The fall and the double run

The fall and the double run

Every seasoned marathoner finally falls, and my day for the fall came to pass today, Wednesday.  And it came and passed so fast that I did not even have time to enjoy it!  I would have loved a more dramatic incident, with some preparation and a long time on the ground.  But that did not happen….

I should have technically suspended all runs until 2023 after the Christmas run, but the urge to do one ‘last run’ was just so strong to resist.  I therefore left for the run at eight, against my better judgment, and would soon regret this decision.  I should have instead stayed in bed and enjoyed another hour of sleep on this cold morning.  However, I left the warmth of the bed at on my own volition and stirred trouble in the face.

The rains had started falling almost daily after a long dry spell.  The first serious rain fell on Christmas eve.  It has generally rained daily since then.  Yesterday, Tuesday was no different.  It had rained most night.  I had hoped that the running trail would not be very muddy.  Instinct told me otherwise.  The road was already slippery during the Christmas day run, with hardly a day or rain.  How about the road after four days of rain!

Anyway, I was out for the run and knew from the start that the run would be muddy.  I was still aiming for the four full circuits on the trail on the south side of Sosiani river, facing Eldoret town on the other side of the river.  I hardly started the run before I encountered the muddy puddles on the mostly dry weather earthen road.  It was slippery and called for running at a reduced speed so as to tread carefully with every step hitting the ground.  I almost fell at a road section near the river.  I marked that section mentally and reminded myself to be careful at that section when I faced it on the second circuit.

The second circuit exposed yet another slippery section on the section before heading to the riverbed.  My slow careful run had made me survive this section, even as I learnt to note its existence in readiness for the third circuit.  The third circuit could have been smooth with muddy sections now well memorized, but a new section towards the main road to Kipkenyo would remind me that this 5km circuit was just a muddy maze and there was no safe road on this day.

Finally, when I was sure that I had mastered my run on the mud, and this happens.  I was carefully running through a section that I had encountered three times already and did not even seem any muddy.  This comes after a sharp turn to the left after going downhill.  This turn should enable me to then run about one kilometre then get to the riverbed section.  It is a turn that I had already done three times thing morning and had been as smooth as butter.

I was not even going fast, as I struggled to get a grip onto the mostly muddy road.  I made the turn alright and just made about five steps before I found myself sprawled onto the mud.  It was the knees that took most of the brunt of the fall as I went down on all four.  My hands had done well in preventing my thoracic area from falling flat onto the mud.  The palms of the hand near the wrists were full of mud.  But the shock of the fall was coming from my knees.

I stood up almost immediately and assessed the situation.  I once-upon-a-time had a cellphone on the left hand, timing my run.  I had been alternating it between left and right hands with every circuit.  It was on the left on this fourth round.  It was now missing.  I had involuntarily released it in reaction to the fall and left on its own device.  I examined the ground and saw it lying about two metres ahead, on the muddy path.  I picked it up only to realize that it had gone off.

Many things were now happening at the same time.  Recovering from a fall.  Dealing with a switched off phone, that was muddy.  Dealing with muddy hands.  Trying to resume my run!  I did not know how to proceed!

I decided to switch on the phone first.  I already knew that the run timing was already disrupted, and it was not possible to continue my timing on the initial record.  I just had to start timing a new run.  A second run on the same run.  At least the phone was still working.  I wiped some mud out of it, but it remained fairly muddy.  I then attempted to run, only to be stopped by the pain coming from my knees.

I stopped on my tracks, paused the timer that had hardly timed for more than five seconds, and decided to take a look at the knees that was causing so much pain.

“Oh, em gee!,” I shouted out, subconsciously.

I could see an area that was bruised and red on both knees.  Some blood was trickling down both legs towards the socks.

“Oh, em gee!,” I shouted out a second time.  I do not like the sight of blood, despite being a certified first aid, hence this second reaction.

The road where I was was deserted.  It had been deserted through the run.  I knew that I could meet a group of motorbike riders waiting for passengers some one hundred metres ahead, but for now, I had to deal with this alone.

The knees were muddy, dirty and now showing red streaks of blood.  The pain was deafening!  I tried to resume the run but folding any of the knees was just a pain in the, in the, in the a… knee.  Anyway, I re-examined the wounds and realized that they were mainly affecting the outer part of the skin.  I was convinced that neither the flesh nor muscles of the knee had been affected.  The pain was however another thing, despite my self-triage assessment.

I left the status as is, muddy, bloody knees and all, and restarted my run.  The pain especially when folding the knees for the run was sharp but manageable.  I just had to do the run as initially planned.  I was going to struggle through the new circumstances.  The pain got better with time.  However, my run speed had now been reduced to a much lower pace than before the fall.  I was now being over careful with the road and also reducing the pace due to the pain on the knees.  

In a few moments I reached the vicinity of Sosiani river.  Though the run route was about one-hundred metres from the running river, I could see the many little water streams that run from the hilly side on my left towards the river.  I stopped by one of these streams and washed my hands and attempted to wash my knees.  The pain of the water on the wounds was just unbearable.  I however knew that I had to clean my wounds if I wanted to prevent further complications from the bruises.  I washed away and was soon looking clean.  I resumed my run.

I finally cleared the fourth circuit and did the final finisher circuit that is not the full route.  This finisher is a maximum of three kilometres, and can be cut short by taking any of the many alternate routes back to the finish point.  I like this finisher since it gives me the option to run the full length or drop off and end the run at any time, depending on my energy levels.  I re-examined the place where I had fallen hardly thirty minutes prior.  

It is a place that I should not have fallen at.  However, I still almost fell even on this final round.  There was a small stone protruding about two centimetres from the generally flat ground.  That small stone could cause a tumble if you are not observant.  I had evaded it in the first three rounds, but it had caught up with me on the fourth.  It almost caused another fall on the final.  How small things can be the most damaging!

I do not know whether I did one or two runs on this day.  I had a timer reading 16.72km in 1:30:44, and another second one reading 9.00 in 49:03.  My knees remained painful through the day.  I could hardly fold my knees while walking or seating.  That did not prevent me from doing a 6km leisure walk around the town.  I was almost back to normal by nighttime.  I hope to be fully recovered by the next run… when it comes.

WWB, the Coach, Eldoret, Kenya, December 28, 2022

25 on 25

25 on 25

It was not my intention to run on the day when the Christian faith was in a birthday party, but it just turned out to be.  After all, it is very long since I did a run, as ‘very long’ as nine days.  The last run was the December international marathon aka ‘the boycott version 2’.  On this date of December 16, my running team, once again, boycotted the run, after doing the same in November.  I knew that this would happen since the three regular runners had said or had done everything that they could to ensure that they missed this run…. and they did give it to me the best way that they thought fit.

Let me start with Karl.  He had peeped through my door on Thursday, a day to the run, at about 12.30pm.

“I feel like I can go a ka-tooo kooo run, maybe to tarmac.  Can we go?”

I would usually have said yes, since the tarmac run route just goes from Uthiru, through Kapenguria road all the way to the Lower Kabete road, where you do a U-turn and back.  The run is anything from ten to thirteen kilometres, depending on the tweaks that you add to it.

“But why would you be running when we have the big run tomorrow?,” I asked him even as he kept holding the door ajar.

“Kesho siko, naenda shags, Mwingi, I have something to do.”

So that is how I got the first regret over the attendance of the Friday run.  Of course I did not join him for the Thursday run.  I was not messing the international.

The second semblance of an apology came from Edu.  He had been on a daily run on this month of December for whatever reason.  Marathoners do things that are sometimes not understandable to the rest of us, marathoners and even non-marathoners.  I had met him one week prior, as we were preparing for this run.  This was during the staff party that was meant to mark the end of the year, the first such party since 2019.  Corona had put a break to gatherings and mass events since that time.  The very corona that is now technically eradicated or a live-with disease, or did I hear that it has had a resurgent from where it first started in China?  

The corona that causes COVID-19 disease, which has now infected 661.7M people globally with 6.68M deaths, hence 1% deaths of the confirmed infections.  Kenyan numbers now stand at 342,470 and 5,688 respectively.  Of course, deaths from road accidents in Kenya this year has surpassed this number.  That is why I believe that corona ended and other things took over, but let me get back to the story.

That on December ninth.  It was the end year party, when the dress code was ‘the 70s’, and Edu was adorned with an Afro wig, a waist high pair of trousers with suspenders, with others in similar for guys and girls with short short-skirts.  On this day of the end year party, when I was in a grey suit and tie – which was surely a theme dress.  If anything, I had overdone it since I was even in a pre-70s attire anyway.  I did meet Edu and we talked briefly as we picked the food and drink stamps.  He had mentioned that he would be travelling out of the city from the next week.  He did not mention anything about the marathon.  I was left to add the one-plus-one on this.  For information, that suit was in readiness of a major award, more on this upon enquiry.

Lastly, it was Beryl who did a number on me.  We had had a Wednesday evening run, just two day prior, with compulsion coming from my side, since it was my run day and she had to follow suit.  She had confirmed that she would participate in the Friday run, but not the full distance.  I had my doubts.  She has not participated in any international since the corona pandemic.  I was doubtful that she would be doing a second run, albeit even shorter, two days after this run.  I did not say as much.  It was therefore no surprise when I got a WhatsApp message on the Friday of the run that was brief and to the point, “Have a good run, we shall speak after the run.”

It was therefore a second time in less than three weeks that I was facing an international run alone and lonely.  The things that I do for the team!  The run was the usual.  From Uthiru through Kapenguria road to Lower Kabete road for a brief run, then turn to the Uni farm past Mary Leakey school, then join Kanyariri road to Kanyariri centre for the right turn all the way to the underpass on Wangige road and back straight to Uthiru.  The weather remained warm and a bit sunny.  I cleared the 24.45k in an average of 5min 00sec per km in a 1796-1935m elevation range.

I subsequently vowed not to do nothing for the team.  And took the end of year leave to prove the point.  I was relaxing and enjoying the good holiday, doing nothing, when the run bug bit me on Saturday night.  I therefore woke up early, at eight-thirty, on this Sunday and just left for the run.  I was doing this run at the home of champions, though I did not expect meet any champion on this morning.  After all, it was Christmas day, and most people were preoccupied with the day’s festivities, be it in church or in the hood.  I met lots of singing from the churches along the route.  I hardly met people on the road, even the motorbikes were relatively few on this day.

I was doing my usual circuits on one side of the Sosiani river, with Eldy town rising to its fullness on the other side of the river.  The circuit is just over 5km.  It is mostly hilly, but it is so far the only route that I could formulate, that avoids the vehicular traffic as much as possible.  Avoiding a competition with motor vehicles is one of the things that you want to do with your runs when you have an option.  I did four full loops and a conclusion run on the fifth one that did not go all the way.  I finished the run just before eleven, having covered 25.69k at an average of 5min 11sec per km.  The elevation of the run ranging from 2054m to 2104m.  I just hope that the run bug spares me and allows me to take a rest until I resume the runs officially in January week 2.

Merry Christmas!

WWB, Eldoret, Kenya, Sunday, December 25, 2022

November International boycott… when action is louder

November International boycott… when action is louder

The MoE* had communicated the Friday, November 25, 2022 date for the November international marathon as early as October, just after the Stanchart Nairobi International.  I was therefore confident that this scheduled run would attract many runners who had about a month to prepare.  The card was also full of choice – anything from 2km to the big 21km.  There was therefore something for everyone.

*MoE – Marathoners of expert, the committee that organizes marathons

Three weekly reminders later, and the day for the marathon was at hand.  This was the day.  It was a Friday with a good weather, unlike the evening rains that had ‘spoilt’ a few evenings earlier in the week.  A semblance of cloud cover brought about an overcast day in the afternoon, but the rain clouds remained absent.  The sun would force itself out of the clouds by four, and it remained bright thereafter all the way to sunset.

I expected a big turnout, but things would take a turn at about two.  Beryl was the first to make her way into my office, all smiles…

“I come in peace,” she knocked onto the frame of the open door.

“What a good marathon we shall have!,” I responded.  She surely must have been quite serious about the run to make it for the run this early, with two more hours before the start.

“I come with a peace offering,” she exposed a shopping bag and extended it in my direction.

There in lied the catch.  Nobody gives a peace offering when there is no war.  I however let it slip as I had an immediate encounter with Edu, who was just close behind.

“Coach, imagine I have a meeting at four,” he said in a manner of greeting, as Beryl took a seat.  I was now settled back to my seat.  Rummaging through the shopping bag.

I looked up.  He was still filing the door.  I had known that this type of statement would be coming sooner or later.  This is because Edu is usually the most enthusiastic of the runners in the team.  He would already have reminded me at least thrice that we had a marathon and that we shall be running.  He had done no such thing.  He had not contacted me at all since Stanchart.  

If anything, I had even met him on Thursday, just a day to the run.  I was finishing off my lunch hour run on the 17k, while he was walking leisurely with colleagues.  He would normally have even blocked my way and reminded me of the Friday run, lest I forget.  Not this time.  He just waved me along on this Thursday.  Those right there were signs that he was not running this international, but I still hoped otherwise.

Now it was all clear.  Edu was not doing the November international.  Edu would momentarily be gone, as I was now left with the peace offering to savor.

“Imagine I have to see my sis off,” she broke the silence, getting my attention off the bag of fruits.

“You mean!?”

“Yea, my sis is travelling abroad, and this is the day to say our goodbyes.”

Which coach in his right mind can refuse to grant a runner such a request? 

With no other confirmations for this Friday run, I knew that I was surely on my own.

When I started the run at four, I just left and did not look back.  I did not find or see any other runners, nor did I expect to find or see any other runner.  I was doing this on my own, for the team.  I was doing the run for all.  While the first 5k seemed relaxed and comfortable, as I run from Uthiru across Waiyaki way to Ndumboini then Kapenguria road, my real troubles started after the river on Kapenguria road.  My stomach just started paining.  I had not taken any other solid meal apart from tea and bread for breakfast, so this was a pain that I could not explain.  It was not a stitch, it would not be a stitch.  I wished it would go away.  It did not.

I was barely able to run as I traversed the university farm just past the 10k mark.  I was going to have quite an uncomfortable run, but it was now too late.  I would just have to endure to the end.  And the end was still far!  I was hardly halfway through.

Sheer willpower and pain endurance kept me going all the way to the turning point below Gitaru-Wangige overpass, before making my way back on Kanyariri road, to Ndumboini, then back to Waiyaki way and finally to Kabete Poly just 2k from my finishing point.

It was a relief to just somehow finish the run.  I did not care about the time.  I was just glad that I had done it.  The average run turned out to be 5m09s per km on the 24.5km course that took me 2hr 6min.  I was by now too thirsty having been unable to take any water in the course fearing the reaction of my stomach to water in my state of distress.  The thing that kept me going was the thought of the assortment of fruits waiting for me upon completion.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Nov. 27, 2022

Stanchart 2022 - The only marathon that did not get me

Stanchart 2022 - The only marathon that did not get me

The Stanchart Nairobi International marathon held on Sunday, October 30, 2022 was probably the first marathon over the distance that I have managed to do and recover so fast that I was back on my feet hardly one hour after the run.  I would normally be knocked out of my feet literally for at least 24-hours.  I would also not sleep in comfort due to the aches on the legs.  This time it was different….

I was doing the first marathon in Kenya since 2018.  I was in the diaspora when the 2019 run was held, while the COVID19 pandemic caused the cancellation of the 2020 Stanchart marathon.  The 2021 event was held fully virtual, apart from the few invited elite runners who were allowed to the run venue.  I had participated in the virtual 21 least year, but it did not have the usually anticipated euphoria of the crowds.

Four vaccinations later and I was one of the about five hundred runners who assembled at the starting line of the 42k run on the Southern by-pass road, just besides Carnivore restaurant next to Uhuru gardens.  I had woken up at five, taken two slices of bread and a lukewarm cup of black coffee before walking the one kilometre to the main gate of the compound where I was to pick the minibus to town.

We were less than eight in the bus as it left for the drive to Uhuru gardens at 0550hrs.  The road was fairly deserted on this Sunday morning as we drove on Naivasha road to Ngong road, then to Mbagathi way.  However, the jam started just as we joined Langata road from Mbagathi way.  It was just about 0620hrs.

The bus moved on at snail pace as we joined the queue of vehicles that were definitely going to the venue of the marathon some one kilometre away.  I could see the runners already walking or jogging along the road towards the direction of Wilson airport, then eventually to Uhuru gardens.  These walkers and runners overtook us as we struggled with the jam.

We finally managed to get to the Uhuru gardens designated parking yard.  It was getting full.  The runners were however already at beehive activity.  It was now just about 6.35am.  I had about 10-minutes to make it to the starting line past the Carnivore restaurant.

I started jogging towards the direction of the road, where I could hear the loudspeakers beckoning the runners.  They announced that the run would be starting in five minutes.  I was still struggling with figuring out a route that would get me out of the Carnivore grounds onto the Southern bypass.  I managed to find a gate that would exit the grounds and onto the road.

It was just three minutes before the run when I joined the crowd of about five hundred.  The weather was cool at this early morning.  It was almost chilly, but it was not.  And as per the tradition of the run, it did not wait for anyone since at exactly 6.45am the 42km marathon started by a simple pop of something.  I am not sure whether it was a balloon that popped or something else.  The group left and we started running towards Mombasa road on the Southern bypass.  The Nairobi National Park was fenced off to our right on the other side of the dual carriage.

My left foot was a bit painful.  I hoped that the pain would subside since I did not know how I would survive a four-hour run with a painful leg.  It could have been due to lack of warmup or something, since the pain subsided after about five minutes of run as I pounded the tarmac that had been completely blocked of any other traffic, apart from runners.

The first water point appeared besides the road, hardly ten minutes after the start of run.  I ignored it.  I kept running.  The crowd was sparse.  I overtook a few runners as we kept going.  We made a first U-turn somewhere near the internal container deport (ICD) nearly eight kilometres since the start of run.  I had studied the route map and I knew that we had another ten or so kilometres of run to get back to Uhuru gardens on Langata road.  The return run was uneventful before the 21km front runners appeared and stole the show.  This 21k run category had started at seven.  They sprinted past, the timing vehicle just ahead of the pack of ten or so, bicycles and motorbikes on tow.

I got to Langata road and passed underneath.  By then I had encountered water stations at least every four kilometres.  I hoped that the waters would remain abundant for the rest of the journey.  I could not survive a 42 without water.  Finally, I saw the 20km mark.  I now knew that the real run shall start in the next one kilometer as I repeat a distance akin the long run already done.

I also noted that since crossing under the Langata road the run had looked and felt hilly, and it was.  I had not planned for a hilly run, but there it was.  The water points remained available every 15 or so minutes.  The runners on the 42 were now few and far between.  I could hardly see more than a runner or two in front.
“Banana?  You need any?,” I thought that I heard.
I was completely immersed in absentmindedness that I did not even recognize a biker riding along.  He was the person asking, stretching out a hand that had a collection of ripe banana pieces.

I increased pace slightly to catch up as he handed me a piece, two pieces.  I bit a small piece and kept going.  I kept biting along over the distance.  I would encounter another banana point at a water station just as we neared the 30k turning point.  By this time the sun was blazing hot, though it was hardly nine.

That turning point was the best relief ever!  I now knew that I just had to survive the 12k journey back to the finish line at Uhuru gardens.  My body was still in good form.  I kept picking the water bottles from the water points whenever I got to them.  At about the34km mark I got to a fruit point and stopped.  I picked a banana and a melon.  I also got a water bottle.  That thirty-second rest was deliberate.  Those fruits were deliberate.  That water was deliberate too.  I was strategizing for facing ‘the wall’ – the point in time on the 42km where many runners collapse and pass out if they are not well seasoned runners.  I have almost passed out myself, so I know and recognize this point.

I infused some glucose that I had in my pocket into the 300ml water in the bottle and took a sip.  I then resumed my run, and it was now all run towards the wall, which came and passed without much notice.  I was now on the downhill and I was completely fine.  I was offered a choice of Coke or Fanta at some point on the run.  I took the small tumbler, with hardly 100ml of Coke, gulped it all down in a go, threw the plastic tumbler away, and resumed my run.

This run was now in the bag.  Nothing, repeat, nothing, was now standing on my way.  I was not aiming to break any records.  I just wanted to run for the first time on this new route and survive it.

Did I say nothing would stop me now?  I was wrong!

I got to the 40k mark, just before Langata road, where the 10k and 21k runner were also now making their turnback to Uhuru gardens, and the muscle pull on the right thigh hit me.  It was such a sudden and painful hit and I had to limp to a stop just at the water point.  I saw one of the officials and stopped at her standing position as she was directing the routes for the 10/21 versus 42 at this meeting point.
“Is there a first aid station?,” I asked.
She was taken aback as if she did not expect this question.  I could see her searching herself. She eventually responded, “Hapo mbele”

Fortunately, the short stop had given me a short relief.  Of course, there was nothing ‘hapo mbele’.  I just kept going at a reduced speed as the muscle pain reduced but did not subside altogether.  By this time the road was now full of the 10k and 21k runners who had all joined in as they headed to the finish.  They were mostly walking.  It was difficult for those still running like me to find their way through this packed mass.  I still managed to weave through and kept running.  The finish line was now just a kilometre away.  I could hear the loudspeakers at the finish.

I left the Southern bypass and started to make my way to the Uhuru gardens using the back road.  The road remained full of runners.  I kept going.  The end was near.  I reached the enclosure that was to mark the finish line with all manner of crowds already full at all the available spaces.  I guessed where the finish line should be due to lack of clear marking or visibility.  And I guessed right by turning left.  I was soon crossing the finishing line with its timing chip mats on the track.  I momentarily got a runners medal.

But while the run was good, the stop confirmed that my body was overstressed!  I was tired and could hardly make any steady steps.  I thought of collapsing into a rest but a heard the B-and-B team member, Beryl, who had been waiting come to the rescue.
“Congrats!  There is no stopping.  Keep walking”
I obeyed and kept walking.  My legs were paining!  That muscle pull was still lingering in the back of the right leg and was not going away.  I could hardly fold the right leg on the knee.

Between picking free tree seedlings availed to all runners to pick and take home to plant, and taking some photos and water, I still recognized that my right tight was out of action.  It was painful.
“Someone give me an extinguisher for my leg,” I lamented as I walked along, “My leg is on fire!,” I cried out loud!
“We can seek a medical,” Beryl suggested.
I am not sure whether I agreed or not, but I kept walking as we headed to an ambulance branded ‘Nairobi Metropolitan Services’.

“What is the issue?”
“My leg is painful!  I can hardly fold my knee.”
“Sorry, but we have run out of supplies, but you can wait”
Wait?  When my leg is hardly functional!

We waited, before I was finally called back to the next similar ambulance.  The attendant applied some cream on the thigh, then massaged the area with ‘Deep heat’ before applying a bandage dressing.  That application burnt like hell!  But it was short lived, since I was soon walking about normally as if nothing had happened to that leg.

My day was normal from that point on.  I even managed to attend a full afternoon meeting when back to Uthiru, albeit virtually, and walk another 3k home in the evening.

While previously I would be bedridden immediately after the run, and would toss and turn the whole night after such an event, this time round it was different.  I became normal immediately after the run and did not have those aftereffects of the marathon.  Maybe it is the monthly international marathons that have reconditioned my body to take the event much better than before?  Or maybe it was the route?  

Or was it just my good day?  The good day that Runkeeper recorded as 42.27km in 3.29.09 at 4.57 average, while the official record recorded the run as 3.28.39 at position 240 out of the 538 in the men’s event and 296 overall.  The winner in the men’s managed the course in 2.10.22, while the ladies champ took the crown in 2.27.04 in a field of 154 ladies.  The total number of posted results were 692, both physical and virtual.

The confusion at the finish line was a subject of discussion and appeals, after some leading runners in the 21k were directed to the wrong finish point only to be forced to turn back.  One national newspaper even described it as ‘chaotic’.  So, while Stanchart got it right in areas such as adequacy of water supplies and even some fruits and drinks on the 42, plus those free seedlings at the finish line, they could have done better in crowd management and a well-organized finish line.  But this was my retirement run from the 42, so, I may not get to know if my suggestions are taken on board over the distance next time.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Nov. 1, 2022

When ‘return’ does not mean ‘return’

When ‘return’ does not mean ‘return’

Read previous story about Addis here

I was having my last run before the Stanchart Nairobi International marathon scheduled for next Sunday, October 30, 2022.  This last rehearsal of today would see me go the Mary Leakey route and attempt to conquer 17k in 5min per km speed.  I failed in the speed test, just managing a 5min 04sec, but what is, is.  The run of this distance usually takes me from Uthiru to Kabete Poly, then I cross the highway towards Ndumbo shopping centre to then run down Kapenguria road.  At the end of Kapenguria is Lower Kabete road, where I turn left and run about a k, then turn left again to run through the dirt trails past Mary Leakey school and then across the University farm.  I finally emerge at Kanyariri road for yet another left.  This point at ‘the tank’ marks the return, a return that surely takes me back to where I started.

But hardly two days ago I had a different ‘return’ episode.  One that has refused to leave my system.  I booked my travel to a funeral of a sister-in-law, which I later learned was called ‘korera’.  Of course, the twist-of-tongue would make this to be ‘cholera’ for quite some time before getting the correct pronunciation.  That is a story for another day.  The first thing I had to do was to book a night bus on Wednesday night, being October 19, then book another night bus on Thursday night.  I was taking advantage of the Thursday holiday to attend this event.  I was set to be back on duty on Friday morning.

I accessed the online booking platform on Buupass and searched for a bus to Rongo for Wednesday.  I found four, two leaving in the morning and two leaving in the evening.  I chose the night bus that left the latest, being 2145hrs.  I had to make a selection between ‘one-way’ or ‘return’ on the same booking system.  I knew that I had to get back to the city, and so I did select the return option.  The next page on the system allowed me to select the seat for the travel on Wednesday, and another seat for the return trip on Thursday.  I paid the two fares combined using MPESA and momentarily got an SMS message confirming the two tickets, with their unique numbers and dates of travel.

I was set and ready for the sojourn and I did not have any worries in the world.  I picked my hardcopy ticket at Easy Coach station at Railways on Wednesday evening, but they could not give me a return ticket, stating that such can only be got at the departure station in Rongo the next day.  Anyway, I had my SMS tickets and did not mind getting the return ticket as I came back.  Of course, in the era of saving the environment, I still wonder why we have to get a printed ticket when we already have an e-ticket, but rules are rules.

The night travel to Rongo was uneventful.  The bus left Nairobi at 2200hrs and was at Narok at 1am for a 30-minute stopover break.  We passed by Bomet at three, passed through Kisii town at five and landed at Rongo at 5.40am.  I attended the event and later at six got back to Rongo town ready for the night travel back to the city.

I presented myself to pick a ticket at 7.30pm, ready for the bus scheduled for 8.45pm.  I showed the attendant the SMS message and he proceeded to do something on the computer behind the counter.

“Hi ticket hakuna,” he responded after 5-minutes of doing-whatever-he-was-doing, “Uli book kweli?”

“Si ndio hiyo SMS, ina onyesha nili lipa twenty-five hundred, ya kuja na kurudi Nairobi”

He reconfirmed the amount, then consulted his system once more.  He returned the same verdict, “Ulibook kweli, hakuna kitu kwa system”

We were about to start a singing game of ‘I booked’, ‘You did not’, when another person emerged from behind the counter.  He seemed to be the supervisor.

“Nini mbaya?,” he asked.

“Nili book lakini na ambiwa siku book,” I beat the operator to the response.

“Lete message,” he said, even as I gave out my phone to him to read the SMS.

“Lakini mbona inasema Narobi-Rongo route at 9.45pm?”

“Mimi nilibook return, na unaweza ona both tickets hapo kwa message, moja ya kuja, na nyingine ya kurudi,” I reminded him, though he was still holding the phone and the SMS message was gazing straight at him.

He instructed the operator to do some things as I listened.  He asked him to search for some numbers, then to check some other numbers, then finally, to check the bus from Nairobi to Rongo for this Thursday night.

That is when the eureka moment came.

“Ndio hiyo,” he said loudly, looking at the computer screen behind the counter.  I was opposite them and barricaded from seeing what they were seeing by some imposing metallic grills.

“Wewe uli book basi ya Nairobi hadi Rongo ya leo usiku”

Are you the hech serious!  How can I book a bus from Nairobi when I am in Rongo!

“Yani, ‘return’ ina maana gani?,” I asked, almost agitated but keeping my cool, since I really wanted some resolution to get me back to the city.

“Eh, hiyo, eh… wacha niangalie,” he responded and started to instruct the operator again.

“System inasema uli book Nairobi hadi Rongo tena,” he said, evidently also stuck.

“Lakini app ya Buu pass ilisema ni return, kwani ‘return’ si ‘return’?”

I then witnessed as they first issued and printed a ticket for me reading Nairobi to Rongo, then cancelled the same ticket with two lines drawn across its front face, then rebooked me on a Rongo-Nairobi bus.  I was soon holding a ticket reading Rongo to Nairobi for a bus scheduled for 8.45pm.  That time came and for sure the bus was there.  I was on another night travel hardly 24-hours later, reaching Nairobi Railway bus station at 4am on Friday.  I managed to be on duty on Friday at 7.45am, tired to the core, but glad that the weekend would soon be coming for me to get a proper rest.

So, when you do a return-booking, just be aware that return could mean ‘do the same trip twice’.

WWB, Nairobi, Kenya, Sunday, Oct. 23, 2022

A tale of two Fridays 1500km apart

A tale of two Fridays 1500km apart

Today I did my Friday run.  It was meant to be a 13k, preferable within the hour.  It neither was a 13k nor was it within the hour.  I failed in both.  I ended up stopping the timer at 17k some 1hr 26min later, tired as a rock.  It is those additional loops within the employer's compound that usually seem to be nothing that must have tricked me.  Those loops can take you upto 10min on one way.  And I know that is where the 2km additional distance per loop must have come from, adding the 4k to my bill.  And the starting loop is hilly!  Hilly I tell you.

Anyway, that is not the essence of today's story.  Though I was running that route through Kapenguria road to Mary Leakey school and Uni farm, I was not quite cognizant of much that was going on around me.  My mind had already wondered to last Friday, seven days ago…..  

On that day, last week, I woke up, rather was forced to wake up at around nine in the morning.  That 'forced' condition was necessary, because I would otherwise miss out of the breakfast bit on this BnB accommodation arrangement.  The prepaid BnB meant that a lost breakfast was surely lost, without any chance of compensation.  You either take it or miss out on it.  There is no middle ground.

There was however nothing much in the name of breakfast at that time of the morning.  All the juice brands were already all gone.  Empty vases stood on the buffet table at a place marked ‘Juices’.  I managed some coffee ‘with milk’, the ‘with milk’ part being necessary, otherwise everything is served without, unless you specify explicitly.  

I also managed an omelette with chili, that did not have any chilies anyway.  I also scooped some firfir.  Firfir being pieces of injera prepared in such a manner as scrambled eggs, tasting as sour as ever, but milder than the real injera roll.  I was however now getting used to injera.  There was nothing else on that purported breakfast buffet.  Maybe it was not much on this Friday, or I was just late for breakfast.  In fact, they started clearing the breakfast things while I was still seated, yet it was hardly nine-thirty.

We had on the previous day already setup a ten o’clock visit to Unity Park at the Addis Ababa city centre.  It was a holiday for the staff over here.  The rules of employment over here gives the staff an extended holiday on Friday or Monday, provided an official holiday fall on a Saturday or Sunday respectively.  So, Maulid holiday was on Saturday, October 8, and so was this Friday a holiday.

Sharon and Rachel were to pick the Kenyan team of Rose and I on this Friday.  I moved from my C48 hostel block room and walked four doors along the corridor towards C44.  I knocked the door as I passed by, beckoning Rose to move towards the parking yard where we were to meet the hosts.

I found Rachel in her car, a white Mazda, left hand driven, as per convention over here.  She was in distress, even as I opened the front door right side seat.

“Imagine Sharon not come and she switch phone off,” she greeted me, not even looking in my direction.

“Hello there yourself.  The day is not as hot,” I responded, ignoring her anguish.

“This girl Sharon!  I no longer her friend.  She let me down.  I not want hear her!”

She continued starring ahead through the windscreen.  She was completely mood less.

Soon Rose would join in and seat just behind me.  We were ready to go.

“Where is Sharon?  Do we wait for her?,” Rose asked.

I answered for Rachel who was not in any more mood to discuss the runaway companion, “Sharon did not make it, and she seems unreachable on phone.  We shall have to go without her.”

We left the hostel block admin office parking lot and drove out, keeping right as we headed toward the B-gate.

“Selamta,” the sentry greeted the car.

“Selam,” Rachel and I responded, almost in unison.  Rose kept quiet.  It was her first time traveling to Ethiopia.  She was still getting used to the language.

We soon joined the main roads and started moving around to unknown roads.  She just drove and drove and drove.  It took us about thirty minutes of driving before we came to a stop.

“We park car here.  We walk to park there,” Rachel instructed, pointing ahead, as we disembarked.

We walked some one hundred or so metres and were soon at Unity Park.  We could see the military personnel guarding the massive gate and generally all around the compound fence.  There was a side entrance that we had to pass through, with the big gate being the exit point.  We bought our tickets at that side entrance.  We had already been prepared for this, with Rachel having already informed us the previous day that we would be charged Birr 1,050 each since we were non-nationals.  I believe that Rachel was entitled to half the fees.  

Rachel collected the 21 red notes from me, and another 21 red ones from Rose, that I had to count for her.  Rachel added the 42 notes to her own money.  She gave the big bundle of notes to the ticket person.  We got a single ticket for three, which Rachel momentarily handed over to another staffer in exchange for temporary paper armbands.  Each of us stretched a hand and the band was affixed to the arm.  The red armband read, “Unity Park - Regular”.  The Ethiopian flag was printed along the length of the strip, so was the map of Africa in the image of a fist.

We then moved to the security clearance desk.  We were asked to remove our belts, shoes, all metallic items and then go through a metal detector.  The rest of the items removed and put on trays went through a luggage scanner and emerged through the other end of it.  This was similar to the motions you go through at an airport.  

While awaiting my items on the other side of the conveyor, I did get a callback, while the ladies had already been cleared.

“What be this?,” the guard asked, pointing at an item on the tray.

“Viewing lens, for looking at things from far,” I responded.

He consulted his colleagues in Amharic, while pointing at the monocular.  After a half a minute or so, I got my response, “This not allow, so we keep here, then you take when leave”

Our trio walked past the security clearance area and moved towards the imposing gate.  We met a couple of bride and groom, unmistakably in their wedding attire, also getting through the gate.  We received a map of the park, an A3 paper folded into two to create four pages of information.  The middle section of the paper had a big map of the park.  The front and back pages contained some assorted pictures of the various parts of the park.  

I also learnt from Rachel, who was now quite cheered up after the morning moods, that this compound was also the current Prime Minister’s residence.  She said that occasionally some visitors to the park are lucky enough to see Abiy.  Now I could connect the dots between the security check and the visit.

We were informed by the person handing over the map to ‘follow arrow and go round arrow’.  There was almost a circular path around the park that would take you from gate back to gate, if you followed it religiously.  Of course, you could change course and go around in any direction or even turn back to the gate and exit.  We decided to ‘follow arrow’.  The very first passage was through the ‘lion’s den’!  That den was a real lion’s den, with all the lion noises and all.... and finally, even a live lion lying on the grass patch across the glass window was visible.

We survived the black lion zoo and went through other sections, including traditional houses and the botanical settings of the indigenous plants garden.  At some point we went into the emperor’s throne house.  And the first person that you meet seated at the throne is.... you guessed it, the very emperor Haile Selassie II.  Seated in his royal majesty.  Hail HIM!  And we had no choice than to hail him.  We paid homage to H.I.M, HIM.  We have photos to show for it.

We would then move around the hall where lots of historical literature was posted on poster boards.  Another part of the corridor round the main hall showed the historical account of Ethiopia, from King Solomon to the Queen of Sheba, who not-surprise, not-surprise was one of King Solomon's wifys.  Yes!  That is how Ethiopia links to the big picture of creation, Eden, Adam and Eve.

We even had an occasion of visiting the basement of HIM's hall, to see a different type of history, as we looked through the cells and the dark history of Ethiopia.  The documents, videos and pictures displayed on those former holding cells at the basement level did not have any kind words for Derg, the military council, and Mengistu Haile Mariam, the president in 1977-1991.  If anything, he was convicted to serve a life sentence in Ethiopia despite being in exile in Zimbabwe.  They are just waiting for him to come back to Ethiopia to serve his sentence.

At another separate but nearby building with a big hall, the Banquet Hall.  At this hall we came face to face with Emperor Menelik II, another one of the great kings that has Ethiopian history written all over him.  And he was there.  Right there at the head of the big hall.  I saw him seated.  I took a photo with him, next to him.  I hailed him, but unfortunately this was not HIM.  And when we talk about a big hall, we are really talking big!  As big as half a football field.

After that visit we walked around the roads.  We then saw Sellasie's vintage car displayed right there, outside his throne house hall for all to see and admire, but not touch, since it was encased in a glass covering.  The tour was so far so good and we were already tired.  I had tracked my movements on the app and we had covered just over 5km since the time we got through that gate.  

We took a lunch break.  By then Sharon had already found her way into the park and even joined our party by the time we were paying homage to the two kings, sorry emperors.  The three ladies and I took seats at the small restaurant just next to the emperor’s palace, Menelik II’s palace.  The palace that we did not visit since extra Birrs were needed for the ‘extended’ tour to include a walk into the pace.  This extended tour was not in our ‘regular’ package.  The palace was just next to the emperor’s throne house.  

We sat at the traditional stools at one of the corners of the restaurant and ordered soft drinks and some Ethiopian lunch.  I qualify it as ‘Ethiopian lunch’ since I still do not understand why they even call it ‘lunch’.  It looked more of a snack to me.  They bring a big flat tray layered with a thin white big circular wafer that they call injera.  

Onto that soft wafer, the injera, they put on it some little portions of spices of all manner, then some little veggies on one of the corners of the injera and that is about it.  You then start tearing off the injera as you dip it into the spices and veggies.  Tearing through from the end, as you go towards the centre.  You literally eat the container base as you go towards completion at the centre.  At least we had some tibs, aka fried meat that is eaten from atop a charcoal-heated clay pot.

After the lunch, we had our coffees on those small cups.  The content is hardly 50ml.  We put onto the coffee some rue leaves (Ruta) to spice it up.  We let the bitters sink in for a moment before we took a sip.  We loved the flavoured coffee.  Rose hated the flavoured coffee.  It takes time to get into Ethiopian ways.  She was adjusting too slowly.  We contributed about 400 Birr per person and gave the collection of money for the lunch and tipping.  I was now realizing that giving tips was the way of life.  I even remember having tipped when using a ‘free’ washroom in this same place.  

Thereafter, we moved just next to the restaurant to an adjacent open stall where a prominent sign was hanging on a mid-post within the hut, “Make your own injera”

I pointed to that direction as we were handwashing in the washrooms, “Is that for real?”

“Oh my God, yes!,” Sharon responded, almost jumping up excitedly.

“Do you know how to make injera?”

“On my God, of course yes!  No Ethiopian girl not know making injera”

“Can you make injera now?  Here?”

“No, me not ready now.  I only make with teff that me prepare, not any.  Oh my God, no.”

That is when Rachel came to the rescue, “Me, I make injera even now.  Want to see?”

Of course, yes!

“Yes, sure,” I responded, as the four of us moved into the small hut.  

We sat on the low stools while Rachel talked to the lady in charge of the cooking pot, sorry, cooking pan.  Soon the metallic pan that is about half-metre in diameter became the centre of attention, as Rachel first started by cleaning the hot pan with some oil put on some cloth.  She let the oil-dried pan to heat up for a minute or so, before she poured the teff flour that had already been premixed in water to form a paste, onto the pan.  

She then poured the paste in a circular motion, starting from the centre progressively moving towards the edges of the big pan.  She was soon done, and it was now a matter of waiting for the cooking to take place.  I did not see much of how the cooking was taking place.  I just saw the white paste remain white, but it kind-a solidified into a big circular white soft wafer, the injera.  The injera was then scooped off the pan with a woven plate and set forth onto a big plate on our table, ready for our next action.

“Wow, I did not know that it can be done that easily,” Rose spoke for the first time in many minutes.  I believe the Ethiopian experience was still overwhelming.

So, we sat and started eating.  It is only Sharon who did not make any move towards the injera that had been laced with a thin layer of butter for the expected sweetness effect of a freshly baked injera.

“Hey, Shayy, join into the injera feast!,” I reminded her, a layer of injera in my mouth.

“Oh my God no!  Today be Friday, and me not take no milk on Fridays.”

I had come to know Sharon as the only true Christian in Ethiopia.  The only true Orthodox that I had met.  She takes no animal products on Wednesdays and Fridays, and fasts for more than half the year at various times during the 13-month Ethiopian calendar.  That girl is going straight to heaven when the trumpet sounds.  The rest of us need grace and are likely purgatory-first candidates.

We then moved around to the zoo within the park, the Unity zoo.  We saw the animals in captivity, including lions, cheetahs, zebras, antelopes (nyala, impala, kudu, eland, wildebeest, gemsbok), meerkat and ostriches.  We even walked through the aviary and saw the birds (greater flaming, Guinea fowl, crane, ibis, gull, moorhen, white-faced duck, weaver, francolin, egret, spoonbill, turaco, hornbill, starling, heron), that are living within the grounds and environs of that giant structure that stretches almost ten metres into the sky.  

After that we were just to pass by some traditional houses that depict various cultures (Tigray, Somali, Harari, Oromia) before we were already being reminded by the many staffers on the park that it was time to get out.  It was already past five.  The exit party included one or two couples with their wedding gowns.

Part 2

The day was far from over.  The four of us drove back to our residential place.  They dropped Rose and I at our hostels.  Rachel and Sharon decided to stick around by going to their office to do some work since we were soon having another event set for six.  I however knew the better of this timing when the girls decided that they would be having a ‘make up meet up’ before we go.

I did not even bother to call the girls before seven.  And when I used WhatsApp to call Rose at seven, she said a casual, “we are about through, give us another ten minutes.”

I gave them thirty and we finally congregated at Rachel’s white Mazda at seven-thirty.

We drove through the roads and ended up at a place that was very familiar.  I knew it even before we disembarked.  This was Yod Abyssinia Cultural Restaurant.  I had been there before, twice or even thrice.  It never disappoints.

The place was however not as full as I have seen it before, when you can hardly get a seat.  This time round the four of us identified a seating area at one end of the wall, almost facing the main stage.  There was already a performance on stage.  There were five instrumentalists.  Three harpist, a drummer and a flutist.  They were seated.  A soloist was standing in front of them, on the well-lit stage.  He sang.  They played.  Their music was of the Arabic inclination.  It was soft and went well with the atmosphere.  Occasionally some four ladies and four gentlemen, either singly or in groups would dance in front of the soloist.

We ordered drinks or rather, the hosts ordered the drinks and they were brought to the table.  There was a 700ml bottle of that sweet yellow drink, tej.  They set it on the table.  They also set some sodas on the table.  Some wine glasses were passed around, with none to me.  

A small conical flask of about 300ml volume was setup in front of my sitting position.

“Tej for president Obama,” Rachel announced.

“But... but... but...,” I tongue-tied about, not sure of what to say.

“Not worry, we also help you, not worry.”

Another two conicals were brought and set forth on the table.

It did not take long before another colleague, Mary, joined in, following almost momentarily by her colleague George.  The table of six was now fully loaded.  The drinks continued.  The music continued.  The crowds continued to get in, and get out, but mostly get in.  The place kept getting swollen.  The music started getting louder.  We soon went for a buffet dinner by just walking behind our seating area, picking plates and filling up.  

I did not see much of anything familiar, though there were many different small pots with many different things.  However, injera which is now a constant part of our menu, was there – brown, white and even a brown-white mixed version.  The rest were just veggies, spices, other stuff, other things, some more other food items, and finally.... some raw mincemeat.  I picked some injera, some veggies and was back to my seat.  George ordered some tibs to be brought to our table on that charcoal heated claypot.  Our dinner could not have been complete without coffee.

At some point the soloist at the stage tried to rendition the ‘jambo bwana’ song, making a complete mess out of it.  Rose and I, and even Rachel who was becoming Kenyanized, tried to join in and correct the soloist, but he would hear nothing of it.  Surely, who sings ‘Ethiopia nchi nzuri’ to a ‘Kenya nchi nzuri’ song?  Just talking about how the real lyrics should be, nothing else.

Then the dancers started taking break from the stage and started joining the revelers at their table locations for some jig.  Two or three such sessions of the dancers come up to our table to call us out of our seats for dances involving vigorous shoulder an upper body movement.  This did spice up the evening before we finally called it a night.  It was just a few minutes to midnight as we stood to leave.  Just when we thought we were going home....

Part 3

We got into two cars.  Rachel’s car had Sharon, Mary and I.  George’s car had Rose in it.  We drove and drove and drove.  Twenty minutes or so later and we were not getting anywhere back to the hostel blocks where I thought we should be getting to in such a timeframe.  What was going on here?  Where the hech are we going?

“We arrive, get out of car,” Rachel finally announced, as she started looking for some parking space.

George was just behind us, also looking for a parking space.  I do not know Addis, especially in this dead of the night.  I therefore did not know where we were.  I just followed the crowd.

We got into an elevator at the adjacent building, with an operator minding the elevator doors.  He closed them after we were in, pressed a button and were wheeled up to some floor, I guess the sixth.  The door opened to let in a gush of loud club music.  We had just entered a boom-twaf world, the door at the entrance reading ‘Midtown Ultra Lounge’.  We squeezed through a body-packed club floor as we looked out at where we could find a standing space.  Seating was already out of the question.  

We moved to the very extreme end of the room, just next to Buddha, who was seated in his bronze majesty, eyes gazing straight and down at us.  We looked back at Buddha, said nothing and took a table.  He looked straight at us, kept sitting in medication, and also said nothing.  

The six of us stood round the circular table in the semi-dark room.  We could just make out the height of the table.  Talking was out of the question with the volume of music that had engulfed the hall.  We just nodded along as we gestured.  Bottled water was served at the middle of the table, just before our troubles started...

The waiter soon brought to our table some small glasses on a rack.  Each small glass was about 10ml or maybe my gaze was starting to fade?

“We are doing shots,” someone struggled to shout on the table.  It was hardly audible.

We gestured in the matter of ‘What’?

George pointed at the glasses in the middle of the table and gestured in a manner of ‘take and drink’.

Everyone took a small glass, apart from Mary.  She waved a no.  She could have been useless saying the word ‘no’, with all the music going on.

Soon there was an happy birthday song going on in the hall as it got louder with a cake being brought to the next table.  The cake and candle flares took the attention of the room for a second and they DJ loudly wished some random name a happy birthday, some girl’s name.  

We did not even have time to admire the cake before the DJ put an end to the birthday event and continued the real hits.  People danced around their tables.  In fact, it is the standing and the dancing that kept us sober.  Any seating and being docile for even a minute could have reminded the legs that they were already being flooded with alcohol laden blood and for sure the legs would have already given way by now.

It was not long before George called for another gesture at the small glasses in the middle of our table.  That was not to be the last.  They just kept coming.  I just lost count and let what happens happen.  Who even came up with the deceit that taking a drink in one gulp is a good idea?  Get it from me, it is a bad idea ab initio.  The drink ‘shots’ the centre of your brain and you almost lose consciousness for a minute.  You stay drunk, only for them, that is George and group, to ‘shot’ you again.... and again.... and again....

It was at three when Mary called the three on the table ‘out of order’ to directed them to the lift.  By then we had each thrown a bunch of notes onto the middle of the table.  The amount, a thousand Birr per person, having been communicated through gestures since talking was not possible with all that music.  

Two of our members had already disappeared into thin air.  First it was Sharon who had slipped out quietly when ‘the drinks finally caught her’, hardly one-hour after our arrival, leaving the five of us to test our endurance.  Later on, even George, the shot-man had had enough and disappeared.  Only four people were left standing when the time came to do the counting past three.  Mary directed the three of us to the exit and to the lift area.  The lift operator was still there.  He opened the lift door, let us in, and closed the door.  He pushed a button and the vehicle moved down.

When we got to the parking yard, Rachel went straight to the back seat.

“I not drive in this state,” she declared resignedly.

“President, now you see why I no drink?,” Mary looked in my direction as she got onto the driver’s seat, while I opened the co-driver’s seat and took a seat.  Rose joined Rachel in the back.  The only reason I was still walking was because of the three hours of standing and dancing.  Otherwise, I should have collapsed by now.

We started driving around.  The roads were deserted.  In fact, we did not encounter even one single vehicle either going in our direction or opposite.  We drove around for about fifteen minutes then dropped Rachel at her place.  We lit her body full headlights as we waited for her to get in.  The lights were on her as she knocked the gate for over five-minutes to wake up the watchman.  Her gate was finally opened, and we bid her goodnight, more of good morning.

Mary directed the Mazda smoothly to the hostel blocks.  It was just past 3.30am when we got out of the car and headed to our hostel.  I affixed the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the external of the door, on the handle.  I was not letting the cleaners disturb my sleep, and when I talk about disturb, I mean disturb.  The cleaners ambush the room just before eight!  Who knocks a hostel door before eight?  Surely!!  

And the cleaners usually just knock once, and if there is no answer then they proceed and use their master key to open and get in.  I have been found in bed on several occasions, when I just realize there is someone in the room in the name of cleaning.  The sign would put a break to that disturbance.  Breakfast was not happening for on this Saturday morning, nor was the planned electric train ride arranged by Sharon going to take place.  This one I had just cancelled by SMS at this late night, thanks to the same Sharon for having given me an Ethiopian line to use while there.

Part 4

I was taking a bathroom break around ten on Saturday, when I saw a number of missed calls on WhatsApp, from my phone that was on silent.  They were all from Rose, and there were messages too – “You need to checkout urgently.  They say that the rooms are reserved for incoming guests”

I was meant to be going back to bed, not checking out!  Anyway, rules are rules, and so I hurriedly threw my clothes randomly into the two bags and was soon out of the room in less than five minutes.  I headed to the hostel reception where I found Rose waiting.  The receptionist was glad that I was there.

“Your room be booked for guest he arrive soon,” he said, relief all over his face.

My body was still tired and in need of sleep.

I still had another ten hours before the vehicle to pick me for the airport for the trip back was due.  I therefore still had plenty hours of nothing ahead.  A temporary room is all I needed to enable me take a rest, compile my reports and wait for the evening.  I did that in the new hostel room.  After many hours that went so fast, I finally walked to the restaurant to partake of the last injera before the airport transfer vehicle came for me at 2000hrs as scheduled.  

We left at 2015hours for the short 15-minutes drive to the Bole International airport.  The airport turned out to be busier on this than I had expected.  It took me almost two hours to get my boarding pass.  There was still more waiting minutes ahead before the boarding call came at 2245hrs for the 2315hrs flight back home.......

And now here I was back to the present, one week later, on this Friday, finishing the 17k run in the hot Nairobi sun.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Friday, Oct. 14, 2022

Vaccination is about money… and nothing else

Vaccination is about money… and nothing else

I had had an argument with a colleague over the validity of yellow fever vaccinations, where I insisted that it was a ten-year thing, while the colleague swore that it was a lifetime thing.  We would put argument to the test when she produced her yellow booklet while I did mine.  And as sure as global warming, her vaccination was for life, while mine was for 10-years – same vaccinations, and even a similar vaccine batch!

That would mark the start of my troubles.  I usually like to have that YF vaccination upto date just in case of a travel, especially to our stubborn neighbours in the name of TZ and ET.  Those two can even deport you on the next available plane/vessel if you do not have or have a faulty YF vaccination certificate.  Why can’t they be like our good neighbor, UG, where you just match in even with your Kenyan ID with no questions asked?

Anyway, I finally I decided to validate the expired vaccination.  I wanted that time limit cancelled and a new ‘forever’ limit added.  I had read the WHO website on vaccinations and they had said as much, that YF vaccination is forever and there is no booster or repeat vaccination necessary.  You get it once; you are done with it.

I visited a vaccination centre at Adams Arcade to get the extension done on Tuesday, August 30, 2022.

“I have come to extend an expired yellow fever,” I told the receptionist, showing the yellow booklet and pointing to the ’10-year’ wordings indicated next to the 2011 date stamp.  Three or four people sat at the waiting area just next to the reception, on this clinic that had been converted from a one-storey residential quarters.

“Did you get it here?”

“No, Aga Khan, Parklands”

“We only deal with our own vaccinations”

“So?”

I was directed to Parklands where that batch originated.  I took a taxi and was at Parklands in about 20-minutes.  We conversed with the cab driver briefly about the ongoing supreme court battle over the challenge of the presidential election results.  We both agreed that the dueling sides should have this matter won at this round.  A second round would be a bigger quagmire with no guarantees to either side.

I reached Parklands around one-thirty.  The vaccination centre was just next to Mediheal hospital ten years ago.  Now the place was completed changed, with a new imposing brick building and an equally impossible gate and pedestrian access.

“I have come for vaccination,” I told the sentry.

“Go across,” she pointed to the main hospital across the road.

“But I was vaccinated here?”

“Sorry, this is now the medical school”

I crossed the road reluctantly.  I was sure that there was just something that was not right, but I could not put a finger to it.  I was soon at the reception desk opposite the road.

“Where is the vaccination centre?”

“It was closed”

“So?”

“So you have to get the vaccination elsewhere”

“But I need an extension?”

“Sorry, we closed”

What a good Tuesday I was having!  I soon called back the very same taxi that had dropped me and asked him to take me back to Adams.  He was still around and he agreed to take me back.  I was back to the same Adams vaccination centre hardly an hour since I was there last.  I found a new person at the reception.  I explained to him that I had come to have the YF vaccination extended to lifetime.

“Were you vaccinated here?”

For crying out loud!  I have been through this already!

“No,” I handed him the booklet to read for himself.

He proceeded to fill in some details from the booklet onto their computer systems and told me to sit and wait.  He did not tell me as to what was to happen next.  I even assumed that he was just confirming that I could get the extension, until….

“Go upstairs, door to the left.”

What for?  I thought of asking, but did not.

I matched upstairs.  I already know the profile of such quarters since my regular dental provider also took up the next quarters and I have been up such stairs in that side of the building many times.  I found two ladies and a gentleman seated at the head of the table, in this once bedroom of the quarters.  I took the seat opposite.

“We can only renew our own vaccinations,” the gent in white overcoat started.

“But I was vaccinated already!”

“Yes, but we did not issue that batch, so we cannot confirm”

“But the booklet already says that I got that vaccination!?”

“We can only renew our own, sorry”

“So what are my options?”

“Are you ready to pay?”

Soon one of the ladies, also in white overcoat approached my sitting position with a small stainless steel medical dish.  I could see in it a small vial and about an inch-long needle affixed to an equally small syringe.

“Roll up your left sleeve,” she instructed.  I did.

She made a kind-of-pinch on the top part of my arm and proceeded to prick up and inject.

“Go can go and pay downstairs,” the gent handed me a small paper on which he had scribbled on something that I did not understand, nor care.  I soon paid some KShs.4,200 by MPESA and was back to the first floor with the receipt.

I got my yellow booklet and confirmed that I had a second entry of yellow fever vaccination with a ‘lifetime’ time stamp.

This was the most unnecessary vaccination that I have ever had in life, but a rubberstamp can be costly, trust me.  I was so absent minded over this whole episode that I even failed to give much thought of the eatery where I went subsequently at the same Adams centre.  The upstairs sitting area had a ‘mind your head’ warning that turned out to be the only true one that I have ever seen.  The concrete ceiling was so low that I had to walk while bending down low to get to my sitting area.  I could easily touch the ceiling even from my seating position.  Then the sitting stools were toddler size – maybe due to the low ceiling?  How did this place even pass a building inspection? 

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Sept. 1, 2022