The costly price of cheap unga

The costly price of cheap unga

I have now proved that the extra germ in my body is doing wonders.  I say this because I have broken run record after run record since that booster shot number 2 of COVID19 vaccine.  I so far have a total of four shots in the arm for this virus, three on the left and one on the right arm.  All this as global infections* of corona virus disease reaches 576,581,896 infections and 6,405,982 deaths.  Kenyan numbers are so far 337,389 and 5,672 respectively.  

*source: worldometers website

Nonetheless, corona is now virtually over and a forgotten disease.  It has been overtaken by other global problems including lack of food (grains), blamed on the Ukraine-Russia war that started mid-February.  Other issues include flooding, drought and wildfires, blamed on global warming.  Corona and COVID19 are no longer the ‘in thing’.  So, I did the 5-in-5 event last week, that is, 5-runs-in-5-days.  However, this time I did it on the longer 15-17km route on the Mary Leakey loop.  The average speeds started at 5.07 (15.4km), 5.03 (17.11km), 5.00 (17.13km), 5.01 (17.14km), 4.59 (17.14km).  Yesterday, was a Monday and I still added another run on the route getting to 4.49 (17.16km).  

All these runs were not for bragging rights, far from it.  These were experimental runs.  I was in the running lab, out there on the road, to confirm that the corona vaccinations, the booster to be specific, worked and had added an extra shot of energy in my runs.  Nonetheless, we still have a fast run, in the name of the July International marathon.  Let this run confirm that my experiment is true, as I take the body for a ‘sprinters delight’ July marathon, where runners are expected to run their fastest over the 21km distance.

However, there is no guarantee that my so far successful experiment with good runs shall continue for long.  This is because of the new global challenges which now exclude COVID19.  The cost of food stuff has been rising continually in the last two months.  While a kilo of our very lifeline staple food, unga, was retailing at 50/= hardly one-month ago, it had risen steadily and even had doubled already by last week.  In fact, it was even virtually impossible to get that maize flour at even the doubled price.  It was heading to triple, all this while, the income levels had remained the same.  This unga thing was going to be a big issue and I had even seen a news clip on Aljazeera about Kenya and the unga crisis.  Of course, that clip showed a demonstration that was taking place in the city streets where the people were protesting these very high prices of unga.

It was therefore a sigh of relief when the president just last week issued an executive order that the price of maize flour ‘be and is hereby reduced to 100/= for a 2kg packet of unga, in the whole territory of the republic of Kenya with immediate effect’.  That was a big announcement.  It was a life changer.  We would at least start eating.  I was getting tired of starving on rice and other starches.

I visited my local supermarket that is just in front of my living quarters last week, a day after the announcement, and was not surprised to find no packet of maize flour that was retailing at the new prices.  The cheapest 2kg packet was still selling at 206/=.  I gave it an ‘ignore’ and believed that there must have been some ‘clearing of old stocks’ thing going on first.  I visited the same supermarket over the weekend and the situation was the same – same old prices, no new prices.  I even visited an outlet of a major, sorry, the major supermarket chain in Kenya, at Adams Arcade same weekend and as sure as there is global warming, there was no cheap unga!  All branded packets were retailing at over 200/= per 2kg pack.

What is going on?  How can the big boss of the whole country give a decree, and no one obeys him?  It was just yesterday that someone whispered to me that he had seen cheap unga somewhere in Kangemi.  I took it upon myself to check this out and went to a supermart branded ‘friendly’.  I was surprised to see an advert for 2kg pack for 100/= placed somewhere outside the store and for sure when I went in, I did get the cheap unga available.  What a relief!

I picked some five packets and was just about to make my way to the cashier when some supermarket attendant called me back and beckoned me to the unga section of the store.  I assumed that he wanted to persuade me to buy some more.

“Ni mbili tu,” he said.

It took me some interpretation to decipher what he was saying.

“Nini mbili?”

“Unga ni mbili tu.  Kastoma wanachukua mbili tu”

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, July 26, 2022

Booster vaccines boosts the run – the truth is out

Booster vaccines boosts the run – the truth is out

Yesterday was another runday Monday.  My first run in over one week.  The first run since that corona booster vaccine of last week.  The weather has been cold and unforgiving most of this month.  I have used the weather as the excuse of not going out there.  However, the run finally called me to action yesterday.  I first of all realized that we shall be having the July International marathon just next week, on July 29.  That meant that I needed to start my preps.  

Secondly, being out of the road for over a week is not recommended.  It is just a very long ‘time out’ by any definition.  The only time I have taken a week or more out of the run has been during the long holidays in December, when I go back to my roots and spend the endless days doing nothing, just savouring the good weather under the mango tree.  It is not yet December for those who may not have checked, hence I am not yet entitled to an ‘under the mango tree’ moment.

So, I get out of the warm office on this Monday and immediately gets hit by the cold mid-day weather.  I get almost frozen out before I even make the first few steps of the run.  I encourage myself on, saying that what must be done must be done.  I convince myself that the weather shall improve with time, or the body shall adapt to the cold with time.  I keep running and none of these two wishes come true.  It remains cold and the body fails to adapt.  I can feel the cold.  No wind, just cold.

I would usually have done a 10km run on Kapenguria road to Lower Kabete tarmac junction as the turnback point then back, but that did not happen yesterday.  I instead found myself going to Mary Leakey route, which is not a route that you would usually do over the lunch hour, since it is at least 13k.  It is difficult to fit 13k of hills into the one-hour lunch hour break, but sometimes you have to push the body to limits that you would otherwise not.  This was one of those lunch hours to keep pushing.

I have been to this Mary Leakey route for many years, and I was not expecting any surprises.  I was just worrying about the uphill towards Ndumboini on my way back after exiting from the University farm at the tank and turning to my left back to Ndumboini.  If only someone, I do not know who, could remove that hill!

Anyway, I was on the 10k mark when I started on that uphill that would end on the 11k mark.  From there it was just a turnback across Waiyaki Way and back to Kabete Poly to head towards the finish of the run in less than 10-minutes.  The run ended with an average of 5.07min per k on a 15.4km distance.  That was probably the fastest I have managed on that route maybe forever since this is not a usual run route.  The tweaks, including the 21k version curved out of this, is like the norm.

Today was not a runday Tuesday.  If anything, I had already taken a heavy lunch and was not set for any run.  I would usually do an evening run-walk upon being booked by a student of run.  I had not been booked and I therefore was not intending to do any runs on this Tuesday.  However, as it would turn out to be, I just decided to get out of the warm office at four, changed into the run gear, then was off for yet another run on the Mary Leakey route.  The evening run experience was just similar to yesterday’s in terms of the weather – cold and chilly.  

I was now even having a last minute decision to have a 5-runs-in-5-days challenge, though it had not been sanctioned by the MOE yet.  After all, last month this 5-in-5 happened just a week to the international run.  This is also the week before the July international.  I am nonetheless not sure if I shall have the willpower to do another 3 runs in the week, especially now that I am doing the longer versions of run.  But the speed on this Tuesday run was now even improved to 5.03mpk on a 17.11km distance.

Now, the only variable that I can attribute to these improved speeds is…. yes, you guessed it…. the COVID19 booster vaccine of last week.  That shot has boosted me in more ways than one.  I am now faster, based on a sample size of two runs out of two.  The booster that is meant to prevent severe illness and hospitalization from corona virus disease (COVID) is just the thing that probably all marathoners need!  The very corona virus that has infected* 569,036,399 people in the planet resulting into 6,390,296 deaths, with Kenyan numbers being 336,904 and 5,668 respectively.  Wait till I do the July international marathon codenamed ‘Sprinters delight’ when runners should do their fastest runs, and you shall prove my ‘boosted’ theory.  Free advice – Take a booster shot, it helps!

*worldometers website

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, July 19, 2022

The story of Annabel and running into a big bill

The story of Annabel and running into a big bill

Today I get out of my usual running stories and narrate a different kind of run.  This is the story of Annabel, a marathoner in my marathoners’ team.  She is one of the runners who has benefited from my free run lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I take any first time runner out for a run on these days.  It is the closest you get to run with the president, so to speak.

I get such students enrolled to the programme on and off.  It is difficult to get a regular one.  They either finally graduate to ‘real’ runners and abandon the student classes, or they just give up on the routine and drop out.  I however remain strong, steadfast and encouraged, whichever the outcome.  I would have done my part by being available to offer free hours on the road.

Ann turned out to be one of the drop outs.  She ran with me a few non-consistent Tuesdays over a lunch hour and once over an evening and she gave up.  She told me that running was probably not for her.  Gyming and hiking was more of her style.  She however remained in the marathoners team and kept running her mouth on various marathon discussions on the marathoners forum on WhatsApp or email.  She has hardly been on the run route this year.  She however continues to tell me how she shall be back ‘soon’.

I knew that Ann had left the city and headed for a work assignment out of town.  It must have been to Kisumu.  I usually try to keep tabs with the students, whether regular or not, and it was therefore last week that I got to hear from Ann after some time.  After a few marathon niceties the conversation moved from run to love, for the first time ever.
“I need some advice about…. Eh… I do not know how you shall take it,” she started on the other end of the line.
“Go ahead, the coach can take it.”
“I need some advice on love issues, yes, love.  I met someone!”

I do marathons and related subjects, but el oh vee ee is a new one for me, at least in advisory terms.
“I met an online boyfie, and I do not know what to do,” she said after some pause, for thought on what to say on an open line.

Of course, I had to get to the nitty gritty to even make sense of what was going on.  Which I did.  Ann told me that she has been on an online dating site and she had ‘finally’ met some guy that they blended with.  After a few exchanges of ‘likes’, they both decided to put keyboard to typing and sent messages to each other and were now an item.  
“He sent me a picture,” she said, “He is cute, I tell you!  But he has a daughter, but ni sawa tu.”
“A typical African man,” I said.
“Huta amini,” I heard excitement on the other end of the line, “Ni mzungu!  Ni mtu wa Yu Kei”
“Oh,” I absorbed the new news.

I learnt that they had now exchanged many pictures and she was starting to get to know the type of man she was getting involved in.
“You won’t believe,” she said, amidst apparent excitement, “He is even an engineer like you!”
“How long have you known each other for?”
“Imagine we met just last week, but it seems like we have known each other forever!,” she exclaimed in apparent excitement.


It was hardly three days later that Ann called me just around five on a Tuesday.  This would usually be the time to go for a students’ run in usual circumstances.
“Do you need run lessons while you are in Kisumu?,” I answered.
“Hapana, nina news.  Phillip anakuja Afrika next week!”
“What do you mean, ‘anakuja’!  You people are hardly one week into meeting each other!?”

She would narrate to me, in full excitement and some uncertainty, as to how Phillip the engineer had got an urgent mission to Africa to purchase some art pieces.  She told me that the engineer had a side hustle of dealing in art pieces – buying and selling to a ready market in the UK.  However, he was heading to South Africa to get these art items from an exhibition there, then was planning to pass by Kenya immediately after.  Phillip was coming to see her.  She was on top of the world.

This was quite an interesting twist to the love story.  A guy you meet online comes to see you hardly one week later!  How else can things turn out to be?  Good things happen to even those who do not expect.  The plan was therefore for Phillip to travel to South Africa then pass by the motherland before jetting back to the UK.

“What are his flight details to es aaa,” I asked, hoping this is something lovers would easily share.
“He did not say, he just said he is traveling with the daughter, Maggy.  That was all.”
“When is he expected in Kenya?”
“Imagine he did not say,” Ann responded, some apprehension quite evident in her voice, “He just shared a photo of Maggy and him on the plane.  The both looked so happy.  I already miss them.”
“He is traveling already?”
“Yes, I can see him and Maggy in the plane even as we speak.  I hope she will like me when we meet.”
“Maybe just send him a message so that he can confirm when he shall be coming to Kenya.  You can then plan on when to take some leave to see him and Maggy.”

This coming-to-Kenya event was really happening.  I had hoped that this whole thing was still not real, since I have my own reservation about virtual love.  I am a traditional person who believes in real physical and tangible love.  Something you see, touch and feel.  The new generation have virtual love – something you type, read and view.  

Phillip would later ask Annabel to recommend some hotels in Kenya for his stay and where they would finally meet.  She responded, recommending some coastal establishments.  I believe she picked on White Sands, Pride Inn and some other.  I was not keen anyway, telling her to pick whatever she picked since it would be for their own enjoyment – the man, the wife and the child.  I however advised her to still get that arrival date, since that would help her to also plan on how she was to get some time off her work at Kisumu and travel to the coast.
“Get that arrival date soon, before it is too late for you to get time off duty,” I had emphasized.

She told me that she had sent an email to that effect and a reminder a day later, but she was yet to get the response on dates.  She was also still waiting for that phone call from Phillip after she had given out her number, in exchange to what Phillip had given her, which for sure was a +44 prefix.  Phil was so far strictly an email person.  No WhatsApp, no SMS, no phone calls.


Two days ago, which is like a day since Phillip set foot in SA, Ann sent me a message on WhatsApp.  She attached a long message.  It was a message from Phillip.  He was saying that he had settled well in the S of A and was already shipping his precious art pieces back to the U of K.  The engineer was already salivating at the huge profit these pieces were bound to fetch.  He however mentioned that the daughter had woken up with some stomach upset and had gone for a medical checkup, but Phillip was confident that Maggy probably had just eaten something strange and would be alright in a few moments.  Ann called me about five minutes later on, after taking just enough time for me to absorb the contents of the forwarded email.
“Sasa imagine Maggy ni mgonjwa tena!?,” she sounded worried.
“Leo huna salamu!,” I brought her back to reality.
“We wacha hizo, coach,” she brushed me aside, “Tunaongea mambo ya Phillip na wewe unalete mambo ya salamu!”
“Sawa, lakini date ya kuja Kenya ulipewa?,” I asked, remembering this very discussion since three days ago.
“Hakuwa amejibu.”
She did not just want to say “Hajajibu”, choosing instead to give Phillip the benefit of the doubt.


It was later the same two days ago, while I was still in the office, ready to leave work for the day when my phone kept ringing and ringing.  I had decided to ignore any phone calls to give me time to just walk home, enjoy the walk home, and not take any new joys or troubles from anybody.  I finally answered.  It was Ann.  She was emotional and shouting.  She was losing it, if not having already lost it.
“Maggy ako admitted!”
“What?”
“Maggy ako admitted hosi!”
“But how, why, when, what?,” I blubbered back.
“I am confused, I do not know what to do!,” she said, obviously agitated.  She sounded like she was even crying.
“Why?”
“Hebu nisaidie na hiyo email nime forward kwako,” she disconnected.

Hey, today the coach has become Mr. Love.  The things I do for the marathoners!  Anyway, I checked my email messages, forgetting my walk home for a moment.  There was an email from Phillip alright, addressed to Phillip’s email.  I had noted that the email messages tended to be self-addressed.  I guessed maybe it was to protect the recipient’s privacy, but it was a unique way of communicating.  I am used to the old school way of just writing to someone’s email address as it is, not those BCC BS.  It was a mail of worry from Phillip.

“My darling wife,” he started, “I have some bad news.  Maggy’s condition has got worse all of a sudden and she is now admitted to the ICU of St. Elizabeth Hospital South Africa.  I have had to pay a deposit of $3,700 from a bill of $4,330.  That is the cash I had.  The hospital however insists on getting the balance before they can commence emergency treatment that shall save her life.”

There was a photo attached of some girl that looked like the one I had seen in Phillip and Maggy’s photos.  She was lying in some bed that looked like an ICU type hospital bed, with a teddy bear somewhere on the bed sheet.  It looked desperate.  I could now imagine why Ann was that emotional and had almost bursting my ear drums on the phone.  I was taken aback myself.  This seemed like a desperate medical situation.

“Honey, my soon to be wife,” the email continued, “Please I need your help now more than never before….”
“Oh, for crying out loud!,” I said to myself while in the office.  I already had the jitters….

“…. I had already spent all my cash on the art pieces that I had bought and shipped to UK by DHL and my credit card does not seem to work over here in this country.  I have even called my UK bank and they tell me that the card cannot be used here in SA and some other 16 African countries.  I am really stuck honey, my soon to be wife.  I really need your help…”
“Oh, for crying out loud!,” I cried out loud a second time!

“… Please help our daughter get her medical attention.  This is a real life and death emergency.  Please, please my darling wife to be, send me that $630 balance so that our daughter can survive.  It is about our daughter.  I shall pay you back, even double when I finally come to Kenya next week.  The life of the young girl, our daughter, is at stake at this moment.  Do you really love me?  Do you love Maggy?  Do you love us?  We hope you do.  Maggy is looking up to you to save her.  Just look at the attached picture to see how bad the situation is.  You can send it by Western Union to this address.  I have called everywhere….”

I could not even read any more.  I was glad that I was a sober third party in this.  Otherwise I would for sure have done anything myself if I was faced with this situation.  I could have sold my land to save that girl that I saw in that ICU bed.  I could have sold my own kidney to save Maggy!

I was sure that Annabel was not in any listening and reasoning position at the moment.  I therefore just sent her a short message service text….
“Ann, if you send that 65k it shall be the last time you ever see that money.  Goodnight”

So, why did this misfortune befall a good marathoner friend?  Did she even get my SMS before sending the 65k or she already did?  Did it really have to do with love?  Is this love?  Was Maggy really dying in an SA hospital and I had advised against saving her life?  Will I be responsible for what shall befall an innocent ten-year old girl?  Did I mess up Annabel’s real chance of getting the love of her life?  How will Ann survive all these when the real reality, whatever it is, finally dawns – whether I was wrong or right,?  Will she even remain in the marathoners team or I have now heard the last of her?  Is she even going to keep her job in Kisumu and she will call it all quits in the name of love?  Were there any telltale signs in this whole virtual romance that could have made Ann think twice?  

But how did Phillip even manage all these photos which I saw with my own eyes, including those photos inside an airplane with Maggy!  How about that photo of Maggy in ICU that I also surely saw?  I walked home asking myself all these many questions and more.  

Of course when I reached home I did a few email message trace-backs and photo properties investigations, after which many of my own questions on this saga were answered fully or partially.  I am however not a party to the heartbreak.  What matters are the questions and answers that Ann shall face and whether she shall have the willpower to survive the ordeal.  I shall not be surprised when Phillip finally comes to Kenya next week as promised.  Surely, I am lying!  Phillip shall never come to Kenya.  Why do I smell some West African country in all this drama?

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, July 15, 2022

Will vaccination ever end? Of booster vaccine 4... and 5

Will vaccination ever end?  Of booster vaccine 4... and 5

It was almost 12.25pm when I saw the missed call from Edu.  I had kept the phone in the pocket of my coat that was hanging on my seat and did not hear it vibralert me of his incoming call.  I immediately knew what it was all about.  It was another ‘runday Wednesday’ and I was being called to action.

However, this was not to be.  I was just ‘recovering’ from the very painless corona vaccination on the left arm this time round, after that right arm fiasco of January.  I had enquired before sitting on that chair, facing the small refrigerated container.  This had been placed on a table just in front of the seating position in the small makeshift booth.  This booth had been curved out of a large normally open meeting room, to create some privacy.

“My last vaccination was on January twenty-six,” I started, querying the nurse when the traffic had gone down after a three-hour event, “Am I really due for a booster?”

“Yes, it is already twenty-four weeks since that time,” the nurse responded confidently.

It was not for nothing that I was making the query.  I had been participating in the data entry process since morning, where we update the details of those vaccinated.  I had encountered two cases that called to question this 6-month duration, as far as the registration system was concerned.  One staff had added 6-months to the January 24 date and just told me on my face that he would be waiting for his booster shot after July 24.  Another January-case staff had stubbornly got the booster shot and was stopped on his track when the system refused to register the vaccination, giving a ‘not yet due date’ error.

So, finally, I sat there just before the 12.30pm break and endured the most painless injection this year.  Even the January one had some cold feeling on the arm, but this one, nada.  I wondered why some adults had to be held down to receive this baby needle on the arm.  There were even two loud shouts of pain within the day.  

Anyway, people are different and there is no right (or wrong) way to react to a piece of one-inch-long stainless-steel needle when it burrows itself below the skin.  The update of the system, in my case, did not give any error and soon I could see a second entry on the vaccination certificate, indicating a ‘booster’ of Pfizer.  The certificate that started with a single entry of AstraZeneca just last year, had now grown into 4 entries.

At this rate, we shall soon be walking around with a booklet that shall be keeping track of the many vaccination shots that we are likely to be having due to this corona thing.  The very corona which forced me to fail to do my customary Wednesday run, despite the day having the first sunny weather in a week.  It has been as cold as ice.  The very same corona that causes that dreaded COVID19 disease which had continued to plague the globe with 563,311,932 cases and 6,377,278 deaths, with Kenyan numbers being 336,053 and 5,668 respectively*.  All these in just 2-years.

*source: worldometers website

Of course, we did not have very kind words for corona during the lunch break, with the team of fellow members of the logistics team that had helped out in the camp.  For the umpteenth time I was reminded that corona was a hoax.

“Which disease spares young ones and only attacks the adults?”

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, July 13, 2022

The June divas marathon that never was…. Almost

The June divas marathon that never was…. Almost

“How was the diva’s?,” Reena asked.

It was exactly seven-days after the fact, on this Friday evening of July 1.  It was even already a different month from that scheduled run of June 24.

This July 1 was a busy Friday.  The day started with a final meeting with the visiting staff from our Ethiopian campus.  The visitor was to then have a free time after lunch to run some errands in readiness for the next day’s departure.  A visit to Maasai market at Prestige Ngong road was therefore scheduled for two so that she could be back by four-thirty for a five o’clock event.

Her company to Prestige called me at three-thirty, “Imagine it is now that I have cleared with school and is free to take Rachel for the shopping.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?,” I asked, not sure if Nanna was serious.  I have known her to be time unconscious, but this was a stretch by all definitions, “How will you make it back by five?”

“Si you just know me,” she LOLed, “Just arrange for Rachel to pick me at Kawangware stage”

I would soon try to trace Rachel on WhatsApp, since she did not have a Kenyan number.  The first call went unanswered and so I left a message that she should urgently get in touch so that she can pick a taxi cab to Ngong road.  Being a true sister to Nanna, with time not of much concern, I got a final knock on my door at about four, “Sorry misa president. Me get delay Finance and not watch Whatsapp… eh… Me not see call.  Maybe now I go taxi?”

“You are sure you wanna do this?  I mean go shopping and be back in an hour?”

“Yes, me shop eh…, maybe jus ten minutes? And then back with Nanna?”

I let her go and meet Nana at the designated location at Kawangware, having provided the driver with Nanna’s phone contact and also providing Rachel with my backup phone that has the Telkom line.

Soon it was five and I made a call to the two gals.  Nanna assured me that they were through and they were starting to travel back.

“When can we expect you gals?  At midnight?”

Nana laughed and let it resonate for a minute or so, “No! We are done”

“I know you Nanna, you have hardly even started your shopping.  I can hear market sounds in the background”

“No, I cannot lie.  We are through and starting our journey back,” she reassured.

I knew better than that.  That duo had not even started their moving around the market and my estimation was that they would be back at seven.

And I was right, Rachel made it back just before seven and it was around seven that the party of six, in two vehicles, made its way on Naivasha road to pick Nanna, then subsequently to Kilimani.  The cab with the guys arrived first, probably five minutes before us.  We thought that they would be settled in, but was surprised to still see the trio just standing outside the establishment.

“Why are you just standing outside on this cold evening?,” I greeted them.

“They say we they do not know us.  There is no reservation!”

I was taken aback.  Here I am with a team of three guys and three ladies and we are being stopped dead on our track.  How do you even formulate a plan B? 

“But I booked!?”

I moved into the building and confronted the lady that I found at the reception desk, just to the left of the single door entrance.

“Did you not get this?,” I pointed to the email message displayed on my phone.

She examined it.

“Ah, I see,” she saw, “Let me contact Fiona who booked.”

We remained blocking the entry with our party of seven.  The restaurant was already full.  There was hardly a table.  In a minute we were allowed in and pointed to a crowded outdoor location with only a small two-seater table available.  The workers soon pulled another one table and did a setup at the dead centre of the walkway of the extension part of the restaurant.  It was a cold part of the room and we soon complained that we could not survive that place, asking to be moved to any other place instead.

Another shuffle of chairs and tables would soon see us being setup at the main restaurant just two table rows after the main entrance.  This was better, though the two tables on our setup were not of the same size and were generally small for the seven of us, but who cares?  We are in a meating!  Sorry, meat inn.

“Welcome to Fogo Gaucho, do you know what to do?,” someone clad in a funny looking trouser and high boots approached the table and asked the team, roving his eyes around the many pairs of eyes.  The three ladies were set on one side of the length of the table, to my right.  Two guys sat opposite them.  The remaining two sat on the shorter edges of the rectangular setup.

“Of course, we do,” I volunteered, as I updated the only visitor in the group.

“Rachel, now you need to turn this card green,” I demoed, “Then we shall go and pick some salads over there,” I pointed towards their backs.

“Thereafter, you shall pick on the assorted roasts that shall be passing by using these forceps”

She had just heard of the routine before, but had never experienced it.  The rubber was now meating the road, sorry, meeting the road.

“Are you ready?”

“Sure, we go salad?  Maybe?,” she confirmed, unsure.

We got the salads and settled.  The cuts soon followed in quick succession.  I even saw a few circular cards turned red on the table, hardly fifteen minutes into the feast.  It was now all good.  

Our initial lateness and reservation woes were now forgotten, but…..

“Happy birthday dear Carolineeeee?”

“Happy birthday dear Carolineeee!,” some people answered.

What is going on!  We looked around to get accustomed to the singing.

“Happy birthday dear Carolineeee?,” one of those staffers with funny trousers and high boots could be observed coming from the salad corner towards the table just next to us, on my right, towards the backs of the ladies.  They turned to look around as to what was going on.

“Happy birthday dear Carolineeee!,” the members in that affected table responded, even as the staffers led by a soloist carrying a cake moved to that table.

“Happy birthday dear Carolineee?,” he belted out loudly, now just about five metres from where we were.

“Happy birthday dear Carolineee!,” we all sang back, unconsciously, morsels of meats in our mouths.

“Kata keki siyo ugaliiiiii!”

“Kata keki siyo ugaliiiiii!,” we shouted back, most people, at least in the main restaurant, clapping or tapping along their cutlery.

Rachel was completely amazed.  She would keep humming this song until she travelled back the next day.

Soon the song was forgotten, and Caroline and her crew could be observed digging into the cake, amidst unending supply of roast meat cuts being passed around by those high-booted men.

It was not long before we sang many more other birthday songs to many other people in that establishment, including to the party on the very next table to my left, directly infront of the ladies.  We just missed that particular cake by a whisker since we really sang our hearts out to ‘dear Kimani’ but there was no cake for us on this meaty day.

Our taxis were waiting to take us back home at nine as per the booking, but that is when we were deep into the eating.  Kimani’s birthday song had not even started by nine when the taxi people started calling me.  We were forced to finally put an end to the eating, when our body could not take it any more and leave at ten.

The first two taxis left with the guys and I was now just about to share one cab with the gals so that all are dropped at their respective places, with my Uthiru place being the last.  I am not sure whether it came as a surprise when the gals said that it was too early to go home and instructed the driver to go to a new joint that would eventually mean getting home at one.  The delay that you have to endure when you have to share a ride!  It was while on the way home, at one, when the marathon story came up amongst the many stories that were blubbered along.  By this time all were seriously slurring, apart from the Uber driver.

“How was the diva’s,” Reena asked.  How she her mind even thought of a run this late in the night remains a wonder.

“What diva’s?  The one that you ladies boycotted?  The very run that turned out to be a men’s event?”

“You mean?”

“Yes, I mean.  You girls still owe us a proper divas.  That one does not count, even though we did a twenty-one.”

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, July 5, 2022