Running at 36k feet – the unwritten story

Running at 36k feet – the unwritten story
I was supposed to write this story two weeks ago, February 16 to be precise, but this did not happen.  Read the original script to discover why this story was not written after all…

Writing this at 36k feet was not my idea of a blog story, but when you are stuck with 2hours of nothing, you are tempted to get busy.

When I set off with fellow runners from the accommodation quarters at the outskirts of Addis, we had that first delay when a colleague decided that there was ‘no hurry in Africa’ and kept the six of us waiting for her in the chartered van.  That 20 minute delay passed unnoticed, or unvoiced, though you could see it on the faces that none was amused.

Waiting
We were kept waiting at the departure lounge for another hour – just waiting for the boarding time.  When the clock hit 0955hrs, on this Saturday morning, the impatient runners could not take it anymore, so they went ahead and queued on the check-in counter within the formal invitation.  Finally, with a queue already formed, the lady was forced to allow the people through, down from first floor to ground level, where a taxi way bus was waiting to move the bus load to the waiting plane.  Yet another check-in and I was finally seated at the extreme rear of the 767-300ER, the 33rd row.  I have never been this far, but two ‘bodyguardesses’ kept me tamed.  This bird was full to capacity – 237 passengers in total.

The 1040hours departure did not happen, until fifteen minutes later.  Ten minutes before departure, 16 overhead screens, 8 on either side of the aisle, each about 10inch size dropped from the overhead compartment.  We were subjected to 10 minutes of safety demonstrations, which went a long way to unsettle us – but life continues.

Temperatures
Takeoffs have a way of unnerving the body, but seating next to the end of the plane makes it... worse.  During the inflight three days before, a colleague had suggested that he preferred the rear seats.
“Hapa katikati si poa,” he had started, as we cruised at 35k feet on the 154-seater Boeing 737-800.  The vitals were indicating 10668m altitude, 811km per hour speed, 11km per hour headwind and an outside temperature of -44 degrees Centigrade.  The machine also indicated a ‘ground’ speed of 805kph.  Why would you need ground speed 10k up there in the air?  This trip took us just 1hr40min, having left JKIA at 1820 and reaching Bole at 2005.

Back to the discussion on comfortable sitting position, I wondered loudly, “I thought this is the best place, strategically between the vessels.”
I was referring to our almost mid-vessel position on the middle seats.
“From experience,” he continued, “The rear seats are the most comfortable.”
I now wished I was seated next to him so that I could pinch him hard, as the tossing-about began, 40 minutes into the return journey.  The 300 did not display any stats to the runners – maybe it was cruising in 4 digits and the folks would not handle the facts.  It was also gliding 10k feet above the path of the inbound bird three days ago.  This machine was mean!

Chicken
I know chicken when I taste one, and what we took was not chicken.  They labeled it as chicken, but this is the real world.  If horse meat can be labeled beef and consumed as such, then the chicken was even smaller to deal with.

Advise to runners – it is possible to run at 10km up there, but it has its challenges, including extreme temperatures and food that pretends to be the real thing.

Experiences
However, there are experiences that the running track exposed me to over the three day event that I must hereby mention:
Taj – honey beer that is as orange of orange juice: that was a lie, there is no way honey beer can be that colour.
Tradition – went to this Abyssinia place and they exposed us to their tradition. This I agree was traditional music, though I shall take some time to differentiate this from Somali music.  Their buffet however presented some familiar foods.
Left hand drive – I am already used to running on the left when here, so it takes the mind some getting used to, but it sinks in a few days (or never)
Amharic – let me not even try. They told me they have over 300 letters? You write as you pronounce, but they just write symbols!

Raw meat
I sat and watched in awe, every mouthful painful on me that the one before, as two colleagues feasted on raw meat both sides of my seat, during a lunch break.  On my right raw mince was served – red and spiced red.  On my left raw meat cubes – read and spiced.
“Want to try some?,” asked Gebre, directing a pinch or mince in my direction.
“Mmmhhhaa, sweet,” he continued, as he shoved the same pinch into his mouth.
“You should try it.  It makes you feel like a lion,” he finalized, fully enjoying himself.
I cringed, loosing my appetite for a moment.  I did not have anything ordered, since I failed for the second occasion to fest on injera.  I could not get used to the sourness of the tef pan cake.  I had asked for rice, but this was not available.  Ugali was definitely out of question.  Chapo neither.  Their alternative was ‘bread and spiced beef stew’.  What a day!

It is this raw meat issue that made me not write this article.

Wanjawa, Wamkaya Barack – Nairobi, March 3, 2013

The Highland Run - part 3

The Highland Run - part 3


How it came about
When I arrived at the airport at nine, I went to the entrance where all travelers were going through.  Before the entrance, someone demanded to see the travel ticket.  I showed him a printed page, which he scrutinized, then shooed me on.  Straight ahead, a sentry instructed us to remove all metallic items from our pockets and put them on an open plastic tray, which were available for picking.  Then all hand luggage and tray contents were passed through the scanner.  We were asked to remove laptops from their bags and put them on trays, as they passed through the scanner.

“Beep beep,”  I heard the beep when I attempted to pass through the entrance, even after emptying my all through the conveyor belt to the scanner.
“Step back,” the sentry ordered, “Confirm that you have no metallic object on your pockets”
I rechecked and for sure, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, in my pockets.  Even my passport, flash disks and cash had been part of the contents on the tray through the scanner. 
“Remove your shoes, put them on the conveyor”
I thought that I did not hear right.
“What?,” I asked, more of “Are your serious” tone, than “What did you say” question.
Without even looking at me, he repeated, “Remove your shoes and put them through the conveyor”

With lots or reluctance and disgust, I removed my shoes, put them on the running conveyor to the scanner, and walked on bare socks through the entrance.  This time there was no beep, but my temper had risen a notch.  I reassembled my luggage at the other end of the conveyor, put on my shoes and stepped onto the check-in lounge.  It was about 9.15pm.  There was no one to show us where to go, nor any directional signs.  Travelers just guessed where to go.  I went to a place marked 'Immigration', after wondering aimlessly for about two minutes.
“I am traveling,” I informed the person, with a badge, stationed near the entrance.
“Do you have a boarding pass?”
“Boarding pass?”
“Yes, you need to get one.  Which airline?”
“Kenya Airways,” I responded.
“Queue there,” he pointed to his right.

I joined a queue that was surely headed to counters marked 'KQ'.  There were about eight other travelers ahead.  The queue moved fairly fast, with three counters in operation.  At the counter, I presented the computer generated e-ticket and passport.  The lady handed back the passport without any look and studied the ticket.
“Had you checked in?”
“No, I have just arrived”
She fingered her computer keyboard, then, “You had already been checked in,” she looked back at me, as if searching for answers.
“I was booked through our corporate travel agent.  It is possible that they finalized the process”
The answer was good enough, since she proceeded to give me a ticket and asked me to move on, even as she affixed a tag on my suitcase and let it slide away behind her sitting position.

At 'Immigration' I saw people filling in 'Entry declaration' forms.  I thought about it for a moment, wondering why folks were filling in entry forms on a departure lounge.  To conform, I filled in the blue card, which required details such as name, passport number, county of issue and country of intended travel.  I joined another queue to a counter marked 'Kenyan citizens'.  The other counters were marked 'East African citizens' and 'Other travelers'.  During my turn at the counter, the immigration officer pushed my passport though a scanner, then asked, “Where are you traveling to?”
“But this was written on that blue card you just shoved away under the table?,” I thought of saying.  Instead, “Ethiopia,” I answered.
“Mbio wanatuweza kweli?”
“Huu ni mwaka wetu.  Hawatuwezi kabisa.”
He stamped a page on the passport, handed it back and asked me to move on, through past his counter to the terminal building.

At the terminal various travelers milled around.  I looked for terminal 2, and moved to that direction.  I met Kef, my colleague. 
“You engineers, now where is TJ and colleague?,” she asked.
“I do not know.  I have not seen them.  I believe that they must have checked in”
At the boarding area, one part of the ticket was torn off, and a yellow plastic strip written 'Boarding pass' issued.  Nonetheless, the boarding was not devoid of drama.  The overhead sign read “Nbo – Joburg boarding.”  In reality, it was an Addis boarding time.  It is only after asking the staff at the counter did we understand that the board had jammed.  Just after the issue of passes, we were subjected to the last check.  We repeated the process of emptying our pockets, removing laptops from bags, passing them through the scanner, another beep-beep for me, and...  you guessed right – another episode of removing shoes.  After repacking again, we handed over the boarding pass to a waiting hand that had blocked the passage, as we walked through the narrow carriage that led to down to the tarmac, straight to the KQ plane.

I had expected a big plane.  One of those jumbos.  Even as I took the stairs towards the plane's entrance, I knew that this was a small plane.  From outside it looked like a toy.  In the inside, it was surely small.  Just two seats on each side, with a narrow corridor in between.  My seat, 15D, was just three rows from the very end of the plane.  I was seated isle side.  It was now about 10.15pm, and the travelers were steadily streaming in, and stuffing their hand luggage to the open overhead compartments.  In another five minutes, most of the seats were taken.  At least two were not taken.  It is around this time that TJ called to announce their canceled flight.

When the plane took off at exactly 22.30 as scheduled, I gave this small Embraer 170 plane, that sits seventy, quite some credit.  Despite its small size, it was quite comfortable and smooth.  It even felt smoother than the last Boeing that I took on a local flight.  I had already seen on the ticket that the arrival would be 00.35, at Bole International Airport, Addis Ababa.  A 2.05hr flight.  Once on air, about 30minutes after take off, a light meal was served, followed by a drink.  There was however no video screens on board.  Just a bus-like seating arrangement with nothing much.  It was almost like the Oxygen experience to the coast two months prior.  At cruising speed of 890km/h on altitude 30,000ft (about 10km up there), there was no discernible motion, just some faint far off hum of the engine.  We were virtually at standstill.  Being near the wing, I could observe the continuous red blink of the wing lights, on the right side that I was seated.  The lady seated on the window side seat just went straight to sleep after the meal.  I found myself glancing the KQ inflight magazine, without grasping much.  I was just flipping through, attracted by the pictorials.

It was not long before the captain announced that, “We shall soon start our descent to Bole International airport.  Those on transit to Eritrea, please remain in the plane after landing, since we shall just refuel then depart.  This shall be within 40minutes.  For those disembarking at Addis, have a good time.  Thank you for flying Kenya Airways.”
This was a bit sudden.  It did not seem that long.  Were two hours truly over?  I did not have time to answer that question since momentarily the plane touched down and taxied to the disembarking bay.  Out of the plane, a bus was waiting to transport us to the check-out area and baggage claim.

“Yellow fever,” a lady shouted as we headed to the baggage claim area.  This was after our passports had been stamped in exchange for the entry declaration cards, that we had filled in the plane, during the last ten minutes of our journey.  We raised our Yellow fever certificates for scrutiny, before being allowed to get through to luggage claim, after our hand luggage had been passed through the scanner once more.  Our suitcases were easy to spot, after which we headed straight to the exit.

Someone raised a sign having the name of the host organization, followed below with four names.  This attracted our attention.  We moved to his standing point and introduced ourselves as the guests that he was picking.  The time was now about 1.00am.  He led us to the van then opened the right side sliding door for us to put in our luggage.  I then went and stood on the front left, to wait for him to open the door.  He had already opened the front right door.  I had expected him to get into the van and just open the left door.  Instead, he left the right door ajar, and walked round the vehicle to open the left door.  I was taken aback to realize that the steering wheel was located on the left side.  The joke was on me when I had to move to the right side doors to get into the van.  We were on a left-handed van.  Soon I realized that we were on a 'keep-right' driving system.  Quite a mental challenge from the right-handed vehicles that am used to.  This first late night sleep marked the typical sleeping time for my whole duration in Addis.  Somehow I found myself sleeping past 1.30am each and every day.

Do not disturb
‘Do Not Disturb’, is the notice that I affixed to the external part of my room door.  I did this about mid-night as I prepared to watch the final news headlines on CNN before retiring to bed.  This was necessary because I intend to have the first long sleep in seven days since my arrival.  This would prevent the room cleaners from bumping in at about 8.30am.  Two days ago when I had extended my sleep beyond eight-thirty, the ladies had just knocked on my door, shouted some strange language, and before I knew it they were already in.  They had to give their apologies even as I struggled out of bed to wonder who had invaded my room.  I was not taking any chances this Saturday night.  The Addis weather was a replica of Uthiru weather - relatively warm day times and very cold nights.  The room offered four blankets and the heater though. 

The phone ring startled my deep sleep – and that room phone can ring loud!  I crossed the room in three steps to get to the phone set on the window-side edge of the reading table.  How could I have forgotten about muting the phone!  And who would have thought that someone would bother to call me in this foreign land!
“What!?,” I uttered to the mouthpiece.
“It is ten past nine and we are waiting for you at Gene Forage for a meeting,” came the answer.
“Eh, Why?,” I asked.
The previous day the three gents had had their customary dinner at Zebu club and had agreed to have the first meeting at ten.  This meeting would enable us get into a car to take us for a tour of Addis.
“There was to be the meeting with the Project Manager, to update her on the progress of our work”
“But… but that meeting had not been confirmed!”
“Get get here, you have five minutes.”
I knew that she had paid for the airfare, but messing my first good sleep was surely not polite. Nonetheless, I got out of bed, dressed and headed for the meeting room, laptop in hand. 

I did not take any breakfast.  I was at the meeting room in another two minutes.  The two ladies and two colleagues were already in discussions, which I just joined in.  When the meeting ended just about eleven, our host left even as the remaining Kenyans engaged in discussions.
“Why did you setup a meeting without giving us notice?  We had our own agenda today!”
“It had to happen.  Lexi is in Addis only for today.  She goes back to Nairobi tomorrow.  I had asked mzee to tell you of this meeting,” she informed us, “You mean that he did not?”
“He was concentrating on his own packing as he was leaving for the airport for this mid-night flight back to Nairobi”
“No wonder he forgot.  Nonetheless, am making it worth your while.  I shall buy you people lunch when we go for the outing,” Kef confirmed. 

That is how we landed at the injera place, followed by the tour or Menelik's place and eventually my Sunday evening run.

Beauty
One thing that the Abyssinians are blessed with, without a doubt, is beauty.  They are somehow the same pepite size, well rounded and yellow.  All of them are almost similar and very beautiful.  The Tuesday training run was therefore quite worth it. 

We had discussed what it took to get married to such women.
“It depends region where girl comes from,” Mich, a colleague from Addis Engineering said, then added, “In some place, they arrange cows and you run top of cows end to end!”
“You mean running on top of cows?”
“Yes, they arrange them and you run top.  If you fall or fail, then you wait one year”
The driver who took us to the museum had told me that the dowry was about three hundred herds of cattle.  That was surely beauty at a very high price!!

“You also must buy one kilo gold every year for her,” Mich said.
“And must be pure gold,” Kabe added.
“Every year, you said?,” the Kenyans wondered.
“Yes every year.  During Meskel, our new year, you give her gold.”
I had already been told that another qualification was taking your lady to the US, at least once.  In fact, the local staff SACCO had a 'US-tour' loan product, which was quite popular.

Now I was calculating:
(1) Investment = (Jumping row of 10cows) + 300 herds + (no. of years x (1kg gold)) + US trip
(2) Returns = (-)Investment.
(3) But, Returns > Investments = Profit
The equation was not balancing at postulate no. 3, though it would be made easier if we introduced a forth condition:
(4) Love your enemies
Then, we just declare them your enemies

After a hard day of work, which included an explosion from a baking even that we were repairing, we had had enough for a day.  When one of the locals gave us his story, of how he had worked for the organization for many years and survived many good and bad times.  He had concluded with, “My daughters in Sweden.  Now here.  Want to greet?”
TJ and Ben were starting to say, “Oh, no need...,” when I directed them towards Zebu with, “Of course, we want to greet”
To Zebu club, the four of us matched.  Seated at the low coffee table were two beauties.
“Hi”
“Good evening”
So we did the introductions, then small talk for about ten minutes before finally leaving.
This introduction was almost like an honour.  To us, this was a risky move that could easily backfire.
“Do you think any of our techs could introduce his daughters to our staff”
“Hey, mbuzi awekwe mbele ya fisi!”

WWB, Addis, 15-Oct-2011

The Highland Run - part 2

The Highland Run - part 2

Recognized
“You must be Kenyan,” someone interrupted my walking pace, as I headed to the Engineering block from Research Block 2.  She then extended a hand, even as she blocked by path.
“My husband said that someone overtook him so fast.  He said it must have been a Kenyan”
I shook her hand back.

“True, am from Nairobi.  Here for a short project”
“How long are you here for?”
“I have done two weeks.  I have one more week”
“You know,” she continued, “My husband is quite fit and fast.  He has been running for years”
She paused to gauge me.
“He said that you passed him as if he was at a standstill”
“Oh, thank you.  I just run for fun.  The campus circuit is quite good for a relaxed run”
“It was a pleasure meeting you.  I think Kenyans are now on top of the world in running,” she said.
“Sure,” I agreed, “This is our year.”
“I envy you.  Nice to have met you”
“Bye, see you again later,” I concluded.

This was quite a pleasant surprised at this lunch hour break.  A stranger recognizing your efforts through a story from a third party!  It couldn’t be any better.  I spent the afternoon at Engineering block office feeling on top of the world, even as I planned for the evening run.

Since my arrival on the wee hours of Monday, October 3, I had somehow managed to do my runs on this new land, some one thousand two hundred kilometers out of Nairobi.  On Tuesday, TJ and I decided to check out the routes within the new campus.  We just hit the tarmac and followed our instinct in making a run path from the hostels, to Engineering and back to hostels.  The circuit turned out to be only five minutes, at our very relaxed jogging pace.  This was therefore just under one kilometer.  We did a second circuit.
“You know,” I started, “I will have to do forty-two such circuits if am to prepare for the marathon”
“By then you shall be dizzy, with the locals wondering at your sanity levels,” he responded, even as we kept jogging looking for alternative routes.

We decided to just run through the compound through different paths, to find out if we could elongate our running route.  We stumbled upon dead ends, closed gates and even a football field – all in the quest for a route that was worth our while.  When we were warming down, thirty minutes later, the time being about six-twenty, we were at least happy with this inaugural run, hardly one day after our arrival. 

For TJ, his arrival was actually that very morning.  We were however booked on the same Sunday night flight, but he could not make it.  I remember his call while I was seated in the plane ready for takeoff.
“WB, I do not think we shall make it.  We arrived at the check in when they had already closed”
“How did that happen?,” I asked in shock. 
According to the itinerary that we had got on Friday before the travel, he and our other colleague were to be picked from Zimmerman at 6.45pm, for the nine o'clock check-in.  I was to be picked at eight. 
“The chartered van delayed, while the jam on Thika road was just crazy”
I remembered my own experience.  By eight there was no sign of my own transport.  At 8.15pm, the tour company had called to inform me that there would be a twenty-minute delay on my own pick up, though they assured me that they shall ensure that I check in in good time.
“So that is it?  The two of you are not traveling with us?”
“Yes.  That is it.  We hope to join you on the next available flight.  We may stay overnight at the airport, if the next flight in early morning.  Tell Kef of this development”
“OK.  Bye then.  Let us meet there kesho”

Keep running
The first run did not take a toll on us, at least not on me.  It was quite relaxed.  Generally a day of discovery.  The next run occurred the next day.  We decided to explore the compound some more.  We left our residence and went towards the gate that had marked a dead end the previous day.  Through this gate we found a graveled path, that led to a second gate, about twenty meters away.  After this second gate, we continued on the graveled path to yet another third gate hardly fifty meters away.  Running, stopping to open these gates, then closing them behind us was not fun at all.  However, we were on discovery and the route seemed more like it.

After the third gate, we headed left on the fork, instead of straight on.  Our left path met the perimeter fence some one hundred meters ahead.  Then we just followed the path adjacent to the perimeter wall all the way to join the main tarmac road that leads to the compound, just after the main sentry gate.  Through the familiar tarmac, we ran until we reached the right turn that headed towards Engineering.  At this point, we turned left to yet another graveled running path.  This led through the other extreme perimeter of the compound on the left, and a thicket on the right.
“Eh, look at this field.  Is it not the same one that we ran though yesterday,” TJ asked as he pointed to the visible field on the right side, just across the long grass.
“The high grass prevented us from seeing this running route,” I responded.

Finally, we were back to the familiar tarmac next to Borena cafe, where we crossed through the small sports field behind Borena and back to our starting point next to the swimming pool.
“That wasn't bad”
“It was a 15-minute circuit,” I checked my stopwatch before speaking.  
“Let us do another one,” I encouraged.
So we did three circuits on the same path, finishing at 0.47.02
“Good run,” TJ declared as we warmed down.
“But stubborn gates,” I decried.

During dinner at Zebu club, I met Dan once more.  My other three Kenyan colleagues were also around.
“Take it, here it is,” I said as I handed back his phone. 
During our previous evening's coincidental meeting, we had found ourselves seated on the same table at Zebu.  Four strangers, one table.  We just introduced each other and that is how we got to learn about his craze for smart phone technologies.  He had explained the kind of research that he proposed to do, using the various monitoring sensors on the phone to collect and interpret data.  He had said that such phones, being cheaper, would be cost effective in some operations instead of buying fully fledged measuring and monitoring systems.
“Look here,” he showed our table of four, “This is the map of Addis”
People craned their heads to glimpse the small screen.
“I can use this phone to record movement, and they shall be as accurate as ever.”
That is when I had challenged him to let me jog around with the phone and see if it could trace my path.

He pressed a few controls on this keypadless phone and then beamed.
“Look at this!,” his excitement was evident.
“I can tell you that you ran three times along this path here,” he pointed out as the group gathered over him to view the wonder.
We saw some three red lines that were the definition of our run.  He managed to zoom in and we could surely see the path as exact as we had taken it.
“This phone has a built in GPS.  That is why it can trace your route.  It can also communicate your coordinates to another device.  This ability to communicate its own location is the subject of my research.”

Four circuits
On Thursday I did four circuits of this path, starting at five-thirty and ending at stop watch time 0.49.26.  On Friday, I did another four circuits.  The time recorded was 0.47.57.  TJ made sure that he did not run with me, either by failing to show up altogether or starting the run earlier or later.  He claimed that I was getting too fast for him.  “And the food here lacks energy!,” he complained. 

During the Friday run, I tested an IDEOS phone as provided by Dan.  Since he was engaged for the evening, we had agreed that he would pick the phone immediately after my run around seven, instead of meeting at the cafeteria.  When he picked the phone, he confirmed that it had recorded the four running paths.  He promised to send the information and map, just as he had done with the previous path.  But I had to complain about the IDEOS.
“The phone was a bit scary.  It was interrupting me every four or so minutes with an announcement”
“What announcement?,” he asked.
“At every kilometer, it gave me a warning.  Each announcement was quite unexpected, making me jumpy”
I added, “The lady's last message was something like, 'Mytracks distance is eleven kilometers in fifty-eight minutes twelve point zero eight seconds.  Average speed thirteen point one kilometer per hour'”
“It was possible to shut her up, though I forgot to show you how”

Heavy
The running experience here was different.  There was some heaviness that one felt when running.  Almost like the route is fighting your advance.  This, I later learnt, was due to the high altitude.  That is why athletes train in high altitude so that they are ready to fight with any other 'lighter' altitudes.  The other difference was how fast darkness fell.  By 6.20pm it would be quite dark.  Running would became difficult due to the very low visibility.  Back home, it did not get dark until seven or thereabout.  This was explained by the far distance from the Equator.  Since it was past September 22, the earth has shifted along its axis, making countries in the northern hemisphere have longer dark hours – and winter to follow soon.  “We experience winter in Ethiopia,” one local had quipped when I brought it in the topic of early darkness.

Another differing experience on my runs was running with the wild.  Throughout the run, a dikdik would cross the path, run alongside or run after you.  Sometimes I met the small ones, which were easily scared.  Sometimes I encountered the bigger new, which would be scary.  With every run, I got used to them.  However, running when dark, anytime past six-twenty, was scary.  You could just hear some swished in the bushes.  You would wonder if there was a predator-prey run going on there or they were just dik diks running around.  And the dik dik's are preyed on by lions, leopards and hyenas!  These are not thoughts that should go through your mind when you are running – just keep running.

Daily runs
In the new week, I found myself running every day from Sunday to Saturday, apart from Thursday, when I stumbled upon a farewell party for the DDG.  The Sunday and Monday runs were four circuits each.  The timings were 0.46.34 and 0.47.46.  On Tuesday I did two circuits, as trained one of my new found friends at this campus.    I did not time this run.  It was more fun talking and sharing experiences.  The Wednesday and Friday runs were five circuits each.  Their timings were 0.59.30 and 0.58.21.  I was surely getting almost ready for the October 30 international marathon in Nairobi.  I was feeling good about it.  Four weeks ago, when I learnt of the travel, that was to occur at the peak of the training, I was not quite happy with this trip.  This is because I knew that my training would be affected.  However, the high altitude and good jogging track was still a good practice ground, albeit the occasional stony areas that were hurting the soles.  The running track was also relatively short, which I estimated at 3km, while the smartphone put it at 2.8km.

Sunday run
You may wonder why I was running almost daily.  Well, I was in a strange land with nothing else to do.  How about the Sunday run?  Just after the tour of the city?

After finalizing the commissioning works at the new generator, we got into a Land cruiser and headed to town.  The driver has been specifically assigned to show the four Kenyan the sites of interest in the city.
“Salamno,” I greeted the driver.
He was kind of surprised, “Salamno,” he responded, then asked, “You know Amharic?”
“Ishi!  Ishi!,” I responded, much to his surprise.
After some chit chat, “What does the name of the city mean?, ” I asked.
“Addis means beautiful,” said the driver, as he settled to a comfortable driving pace on the wide road.
“Oh,” all of us responded almost in unison.
“And Ababa means flower”
“Oh,” we found ourselves responding once more.

We went to an open air market, where some of the team bought shoes and clothes.  After than we went for lunch at some joint, which I can not pin point.
“Here you get raw meat,” the driver informed us. 
“Very sweet raw meat,” he added as we disembarked in the compound of the hotel.
The place was not packed.  About five of six other couples were seated, scattered all over.  Let me emphasize that they were couples.  I started to believe that love was brewed in this country.  I had observed it for seven days.  I had seen it and I was seeing it.
“I wish Kenyan men were like this,” Kefy observed, even as the guys were just awestruck with the beauty.
“No wonder WB wants to stay around,” TJ quipped as we now settled on the two tables that we had deliberately pulled together.

They brought a menu written in Amharic.  Each of the four Kenyans looked at it and just laughed.  They could not decipher even a jotter of it.  We left it to the driver to try the interpretation.
“Here, food like... like... teff, you know teff, and another like... eh, firr firr.  You like firr firr.  Eh or ambasha?” he struggled on.
“Drink is taj... eh 7-up, Pepsi, Mirinda, eh beer.  Want taj?  You know it!”
To save him from the tough task, we asked various questions on the type of foods we wanted, just to see if he could confirm them.
“Chips, you know, fries”
“What? Chips, fries? What that? Eh, you mean what?”
“How about meat, cooked meat”
“Ah, yes, yes, meat.  Meat there.  Want raw?”
Initially we thought it was a joke.  We now believed that raw meat was a reality.
“No, fried meat”
“Yes, cook meat, OK, Ishi, Ishi”
“What will we eat it with?,” we asked.
“Eh, injera?”
I just started laughing.  This is the food that I had avoided for the last week, only to go for an outing and find it waiting for me.  The rest of the Kenyans started laughing at me.  They had known that injera was not my favourite.  In fact, I was the only one who had managed a 100% resistance to this fermented pan cake.  The two other Engineering staff had resisted just for two days.  However when the pangs of hunger caught up with them, after many days of long works hours, they gave in and ordered injera.
My misery was made worse, when they finally brought me plain rice, even as the others got their injera and beef stew.
“But where is my beef stew?”
“Sorry, beef stew is only served with injera”

Museum
After lunch we went to Menelik's palace and museum.  At the museum we were prevented from taking any photos.  A guide took up around the almost circular room, hardly ten meters in diameter.  There were saw Menelik's things including swords, robes, bed, books, umbrellas, chairs, headgear, stuff and shoes.  We paid fifty Birr each to gain access.  We paid ten Birr for the entry of our driver.  The guide was quite humble and almost religious in his presentation.  He was quite good, though he would most often start his sentences in English and finish them in Amharic, before realizing that his audience was lost.  He was quite softspoken and convincing.
“We should proud of Africa.  Only Africans build Africa.  Menelik he know this and setup strong nation,” he told us while showing us the artifacts.
“Here you see Manelik's bed.  Where he was rest,” he continued, “See how simple.  He want to be like people.  United with people.  Simple wood bed.  Make of skin.  Nothing special”
We kept moving around.
“The medals won by Ethiopian runners.  Real gold', he pointed so some three gold medals.  One of them had been engraved Standard Chartered marathon. 
He continued, “They pray Lady of Guadalupe bless them win.  If win they give medal.  You see, they win, and give medal to museum.”
After doing the round, we were back to the entrance area.
“Finally, some items for Menelik,” the guide showed us with the stick he was carrying, while pointing at a glass pane, “These are gold shoes”
“Ethiopia has many gold.  When Menelik win war, his people give gold shoes.  But Menelik he is humble.  He say 'No'.  He can not wear gold and not people.  So he not wear gold.  He want to be like people.”
“But this glass has no lock!,” I asked or rather wondered loudly.
“Yes, no one he steal Menelik's shoes”
The Kenyans in the room just laughed.  They knew better.
“Amasagnalahu,” I told the curator, as we left.
“Amharic, you know!  Ishi, Ishi!,” he responded in excitement.

We then walked next to an Orthodox temple, then went behind it to see Menelik's house.  We found there another guide.
“You pay?,” he asked as we descended the steps from the temple towards the house compound.
“Yes, we paid,” we answered even as we showed him the pink tickets.
“Then here I show,” he pointed to a house and led us through the very high door.
“You see Menelik's sit room.  And here, horn, of cow.  For he put raw meat.  Raw meat he put here and here and here,” he said as he shown the various horns protruding out of the wall.
“Look up, the top.  You see top made skin of cow.  All sticks together, skin of cow only”
In another upstairs room, through a side staircase.  He then told us, “Here, Menelik and wife Taitu, they sleep together,” he then pointed through the window, to the grounds below, “And down there, the people, they watch King!”
We just burst out laughing, loudly!  Of course, the two sentences were not related, but he had accidentally related them.

Parting with additional Birr for the guide, despite having already paid, was a pleasant surprise.  But the history lesson was worth it.  After all this history, a Sunday evening run was surely the proper thing to do.  That is why the 0.46.34 four-circuit run happened.

WWB, Addis, 15-Oct-2011