the city centre stadium, at the same time, on the same starting line, with the full list of marathon greats.  

That was the norm in the good old days before corona.  However, corona had hit us hard from December 2019 and led to cancellation of most runs in 2020, include the Stanchart of 2020 which was cancelled outright due to corona.  We had escaped a second-year cancellation, but corona had forced us into this run-from-home event now called virtual.  The very corona that had now infected 247,283,954 people globally, leading to 5,013,391 deaths.  Kenyan numbers were 253,310 and 5,281 respectively.  

To put these numbers into perspective, the population of New Zealand, Liberia or Ireland is just about that 5M figure.  This virus was now forcing us to avoid large crowds and run individually or in small groups and run far from the event venue.  The virtual event had its good and its bad.  The adrenaline of the crowds is something you cannot get while running virtually at home.  Formulating a route to fit the run is quite difficult.  

The dangers of the road are many, unlike the real event where roads are closed to traffic and runner rule the roads.  A real event has the routes marked and there is nourishment in terms of water, glucose, and occasionally soda and fruits, every five-kilometres.  You benefit from roadside restrooms at the same intervals.  However, you are on your own when running virtually.  It is the lack of nourishment that breaks a virtual run and renders the longer distances very difficult to do.

Nonetheless, it is not all gloom on the virtual front.  Running virtually gives you a window of one-week to decide on when you want to run.  There is no restriction on date or time.  There is no restriction on the geographical location or the route that you can take.  You can even run many runs and choose the best of them as the final one to post to the event website.  Did I mention that you can even run different distances if you so wished?

Yes, it is with this issue of running-many-different-distances in mind that I found myself rushing to the starting point for a 10km run on this hot Sunday.  It was the last day of the run, the run that had been done since last Monday had already culminated into the final ‘real’ event at the Nairobi’s Nyayo stadium.  The final event of which only the invited elite runners participated in.  The rest of us were to experience the good and the bad of the virtual run from the comfort of home, in my case some twelve kilometres from the Nyayo stadium venue.

I had already done my 21km marathon on Tuesday.  I had even escorted Sharon for her 10km debut marathon on Thursday.  I was today running for someone registered on my team as WW, not WWB.  This WW was registered for the 10km run and I had just noted on the posted results on the organizers website that WW had not yet posted any results on the 10km.  

There were about eight more hours before the marathon event closed.  That was plenty of time to do something about this missing run.  Not only that, I was also aware that one of the team runners, Beryl, was going to miss this run after suffering a last minute medical issue.  A run on her behalf could ease her pain and add mileage to the total collection of distance that we were mining in this virtual running week.  It was not last minutes.  Any distance that was getting to the team was welcome.  I had even sent email to the team to remind them to get out and do their runs for the team.  This was it!

The sun was overhead and hot as I started off the run at Uthiru.  I was on the same 10km route that I had accompanied Sharon on, during that Thursday run.  However, this would be a run of similarities and contrasts.  While we started that Thursday run on almost similar solar radiation, I started this run with a real run, unlike last time when we started the run with a walk.  I was adorned with the same luminous yellow T-shirt of NMMT branding, just like on Thursday.

While on that Thursday we had met the ruffian just across the Waiyaki way after Kabete Poly, the very ruffian who greeted me in zeal and encouraged me to, “mseya, endelea kuletanga tu warembo manze.  Mimi pia uniletee mmoja next time,” much to the chagrin of Sharon.  This day was different.  I crossed the Waiyaki way without seeing anybody who wanted to interrupt my run and then kept running with no much ado.

I reached Ndumbo stage and soon started on the downhill towards Wangari Maathai institute on Kapenguria road.  I increased pace and the gravity kicked in to pull me towards the river.  I was almost out of breath as I reached the river.  On Thursday I was still at conversational pace by the time we hit the river.  I did not give much thought to the upcoming hill after the river on that Thursday.  Today was different.  I knew that there was the one kilometre uphill coming up.  I reduced speed towards the river crossing then settled on a pace that could propel me to the end of that hill, past KAGRI and soon to the Lower Kabete Road to do the U-turn.  I still touched the tarmac as I did the U.

I was not looking forward to my run route back.  I knew that there was that hill after the river all the way to Ndumbo.  A two-kilometre section of pure hell on earth!  I soon found myself on that very hill.  It was tough!  The sun was just hovering straight ahead, beaming its heat onto my face as I kept running to the West.  The beams were painful on the face.  The glare of the horizon was blinding!  I kept going, hoping and wishing that this hill could just end.

While on Thursday we were even commenting that the hill was ‘somehow mild’ after Wangari Maathai towards Ndumbo, as we walked its length to completion, it was different today.  That hill was long and nowhere near mild!  I still struggled on and finished the uphill just past Ndumboini stage.  From there I did the right turn and then ran round the big circle, with the collection of churches encircled, to join Waiyaki way.

I now had only two more kilometres to finish the run.  My energy levels were still high, and the sun had started losing some of its hard-hitting beams.  It was even hitting me from the back as I ran towards the East on Waiyaki way.  I crossed that road and started the last stretch past Kabete Poly back to Uthiru.  My energy levels were still top notch.  It was a sprint to the finish line.  I stopped the timer at 11.93km in 58min 17sec at an average of 4min 53sec per km.  

Why the data was converted to 10.00km in 49min 55sec at an average of 5.00 when posted to the Stanchart website still remains a mystery.  That leaderboard showed that that time was a position 9 ranking.  Of course, there shall be adverse changes to that list when the elites post their data.  But the screenshot of that listing remains the truth as at the time of writing.  I even believe that I deserve a 42km medal.  After all, I did 42km in the virtual marathon week in those three runs, didn’t I?

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, October 31, 2021

The virtual half – a Nairobi International marathon with a twist

The virtual half – a Nairobi International marathon with a twist

I was on the road again on this Thursday.  I was taking a trainee runner to the routes to figure out a 10km distance and give her the impetus to keep going.  We started the run at exactly four in the evening.  It was hot, but not as hot.  We left Uthiru towards Kabete Poly, then crossed the Waiyaki way and ran the length of the road towards Ndumbo.  We alternated our runs and walks.  

We talked during the walks.  We even discussed how we were lucky to have decided to run on this Thursday instead of the previous day, when it had rained from about four all the way to late night.  As a consequence, the traffic jam around Kangemi had been impossible, leading to one of our runner, Berly, getting stuck in the traffic jam for over two-hours after her visit to collect a running kit.  We were glad that our ‘foresight’ in choosing the right day for the run was working to our advantage now that it was hot, but not very.

At Ndumbo we generally ran the downhill on Kapenguria road all the way to the river, then walked the uphill for about one kilometre to the Lower Kabete Road junction.

“This is harder that I thought,” Sharon commented as she finally reached the T-junction of Lower Kabete Road where we were to do the U-turn and run back on the same course.

“You must touch the tarmac,” I urged her on.

“I am too tired, I may fall over into the road,” she lamented.

“This is the ritual, you just have to do it”

She reluctantly touched the tarmac of the Lower Kabete Road, even as the vehicles from Westlands sides approached and hooted.

We turned back and walked for about five minutes on the slight uphill towards Kenya Animal Genetic Resources Institute, KAGRI.  We passed by it on our right then took a few photos.  I had already reminded the runners in the group that photos were necessary for the report to the sponsors, to make them feel good and… to also get that next sponsorship in 2022.

We then did a short run to the river and afterwards faced that one-point-five kilometre of uphill that ends at Ndumbo.  We would run-walk that hill to the very end.  By that time Sharon was taking rests every five or so minutes to get some life back to them.  Her legs were aching.  I knew the feeling.  I could feel for her.  We were now however not far from our destination.  Just another two kilometres and we would be done with the run.  The sun was still overhead and hot, but not as hot.  We kept going knowing that the end was near….

It was however quite a different situation two days ago, when I did my own virtual marathon on that Tuesday.  I started the run at about 3.15pm and it was a hot afternoon!  I have never run in such a heat.  I was nonetheless lucky that my body was feeling quite well on this day.  I did not have any aches and I was quite ready to give the international run my best.

I was suffering the disadvantage of having little choice on the route to take to get the 21km done.  All the routes that I formulated would have at least half of the run being done uphill.  There was no way out.  I therefore decided to do my run on the best of the worst options that I had at hand.  I still had to do over 10km of hills on this route even though I would get my 21km alright.

I had taken the same route as the one that I was taking Sharon to.  I however did not ritualize the tarmac with that touching action.  I instead turned left and ran the one kilometre stretch along the tarmac and then diverted once more to my left to the Mary Leakey route.  It was then generally uphill through the University farm all the way to rejoin Kanyariri road.  I would then turn right and run straight on for about two kilometres to Kanyariri ACK church junction for another right turn to run all the way to the Wangige road underpass for my U-turn.

It remained hot.  I was tiring much faster due to lack of hydration or supplementation with drinks and fruits.  I was just glad that I had got to this U-turn, since I now just needed to survive a return journey mostly on Kanyariri road to Ndumbo market, then the last two-kilometres to Uthiru.  I was tired, it was hot, and I still had an international marathon to tackle.

The end was finally near when I crossed Waiyaki way and was passing by Kabete Polytechnic.  That was Tuesday.  And I stopped my timer at 1hr 54min 26sec with the Runkeeper app reading 21.22km.  That was a good run time bearing in mind that hilly terrain and no water or glucose being dished out as would have happened if it was a ‘real’ run at the city centre.  The real run that had now been allocated to only few elites who would be at the stadium on Sunday, October 31.

Well, Sharon and I finally also finished our Thursday run which was still to be posted to the Stanchart international marathon website as a 10km virtual run.  We finished our 11.32km in 2hrs 03min and 24sec.  The run was posted to the website thereafter.  The stats would show that Sharon was so far at position 57 in a time of 1.47.18.  The organizers had prorated the timing to fit the 10km expected of the competition.  I even saw that other young runner, Atieno, under by tutelage with runner number 2020 being positioned as number 66 on that list of 10k women.  

My runner number 2031 had debuted at number 8 on the men’s 21km listing when I posted my own results registered as a time of 1.53.39.  I however knew that neither my nor Sharon’s time would be in the top 1000 list when we finally get the elites doing the real run tomorrow, Sunday.

That does not matter.  It is on record that we hit the leaderboards, and no one can dispute that.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Saturday, Oct. 30, 2021

Running communication is not easy

Running communication is not easy

I remember starting to shout in joy on October 20, just two days ago, when that speech by the president of Kenya was still going on.  I was joining many other Kenyans in anticipation.

“Lastly, with the powers conferred on me as the president…,” the TV screen sound came out loudly and clearly.  

It was just about two-thirty in the afternoon on this Tuesday.  It was Kenya’s Mashujaa day holidays, a celebration of heroes from those of independence, to the current ones.  The shouts continued.  The speech continued.

“The national wide dusk to dawn curfew that has been in effect from March 27, 2020…,” he did not even need to finish.

I could hear the louder shouts in the streets of Uthiru.  I heard shouts from the TV itself.  I was shouting myself at Uthiru house.  The junior runner, Atieno, also with me in the house during this holiday, was also in jubilation.  No one, be it on the streets or on TV was waiting for the words to be said.  We knew what would be said.  It was not a surprise when it was said.

“… be and is hereby vacated with immediate effect!”

The shouts in the air reached their crescendo.  The shouts and jubilation would continue for another five minutes.  This was the day that we had been waiting for!  Finally, we would start living our lives without the fear of the dark.  We had not seen the night for over eighteen months.  The day to finally remember that a day has 24-hours had finally come.

That night there was celebrations outside the housing estate, as evidenced by the noises and the background music that persisted all the way to when I fell asleep a few minutes past one.  Kenyans were celebrating their freedom.  

‘All corona restrictions’ had been lifted, according to what I heard on the streets the next day.  Nobody wanted to know that it was just the curfew issue that had been lifted.  It would take the minister in charge of health issues to clarify that other restrictions remained in place, including social distancing, limits of number of people in churches, meetings or events and putting on of masks while in public places.  That clarification did not change things… corona was over!

Three days later, on this Friday, October 22, 2021, there was yet another communication issue that needed clarification, albeit when it was too late.  I had asked the waste management company to clear some items from my office for incineration.  Some of those papers that you just want burnt, call it old notes, money matters, receipts and all.  The contractors have done this for me many times before and I therefore trust them to do this when they say that they shall do it.

I had sent a message to the contractor’s contact person and had asked them to pass by my office and pick a ‘small package on my desk’.  It was the only item on the desk anyway, since I changed offices and all material had already been moved to the new office in another office block, four hundred metres away.

I was therefore in shock, when I came to the new office some four hours later to find all items on my in-tray missing.  I remember having at least two files and probably some marathon registration documents and receipts on that tray.  It was not as clean as a newly purchased tray.  That was strange and it could only mean one thing – someone had made away with my files for whatever reason.

It did not take me long to realize that my very important files had already been turned to ashes.  When I asked the service provider why this was so, they informed me that that is what they found on my desk.

“We first went to your initial office but were told that you had shifted, so we came to the new office”

I was still in shock before they even told me that, “We even thought of incinerating those boxes at that corner,” while pointing to the boxes containing my marathoners team running kits consisting of T-shirts, medals, water and energy drinks.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Oct. 22, 2021

How long does this take? Of five minutes that turned out to be three hours

How long does this take?  Of five minutes that turned out to be three hours

I had now sat on that chair for exactly one-and-a-half hours.  My mouth had remined open for most of that time.  I was tired by all definitions.  The seat was comfortable alright, but the open mount situation was not.  My mouth muscles were tired.

“Shield him up for the x-ray,” I heard the doc say.

When I say ‘heard’ it is true.  I had been having a face cloth covering throughout the duration.  I could not see much, just the darkness of the blue clothing covering the whole of my face, leaving just a circular slot on the clothing for the position of my mouth.  I was already getting used to the darkness of the cloth covering.  The first relief came about when I was being prepped for the x-ray.

I got the chance to look at the wall clock, hanging above the wide window to my left, after the veil was lifted.  I momentarily observed the traffic flowing along Ngong road.  The Green house building was just on the other side of the road.  It was now exactly one.  

The portable x-ray equipment was brought to my once lying position, as the seat was adjusted back to a seating position.  I had to hold the x-ray reader in my mouth for the process to be done.  I would soon be adorned with the leaded shield sheet for the process to commence.  My mouth stayed open.  My mouth continued being tired of being open for hours.

“Take him back and cover him,” the doc instructed his assistant.

The lady adjusted the seat, and I was once again flat on the seat.  My face was once again covered, leaving only an opening for my mouth.  Some little panic was already setting in as to whether everything was OK.  That x-ray break however gave me some semblance of comfort that I would be done soon.

Truth be told, I had surely convinced myself that this would be a five-minute process.  After all, how long does it take to fix a piece of titanium, hardly two-centimetre high, into one’s gum?  Shouldn’t it just be push in and it is done?  I was wrong….

“We are now halfway done,” the doc updated me when I was back flat.  I was still in the dark due to the face covering.

“That cannot be true!,” I thought of saying.  However, in my darkness and a tired open mouth full of all manner of paraphernalia, I could hardly talk.

I would be lying if I said that there was any pain in this whole process.  None.  The local anesthesia had taken effect about five minutes after administration.  The whole half of my right lower jaw and tongue were numb.  I could only feel the motions of things but not the sensation of pain.  I was just tired and now worried that maybe something was wrong with the whole process.  I was expecting a five minute thing.  I was now in ninety-minutes and just halfway through.

I persevered and survived another three x-ray breaks.  I managed to see the number of blood-stained cotton balls lying on the adjacent table during one of those breaks.  They were bloody!  They were scary!  Could all that have come from my mouth?

That Wednesday had started well.  I already knew that this procedure was happening.  My expectations were however far from reality from the get-go.  I had an eleven o’clock appointment, but I was not called into the medical room until eleven-thirty.  That should have rung the first bell that it was not business as usual.  I have always first taken a seat next to the small desk used by the doc for some preliminary discussions.  This time it was different.  Neither the seats nor the table were there.  The room had all been cleared and instead there were all manner of paraphernalia lying around to occupy such spaces.

“Things are thick!,” I said to myself, as I wondered how to even proceed.

I was immediately ushered onto the dental seat and reclined flat.  The first explanations were that there shall be a full face covering on this day.  This was for purposes of complete sterilization of the mouth area.  This was a first one.  I have always dealt with the dentist ‘face to face’.  This time it would be different.  Other than that, I was told that the process would be as previously explained.  That explanation had been about one month prior.  It was simple enough.  As simple as five minutes in my view.

It was at 2.30pm that I was finally brought back to a sitting position and the face covering removed.  I have never imaged that a small gap of a missing molar on a lower jaw, hardly a centimetre space, could take that much time to deal with.  This same gap was costing me about 0.2M.  And it is a big deal when your bill in charged in millions.  All this was to paid out of pocket as the insurance company had indicated that such a necessary treatment as an exclusion.  

I had even debated on the wisdom of this decision, since the alternative option was to extract the upper molar to equalize this lower gap and be done with.  Such an extraction would be covered by insurance, hence a free issue.  However, it was not too late.  The bill was now payable, the titanium crown holder was now buried in the gum, and the next stage of fitting a top crown on the holding root was to follow after two months.

I almost collapsed with the anticipated pain when I got a prescription of the four painkillers, each to be taken over a period of five days.  I knew that my next five days would be hell on earth!  I had already been warned that cold drinks were out of question for a week, nor were hard foods and any much use of the right jaw in that period.  

The first night on that Wednesday was the most apprehensive.  I took the tablets by nine and went to bed immediately after.  That was four hours earlier that I would normally hit the sack.  I wanted to be immersed in deep sleep by the time the pain hit.  The pain would probably be swallowed by the dreams.  The numbness had already died down by this time, though the pain had not yet started.  I did not take any food on this day, just a glass of warm water.

I was surprised to wake up on Thursday without even a painful disturbance in the night.  Today is a Friday, the second day after my dental issue and I am yet to feel the pain.  I am even wondering whether that dentist did implant anything on my jaw.  I however cannot explain those stitches whose strings I can feel with my tongue on that gap.  Maybe I shall ask the implantologist.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, October 15, 2021