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