When the marathon is washed off… with you in it

When the marathon is washed off… with you in it

“What did I get myself into?,” I muttered to myself on this Friday of April 28, 2023 at about six in the evening.

It was now about 1hr 45min into the run.  It was probably the second time that I was saying this statement.  The last time I said this very statement was hardly forty-minutes ago, almost at the very same place.  I had by then just waded through the worst mud ever!  It was bloody muddy!  The whole section through the University farm was just impossible and impassable.

I had even been forced to grind to a standstill and had to walk a very impassible section of about four hundred metres with that Uni farm.  My shoes were heavy with mud.  Every lifting up a foot usurped double the otherwise amount of energy needed to lift and run.  It was also slippery and careful baby steps were needed in the whole of that section.  I was hardly halfway through that section when I had said loudly, subconsciously, “What did I get myself into?”

My colleague Mathew had already passed by that section.  I believed that he must have also talked to himself when passing through that section.  He had overtaken me earlier on the run, just after we left Lower Kabete road towards Mary Leakey school.  Though I had been leading the run till that time, I had then decided to divert to a different route to tweak my run and add some mileage, sorry kilometer-age.  

But he need not have said anything anyway.  After all, he was to blame for this exact predicament by daring nature when I had proposed otherwise.  I did not mind running through any terrain or difficulty.  If anything, it is him that I had worried about albeit now too late to do anything about the situation….

We had started our run at the Generator ten minutes later than planned.  It had rained the whole day that Friday.  The run had technically been cancelled, only for the weather to change for the better, just at four when the run was to start.  I hurriedly swapped work for sports attire and ran towards the generator.  I was surprised to even see Mat there, since I was not expecting anyone to turnup for the run.  Not in this weather.

Though there was no rain as we started our run at 1610 hours, the dark clouds remained perched on top of the big overhead umbrella.  It was dark.  We left and ran away.  We would just deal with the weather and its children when its brings forth future surprises.

The weather remained calm, despite the dark clouds.  I had initially suggested to Mat that we do ‘marathon route 2’ instead of the usual.  This route-2 is tweaked from the usual route but formulated to keep us confined to the tarmac.  This would however mean doing a U-turn as we hit Lower Kabete road, then coming back to Ndumboini.  There we would take Kanyariri road on the right and run as usual all the way past Uni farm turnoff, to Wangige-Gitaru underpass to do the extreme U-turn back.

“Halafu tupande hiyo mlima yote ya Wangari turudi nayo?,” Mat had asked, as we just started the run and were discussing the route.

“Yes, that is the only way to avoid the Uni farm mud, but if you are upto it, then we do it.  I do not mind.”

He thought about it for a minute.  By the time we got to the gate to start the run proper, he had made up his mind, “Hiyo mlima, hapana, let us just go through the Uni farm.”

I knew the better but kept this knowledge to myself.  We kept running and finally left the comfort of the tarmac at the 7km mark, 8km in my case, and diverted off to the left.  It did not take long to reach the dreaded Uni farm.  The Uni farm was muddy due to the earlier rains that seem to have fallen all the way from Uthiru to that section, some ten kilometres away.  I was ready for this and so waded through successfully.  I am not sure how Mat managed to get by, but I could see his prominent run shoe footprints well defined on the muddy path, mostly on the edges of the road.

We finally got off the mud and joined Kapenguria road tarmac.  We kept running and the weather remained stable.  We even made it to the Gitaru-Wangige underpass and made our ultimate U-turn, with Mat always on the lead as I tweaked around.  Trouble started on the way back, as I got to Kapenguria road after the U-turn at the underpass.  By this time Mat should have been about six-minutes ahead from my calculations.  That means that he was now turning towards the short Uni farm diversion that is part of this route to emerge back on Kapenguria road.  It was at this time that I realized that the sky was darker than usual, and some drizzles had started.

I kept running.  The drizzle remained sparse.  I would probably survive this.  After all, the cool shower spray from above was cooling the body in small measures, just at the right level.  I even increased pace on this section as I reached the Uni farm diversion for a three-minute run, before getting back to Kapenguria road.  However, getting back to the road marked the beginning of trouble…..

I started hearing the sound that accompanies a heavy rain coming from somewhere and getting louder with every step that I took.  I wished that it was not true, but the sound of the rain got louder and louder and louder until it finally busted out loudly on my path as the heaviest, coldest, shock-inducing, unexpected and painful water droplets hit me.  I was just approaching ‘the tank’, which marks the Uni farm turnoff, the very turnoff where earlier on I had almost got stuck due to the mud.  However, this time round I would be sticking to the Kapenguria road tarmac as I head towards the finish.

“What did I get myself into?,” I muttered to myself for a second time.

It was now about one-hour forty-five minutes into the run.  I had another at least thirty minutes of run ahead to cover the remaining six kilometres or so.

The rain increased in intensity.  There was no place to shelter on this fairly deserted road.  I was stuck.  I could not go back and going forward was proving difficult with the pain and cold of the rain.

“This is messed up!,” I shouted to no one in particular.  

I kept running.  The road was hardly visible due to the white sheet of raindrops that had enveloped the air.  I shoved the phone that was doing the timing into the pocket of my shorts.  I kept running.  Soon I was facing the 1km uphill towards Ndumbo market.  The rain did not relent.  It just increased the pain of running uphill.  I was dripping wet by this time.  My run shoes were heavy with the waters.  My clothes were freezing cold and dropping off water in my wake.  I was shivering along as I ran.  I did not stop.  I kept going.

I finally reached Waiyaki way.  It still raining heavily.  I could hardly see the oncoming vehicles.  Some were courteous enough to put on their headlights.  Others decided to remain invisible.  It is only the sound of their engines on approach that signaled their presence.  I somehow crossed one side of the road to the middle island, despite the invisibility caused by the rain.  I had to wipe off the rains from my face many times in the process of waiting and crossing.  I once again finally crossed the other carriage of the road and got to the edge of the Waiyaki way.

It was now time for the final run past Kabete Police station, then do the sharp U-turn towards Kabete Poly.  My run would be over in a moment.  I caught up with Mat at the Uthiru roundabout with less than two hundred metres to go.  It was the best feeling to finally finish the run, just as the rain as subsiding into drizzles.

I stopped my timer at 25.16km, 2.14.15, 5.20 average.

This is a run that I would have liked to forget in a hurry.  I did not want to reveal anything that happened on that Friday.  However, the best way to forget about something is to get it out of your system, which I have now done.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, May 10, 2023

Valenthon that was tougher than Kili

Valenthon that was tougher than Kili

If all had worked out, I would now be recuperating from a run at Kilimanjaro mountain.  But things did not work out.  I did not manage to travel to Tanzania, despite the best of efforts.  I still missed the bus.  It is for that reason that it is a run day Sunday in Kili but I am still in Nairobi and surviving another hot afternoon, a second hot afternoon.  Though I missed the Kili, I still had my own International marathon on Friday, February 24.  This was yet another monthly marathon arranged by the MOE*.

I know that folks are wondering what happened to the January international, since there was mention nor a blog story about it.  I will tell you why there was no story about it.  It turned out to be exactly as what I had written about in November and December, that is, I was alone on that long 21km route and I lived to tell.  I did not want to duplicate a story already written in November, so I left it untold.

I have just seen postings of the performance by the Kenyan team members who went to Kili and who did their run today, Sunday.  I congratulate them.  I do not envy them.  I know how hot the run must have been, though they had the privilege and opportunity of being supplied with water, soda and fruits.  I did experience a similarly tough run on Friday, albeit without any water or nourishment in that hot Friday evening.

Let me thank Mathew for ensuring that this story is written, otherwise I would be skipping the writing and referring runners to the December event if I would have run solo on this hot February.  In fact, I was prepared for yet another solo run, with Edu having conveniently cancelled his participation hardly 3-days to the event.  He was the only team member that was capable to taking up the challenge.  His excuse this time round was an evening meeting on the Friday, but I knew better.  While the meeting was convenient, the real reason was the fear of being roasted in the scorching sun.  He even let that sentiment slip, but it was too late to state that this was not his reason for cancellation.

I started the run at four from the locker room, and headed to the ‘real’ starting point at the generator.  I did not expect anyone to be joining me on this run.  I just ran there as a routine to get this run officially started.  It was a pleasant surprise to see Mathew, a second time runner at that starting point.  The last time I did a run with him was sometime in November, when Edu was also in that trio.  We had run the Mary Leakey route on a 13km distance in an evening.  It was a general slow run.

We were meeting for a second run, four months later.

“Where is your water?,” I asked, as we prepared to reflag the run.  I had my own 500ml water bottle, whose content was already warm, despite having filled in some cold water hardly ten minutes prior.  The weather was just blazing hot.

“Will I need it?”

“Did you not read the notice?  We said that every runner must carry some water.  This heat is nothing to joke with!”

“I will buy some along the way,” he shrugged.

We started the run, as he confirmed that this was his first run on the 21km route.  It was a slow run ab-initio.  We ran together through the designated route to Waiyaki way and crossed over to Ndumboini.  We went down Kapenguria road, past Wangari Maathai institute and ended up on Lower Kabete road.  From there we turned left and ran about a kilometre, to once again turn left through the rough road past Mary Leakey and eventually traversed the university farm.  We finally emerged at the tank, and joined Kanyariri road.  We turned right and kept going, slowly, though I could at times increase pace go gain over five minutes, only to stop and wait for Mathew to join in.

Running on Kanyariri road from the tank to Gitatu underpass and back was the hardest part of the run, with all the sun and the tiredness continuously setting in.  Eventually, Mathew took a break to buy his water at ‘the tank’, which is the junction to the rough road towards University farm.  On the return leg we would however not go back to the farm, but instead keep to the Kanyariri road tarmac all the way back to Ndumboini and do the same route back to the starting line.  I had hardly touched my water.  It was already boiling inside that plastic bottle.

I did a few tweaks and variations of the run to give myself some extra mileage as I also allowed Mat to catch up.  Finally, after almost 2hr 30min in the hot sun, that was now slowly fading off as the sun sets, we did finish the run.  I stopped my timer at 02.27.01 after 24.30km, with an average of 6.03.  I did not know that running slowly can be that tiring.  But that was not my Kili tiredness moment.

The tiredness moment came when I was walking home at about eight in the evening.  My body was just too lethargic.  I struggled to get to the home and literally collapsed into the house.  I took a litre of coke soda, but that did not seem to quench my thirst.  I tried to eat something, I do not even know what, but I was just not myself.  At some point in the night I did fall asleep.

I woke up yesterday and found an open bottle of soda by the bedside, and some half eaten food.  I cannot even remember how I left these leftovers, yet my mind had convinced me that I had partaken them all.  At that moment of waking up I surely confirmed that dehydration was real.  Worse can really happen if an athlete lets dehydration have its way.  This was the worst feeling that I have had in many years.  I survived the last Kili over the 42km in 2020, but it did not feel this bad.  The aftereffects of the Valenthon were just from another world!

*MOE = marathoners of expert, the committee that organizes for marathons 

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Sunday, Feb. 26, 2023

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

Sprinters delight lives up to expectations… but wait!

Sprinters delight lives up to expectations… but wait!

The July international marathon of last Friday, July 29, 2022, had been publicized since the June international run.  We knew that it shall come to pass, and come to pass it did on that last Friday.  We were four when we started the 21k of the June run.  We had hoped for a bigger starting lineup in July, but that did not happen.  Even a 15-minute wait beyond the stipulated 1600hrs starting time did not improve the numbers.  Karl, Edu and I remained the only people still standing even at this delayed time.

We just had to start.  The day was cool, just about cold.  The ‘sprinters delight’ has been crafted by the MOE* as the day for runners to sprint away and break records, after the many group runs that have been done since March.  We expected PBs on this day, and we did not keep any secrets about this requirement.  We publicized this encouragement throughout the month of July as we sent email updates and reminders.  And… finally, it was the day to get it done.

*MOE = marathoners of expert, the committee that organizes run events

Unlike a group run whose pace is dictated by the slowest runner, the sprinters run is dictated by the person running.  You ‘close your eyes’ aka ignore every other runner, and just go for it.  Of course, you need to push a little harder than usual during such a run, since you need to break some form of record.  That was our collective mentality as we started our run at 1615hrs.

I was on my own by the first kilometre.  I did not look back and kept going.  The weather was just too cool.  The run seemed easy despite the terrain that is hilly from the start, with just a short reprieve from Ndumbo past Wangari Maathai to the river, on Kapenguria road.  After that river it is a general uphill to the 13km turning point under the Gitaru-Wangige road.  Even after that turning point the terrain remains generally hilly until you get back to the tank on Kanyariri road, ready to do a short kilometre of rundown to the bottom of Ndumboini.  You then face the last major hill that ends at Waiyaki way, then it is generally flat to the finish line.

The terrain did not disappoint.  It remained heavy on the legs, but it was a sprinting day, and so the run continued at a generally faster pace.  I met Karl and Edu on my 14.5km mark.  They still had to do a 1.5km run to the 13km turning point.  We raised our hands through the air in a manner of acknowledging each other and we went our opposite ways.

My run on Kanyariri road back to Ndumbo then to the starting line at Uthiru was as expected.  You just need to survive that 1.5km Ndumbo hill and once on Waiyaki way you are generally done with the run.  I was therefore generally done with the run when I crossed Waiyaki way and just ran past the Kabete Police station towards the turning point at N-junction.  I was soon at the finishing line at 1751hrs.  The data recorded on Runkeeper was 21.27km, 1.41.26, 4:46 average, 408m climb.

The only explanation for the fast pace was the ‘sprinters delight’.  I had previously tried to prepare for this run by doing several shorter distances but could not get to under 4.47 average.  Even another test run, after the fact, on a 17k route today did not get me to 4.46.  I was still on 4.47.  With no other sprinters run until Nairobi International Marathon of October 30, I can for sure say that this was the best run in the year.  

However, I have seen the body behave in ways unimaginable.  I had given up on ever running under 5.00 average for most of the year, only for the booster vaccine to kick in and to since be under 5.00 on every run.  That means that you cannot predict what shall happen on the next run.  The impossible can happen.  Just be ready for it.  Enjoy it when it comes.  After all, your best run is on the day that you are running that run… that is when the unexpected can happen.

WWB, the coach, Nairobi, Kenya, August 1, 2022

The first marathon since Corona – when the unexpected happens

The first marathon since Corona – when the unexpected happens

The last time we held our regular monthly international marathons was in March 2020 – yes, March 2020.  And even at that time the corona thing almost cancelled that run.  The monthly runs over the 21k distance had by then become a permanent event in our marathoners’ calendar.  It was consistent, it was anticipated, it was a crowd puller, and it was the only talk in our marathoners’ groups.

It was therefore a real relief when the MOE* finally agreed to arrange for the first marathon after corona break.  This run was to the next one that follows the last run held in March, being the April run, albeit April 2022 – 24-months later!

*marathoners of expert – the organizers of the event

However, many things had changed in the 24-months hiatus.  While putting on masks, social distancing, handwashing, sanitizing, curfews, working from home and fear of the unknown had been the language since 2020 towards 2021, the tone had changed to vaccination and return to normal, from late 2021.  By January 2022 the country and most of the world had lifted the mask mandate and rescinded most COVID-19 restrictions.  Working from home had ended and life back to the office had become the norm.  

The world had evolved from 537,042 infections and 24,110 deaths as at March 27, 2020 to 513,670,092 infections and 6,262,095 deaths as at May 2, 2022.  Kenyan numbers were now 323,295 and 5,649 respectively*.  This was a global 1,000 fold increase in infections and 260 times increase in deaths in that 2-year period.  However, the end had now come, with vaccinations, medications and therapeutics halting corona on its heels.  We had moved from calling corona ‘the thing’ (TT) in low toned whispers, to calling it by name and fearing nothing!

*source: worldometers

It therefore did not come as a surprise when the MOE decided to hold the first international marathon of 2022 in the month of April and set the date of the run for the last Friday, as has been the tradition.  The date of Friday April 29 was therefore communicated as the day of the marathon and the runners were asked to start preparing for this inaugural run.  I made this big announcement on April 11.  The organizers were however cognizant that the runners may not be ready for this, having had no serious run in two years, but we had to start somewhere.

I talked to three veteran runners and got their buy in, just to ensure that we could deal with a worst-case scenario where no one turns up.  They all committed to participating in the run.  The month however had many unknowns that would unfold from that date.  To start with, the unexpected would happen, when the former president of the republic of Kenya, Mwai Kibaki passed on on Friday, April 21, hardly one week to our marathon.  It was not long before the Friday when we were to have the marathon was declared a public holiday.

We usually leverage on the fact that we have staff on duty to raise the numbers for the marathon.  That is why we hold the runs on a working day.  A run during a public holiday, when the staff are not on duty, would not be tenable.  We therefore made a last-minute decision, hardly three days to the marathon, that we were rescheduling the run.  The options that we considered were to keep the Friday date, to move the run to the next week or to cancel the run altogether and wait for the next one in May.  

We decided to reschedule it to Thursday, April 28, one day earlier than planned.  It was on the same date of rescheduling that I was got confirmation that two of the three veteran runners were also cancelling their participation due to other engagements.  That meant that the B-and-B team, a persistent pair of runners from pre-corona days, was not getting back in this run.  However, one B was doing this run whatever happens.

The new Thursday date still had its challenges.  We were coming up for a long weekend, with Friday being the day of national mourning, while the Monday of May 2 would also be a holiday that extends Labour day.  It became even more complicated when Tuesday was declared a holiday as Eid-Al-Fitir, to mark the Islamic end of Ramadhan period.  We were facing a 5-day long weekend.  Our runners were likely to be on a holiday mood, than on a running mood come the run-day Thursday.

I however kept hope alive and was still confident of a successful first group run of the year.  I still had one firmed up confirmation for the 21k.  Thursday was it.

The rain started around ten o’clock on the night of Wednesday.  It was still raining when I woke up the next morning at seven, ready for the 1.4km walk to the work place.  The rain continued the whole morning on the run-day Thursday.  It was still drizzling by two in the afternoon.  For all intents and purposes, this run was technically headed for a cancellation.  We could not risk allowing our runners to be out there through the rains.  It was now two hours to the 4pm start time of the 21km run and the rains were not relenting.

We had one other last minute decision to make.  The 21km route, as originally formulated, has a section of about 1.5km through the university farm that is usually impassibly muddy during the rains.  We had not anticipated any rains when formulating the route and had included this section on our map.  We now had to revise the route, hardly 2-hours before the run, to exclude this section.  I was back on Google map to reformulate the route and share with the runners while they still had time to consider the change.

And just like that, the rain stopped, and the sun came up.  This happened at 3.00pm, just one hour to the start of the run.  The run that was surely under cancellation was now back on, on a revised route.

When Edward and I started the run at 4.15pm, I was already about 2km deep into my own run.  This is because I had left the locker room at 3.56pm to the Generator starting point but did not find Edu.  I assumed that he must be waiting at the gate, since the revised route was to start at the gate.  I therefore ran to the gate but still did not find him there.  I tried his phone, but this was futile, since I knew that he does not go running with his phone.  I informed the guards to ask Edu to wait for me, should he come by in my absence, since I had already decided to go back to the Generator once again to see if he was there.  I got to the generator at 4.13pm and found him there waiting.

“Did you see the new route?,” I asked, wondering why we should be starting at the Generator.

“Yes, I did, but it is so tough, that we should just do the original route.”

“But the Uni farm shall be muddy and impassible?”

“Better that, than coming back Wangari Maathai hill”

We therefore reverted to the original route that started at the Generator and off we went.  It was an easy run.  It is a route that I have been to many times, over that distance, including earlier in the month.  This is the usual Uthiru to Kabete Polytechnic, then cross the Waiyaki way to Ndumboini.  From there we were to run down Kapenguria road past Wangari Maathai Institute, all the way to Lower Kabete road.  We would then turn left and run about one kilometre to then turn left towards Mary Leakey school, then the University farm, then emerge at the tank to get to Kanyariri tarmac.  We would then turn right on the tarmac and run to Kanyariri centre for another right all the way to the Gitaru-Wangire road junction, then do a U-turn to run back to Uthiru.  I did not expect any surprises, but… spoke too soon!

When we go to the Uni farm section we were met with our worst fears.  The route did not disappoint!  It was impassably muddy!  I had to reduce my run to a walking pace to enable me traverse most of the sections.  I almost slipped and fell at some of the sections.  Edu was somewhere behind as I could decipher his footsteps in the quietness of the farm section.

We finally emerged at the tank and joined Kanyariri road tarmac.  It was then a smooth run all the way to Gitaru-Wangige underpass where we did our U-turn on the 13k mark, and then ran back all the way to our starting point at the Generator.  I stopped my timer with a reading of 24.03km in 2:36:43.  The first IKM International marathon, the very first group run of 2022, was now done.  We had proved that it was possible to resume our marathons, despite the various hiccups that came our way. 

WWB, the coach, Nairobi, Kenya, May 2, 2022

The truth is out… there is nothing called Christmas

The truth is out… there is nothing called Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hazi toshi.  Ongeza soo sita”

“Lakini tuliambiwa ni fifteen!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The run to forget, unless it was corona

The run to forget, unless it was corona

If there is a day that I have ever been tired during a run then that day was yesterday, Wednesday.

“Oh emm geee!,” I had shouted out subconsciously, as I took the second step in the more that twenty-five thousand that I was meant to take on this run day.

If you are wondering what 25,000 means, then let me give you the mathematics.  If you were to count out one number in one second, then it shall take you 7 hours to count from 1 upto 25,000 – and therefore 25k is not a small number of steps.  And unfortunately, on this Wednesday, I was already tired on the very second step.

What could it be?  My stomach would soon start paining, hardly five minutes into the run and that would persist for the whole run.  Why I had the pain remains a mystery since I had just taken a normal breakfast, read, tea and bread, followed by a cup of hot water about one hour to the run.  So, the pain was a strange symptom.

Earlier in the day I had had a casual conversation with some work colleagues.  They had wondered why they do not see much of me in the office environment, of which I informed them that I had corona jitters.

“Watu wote walishapata korona,” the guy in the group of two other gals updated me.

“Kale ka homa kenye ulipata from nowhere, ilikuwa korona,” he continued.

“Hiyo ni kweli,” the ladies said almost in unison, “How do you explain nobody putting on facemasks out there and yet nobody is dying en masse?,” one of the girls asked.

“I have no answer,” I responded, “Maybe we are just lucky.”

“Don’t bring luck into the equation,” the gent told me, “You want to tell me that all children in the world are ‘just lucky’ not to get corona?”

I was taken aback on that.

The corona truth or myth was out there for all to decide for themselves.  How or what is it that is causing 237,241,246 infections and 4,843,732 deaths worldwide or 250,510 infections and 5,175 deaths in Kenya?  Isn’t there something out there for sure?  How else do you ‘mythify’ such numbers?

Anyway, that was about eleven.  It was now just about three-twenty and I was on the road for the run.  My inner spirit was urging me to abandon the run and take a rest, though my internal wiring was reminding me that it was yet another day for a weekly run.  I therefore kept going.  I just knew that I would not be turning back if I were to I get out of the compound in ten minutes.

And I got out of the compound in ten minutes and was out there onto Naivasha road and headed to Kabete Poly before crossing the Waiyaki way to the other side of it.  I kept running and my feet knew exactly where to take me.  I was going for the usual run through Ndumbo, Kapenguria road, then Mary Leakey school to enable me traverse through the Uni Farm and then join Kanyariri road for the run to the shopping centre and back.  This is a route that has become the default for the weekly runs but on this day it was just much more difficult than I had imagined.

Turning back was not an option, despite how I felt, and I felt tired, with paining legs and paining stomach.  It did not get better nor did my pace improve.  It would be a miracle if I even managed an average of 7-minutes-per-kilometer on this day.  It was that bad.  I was glad that it was not yet the date for the international marathon, that is set for the week of Oct. 25-31 virtually.  I would have posted my ‘best worst personal time’.

I struggled along until the relief of doing the U-turn under the Gitaru-Ndenderu road.  While it was a relief doing that U, it was a pain imagining that I still had another 10k of run to get me ack to the finishing line.  Anyway, I was already too deep into the mix that I just had to find the willpower to finish the run, however long it took.

I even had a flashback on that corona discussion and really thought hard about it.  Could I have been infected, hence my lethargy?  I had however passed two temperature checks within the day, and did not feel chills or pains on the chest or throat.

I finally made my way to the finish line by some miracle.  I was tired, finished and almost dizzy.  However, I was back to normalcy as soon as I had taken a short rest and a bottle of water laced with Fanta orange soda.  My legs would however pain through the night and my body felt almost malaise.  I even thought that I would have to seek medication for something that I did not yet know.

I was therefore quite glad to wake up on this Thursday feeling well and normal, the memories of yesterday’s run still lingering on, though I would like to forget that episode in a hurry, when I posted the worst run time of 5:58 per kilometre over that 24.5k distance.  It is a route that I have done before in just under 5:00 average at my peak… and that is why I want to forget this run very fast and concentrate on the next.  This run was quite a welcome to the month of October, being the first run in the month.  The very month when the Standard Chartered Nairobi International marathon awaits.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Oct. 7, 2021

Running across the coast – and surviving it

Running across the coast – and surviving it

I approached that junction with lots of apprehension.  I could see it just ahead, about two hundred meters of so.  I would be at junction in less than two minutes.  I could see the dumpsite that was a sure eyesore.  It was directly ahead.  Had the road not been making a T at that section, then I would have gone straight into that dumpsite.  I could see four ruffians in that huge dumpsite as I approached the T-junction.  I was now less than one hundred metres to that junction.  The road to that section was deserted.  An occasional vehicle or Tuktuk would pass by in either direction, slowing doing as they approached that junction.  Most of them would approach from my left or head to the left.  That left turning was the side that seemed to be busy.

One person was sitting next to the huge mound of waste items, mostly paper.  One other ruffian seemed to carry a huge dirty sack and head to the left side, while a third one was kicking about garbage while walking aimlessly on the dumpsite.  However, it was the fourth ruffian that got me worried.  I momentarily shifted the laptop bag from my right hand and shoved the bag to my back through the shoulder strap.  It was just a natural reaction of imminent danger from something that may be a threat to that bag.  I seemed ready for action, now with two free hands and two free feet.  

The person approached.  We would have to face each other in less than twenty steps.  He had put on some dirty slippers.  His trousers looked old, dirty, and torn.  He had put on something that used to be a Tshirt long time ago.  It was now something like strips of clothing clinging together.  He had nothing on either hand.  His hair was shaggy, almost dreadlocked.  We would be meeting in a second.

If anything was to happen, then it would have to happen now.  If anything was happening, it would have to happen to me in the next few seconds and it would find me while already in a flight.  The attacker would rather be good at a sprint if the happening was an attack.  The first two-hundred metres of the sprint would be the make-or-break phase of dealing with an attack.  Any conquest on the part of the attacker would have to be within that distance.  If I won a run over that distance, then no one was going to get to me thereafter, thanks to my marathoning.  I have the endurance to then keep running for over three hours non-stop if it comes to that.  I hate sprints and I hated the thought of even doing a sprint over as short a distance as one hundred metres, leave alone two-hundred.  However, I would do it if my life depended on it.

A vehicle would soon come from the left side of the junction and make a turn towards my approach.  The approaching ruffian looked back at the sound of the car, while at that time I also met and passed him by.  He did not seem to bother with me, or maybe he had been distracted.  He would soon be behind me, same direction to the vehicle that was also speedily retreating behind my back.  I sighed with relief.  I had feared for nothing.  However, I still had to get to the T-junction and find out what laid ahead, which just seemed to the be ocean of dumpsite straight ahead.

And… my left turn did not disappoint.  It remained true to my fears.  The roadside was strewn with all manner of garbage.  There was a wall that marked the left boundary edge of the left-heading road, with the vast dump running on the right side of the road.  The roadside was narrow while the rubbish, mainly old polythene bags making a mess of the whole walkway that hardly had any pedestrian.  

I would have easily turned back at this point since it was still deserted and looked intimidating.  Many other men walked within the rubbish field on my right.  I could however see some small roadside kiosks about two hundred metres ahead, just past the wall.  That sign of life encouraged me on.  I quickened my pace to be through this place that seemed unsafe and was soon at the main highway that I had been looking for.  The very road that I did not know how to get to, but the road that I was finally relieved to get to.  I was finally at the Mombasa-Malindi road.

Phew!

My heartbeat!

I was soon back to normal as I crossed the busy road, with matatus doing all manner of gymnastics, and got to the other side of the road.  From there I had the default option of getting into a Bamburi-Mitamboni matatu, or even a Mtwapa one, and make it to Bamburi.  A ride past Bamburi to Mitamboni would be an added advantage.  Even further to Naivas Bamburi would be the ultimate price.  However, that is not what happened, even as I remembered how my taxi driver had explained the mitamboni thing just yesterday, Tuesday….

The driver who had picked me from Mombasa international airport was the usual jovial coasterian type.  Someone who talks a lot, speaks in Swahili and updates you with or without prodding.  He had taken the first initiative to call me while I still in Nairobi.  It was hardly five when he had called.  My flight would be departing at 1745.  I was still fully a Nairobian when I got his call telling me that he was already waiting for me some 500km away at that time.

By that time my laptop had already died on me at the same JKIA as it had done hardly two months ago, when I was heading for Kisumu under the same circumstances.  History was just repeating itself, though with ‘protection’ on my side this time round.  Our ICT had already ‘prescribed’ a long power-button press as the solution to a hanging laptop.  I had preferred the ‘change the laptop’ prescription that I had proposed to them, but the ICT gurus decided on the alternative remedy.  

I hated this long press and it was causing me a sore index finger already.  Pressing that button for over one-minute is a big deal, believe me.  It usurps all your finger energy.  And it is not a one-time press.  You press it for about four of five times before the machine finally comes back to life.  And any unexpected shutdown takes your unsaved data with it.  I had already lost data at the airport on this day, but the long press would save the day in terms of getting the laptop to charge my phone despite already losing data that I had been working on and there was no need to cry over it.

I had also noted that the JKIA had many power sockets that did not work.  I had to really walk around the gates 1 to 3 at that terminal 1D to finally get to the charging station that worked that was located just next to the washrooms.  That section seemed to be the only place where the power worked.  It was already having at least three phones and a WIFI adapter connected to the various socket points on the table top.  Despite this being like the only station for all, some USB and power sockets still did not work on that table.  

I had received that Abbas phone call while standing next to that charging station.  By that time I had redone the filling in of the Ministry of Health port health data, necessitated by the current COVID19 surveillance requirement.  In June the system was not working end-to-end when I filled it in Kisumu on the way to Nairobi.  I remember arriving at JKIA and we, self and airport staff, were looking at each other wondering where the ‘system’ had taken the data.  Of course, that story has a conclusion, being that the system finally sent the confirmation message two weeks after the trip, just for my troubles.

I had now repeated that data entry on the port health portal and it seemed to work.  I even managed to get a QR code by email.  This was the code that we had to present on arrival at Mombasa.  The system assumes that everyone had a smart phone while on travel, but maybe that is the current true assumption of life.  I was now waiting for the 1745 departure time, which we had already been warned would likely be delayed due to the weather.  And do not imagine that it was because the weather would be bad for the flight, nope, it was because the rains would prevent us from walking from the terminal to the airplane!

I had left Uthiru at two-thirty on this day, though I intended to leave at two.  I had anticipated a traffic jam on Mombasa road due to the ongoing road construction of the decker on top of the 20km stretch of road from Mlolongo to ABC Westlands.  We were very aware that it would be a rainy day even at that time in early afternoon.  We had decided to use the longer but faster Southern bypass road that runs from Gitaru to Langata and to Mombasa road at Ole Sereni.  

I was using the same driver of two months ago, whom I had contacted off-Uber to take me back to JKIA.  He had turned out trustworthy having returned the headphones that I had left in his taxi last time.  He had also said that he was from Uthiru where I stayed hence had the closeness of a neighbour.  I knew that hiring him would also enable me to dictate the route, and at such a time as now, the route had to be the Southern bypass if I was to make it to the airport in time.

At Ole Serene we diverted to the ICD road once more, and it was not long before it started raining.  We got to Mombasa road from ICD road when the rain was already heavy and visibility was almost zero.  It was just about four by this time.  The airport was straight ahead and we just had to beat the snail pace jam heading to Mlolongo and we would be through.  We got to the airport when the rain had subsided.  The driver who had expected booming business due to the rain was not amused, though I reminded him that there seemed to be lots of rain towards Uthiru side from the observations of the definite rain on the horizon in that direction.

The end of the rain was also good news for the travelers, since our flight came back to be ‘on time’ and we would depart at 1755.  I was on a similar Bombardier as of last time.  The only difference was that I was allocated seat 12D, next to the window, but I found someone else already on 12D without a care in the world.  I ended up seating on 12C.  Not that I did mind, but who in this day and age still takes someone else’s seat and feels nothing about it?  Anyway, this was a short flight and I did not want to create a situation out of a seat.

The flight to Mombasa turned out to be shorter than I thought.  Just fifty-minutes and we were already on touchdown.  It was dark at Mombasa despite the time being just a few minutes to seven.  We walked through the tarmac once more to the arrival hall.  I remember the earlier tarmac walk in Nairobi while it drizzled.  The airport management did not seem to make any deal, big or small, out of a few drizzles on the paying passengers.  At least it was not raining at the coast upon arrival.  We showed the QR codes on our phones for scanning at the arrival door, followed by declaring of temperatures taken just next to that door.  From there it was straight to baggage claim and exit.  

There was nothing special in Mombasa on this Tuesday.  I just called Abbas the driver and he was there waiting.

“Wacha nikusaidie mzigo bana, we!,” he snatched a bag and headed to some car at the parking.  I followed along with my laptop bag.

“Mimi Abasi,” he opened his door and the one behind his seat for my bag.  He got into the car and opened the front passenger door for me.

“Wewe ndo Baraka, n’lye tumwa kumchukua.  Lo!, kumbe bado barobaro tu.  Kafikiria wewe mzee alo komaa!”

“Raisi Obama ndio huyu hapa mwenyewe,” I assured him as he eased out of the airport and started to fight the vehicle traffic towards Changamwe Police and then towards Mombasa city centre.

“Obama?,” he repeated and laughed out loudly.  

It was quite some time before we came to a bumpy ride.

“Sasa mambo ya kuten-neza mabar-bara hapa keshazidi bana we!,” he slowed down and started onto some dirt road.

We had now gotten to city centre and were just crossing the Nyali bridge when he came back to life, “Lakini wenda wapi bana we?”

“Nili ambiwa wapajua tayari,” I responded, “Najua tu ni mahali fulani kule Bamburi, lakini lazima tutumie Old Malindi road.”

“Lakini Bamburi ni nyingi bana, we.  Kuna Bamburi Mitamboni, Bamburi Kiembeni na Bamburi bamburi”

“Mitamboni?”

“Ndio, mitamboni, kule kwenye ile factory ya sitimi ile ndio yaitwa mitamboni.”

I had for sure studied the map and knew the general location of the accommodation that I had booked using the booking dot com app.  I had previously used Airbnb, but I did not like their payment-in-dollars model, which had caused the suspension of my credit card last time.  Booking charged in Kenya shillings and payment was after arrival.  Of course, I had also glimpsed at the offers on Air, but they did not match those on Booking this time round.  The reviews and pictures of the residence seemed good.  Though I am not a stickler to the small details, I still hoped that the place would not disappoint.  Even if it did, provided there was a semblance of a bed for the first night, then I was good to go.

As we got to the Old Malindi road, the driver asked the proprietors for directions, and they directed us.

“Twaenda Ajanta 3.  Hapo napajua vizuri sana.  Nna wateja hapo wengi mno,” Abbas updated me, now fully confident of his motions.  

It was just about eight when we got to the residence.  I had been offered a choice of a fourth-floor room, with no lift, or a ground floor room.  I opted for the ground floor, but cautioned them that I may decide on a change of room should mitigating circumstances arise.  So that if how I found myself at Ajanta checking in at a few minutes past eight.

I found the contact person whom I have been communicating to and she showed me the corner room on the ground floor.  Now, pictures can lie.  Descriptions can lie.  But reality cannot lie.  Not that there was something completely misrepresented, no.  The description had ‘stretched’ the truth a little bit.  They had mainly talked about one-bedroom apartments.  I was facing a one-room bedsitter.  They had described a sitting room with TV.  They had described a kitchen.  But that is not what I was seeing.  

I was facing a small sink slab and a three-door overhang cabinet to my right upon entry.  A four-burner cooker, a small one-door fridge and a microwave on top of the fridge formed the collection of space called the kitchen.  Straight ahead was a bed with a mosquito net hanging above it.  Next to the generously big bed, five inch I guessed, was a big TV to the right, with the left being the wall and window area.  And believe me when I tell you it was a big TV.  It must have been 62-inch.  It was almost disproportionate to the room size.  It occupied the whole top section of the TV cabinet, stealing all prominence from that cabinet.  The small DSTV decoder was like a small dot on that cabinet top.

I did not have much time to look around, since I would soon have to look for provisions.  I had been informed that there was a Naivas supermarket nearby.

“Panda Tuktuk au boda ikupeleke Naivas.  Iko mbali kidogo,” the housekeeper had updated me.

I knew otherwise, having studied the map of the area already.  I knew that there was a Naivas around there and it would not be further than a kilometre from where the residence was.  What is this obsession of Mombasa people and taking vehicles and bikes even over walking distances?  This was not the first time that I was facing a situation that apparently needed a vehicle.  Few years ago I was at Bombolulu and the short 2km walk to the public beach become a subject of a vehicle ride, which I refused to take.

Today I was being asked to take a vehicle to Naivas, whose location I did not know and did not seem to even be able to figure out in this dark of the night.  However, I was not going to take a vehicle.  The worst that could happen would be that I get lost and struggle to find my way.  I walked out of the compound and started walking towards the direction where I thought Naivas should be.  It did not even take me six minutes to get to Naivas.  It was that near!  

“Surely?,” I cried out loud!  This place was so near that no one in their right minds should be even imagining to think of uttering the word ‘vehicle’ or ‘bike’!

I got my provision with that I-have-forgotten-to-buy-something thought lingering through my mind even as I paid and walked out.  That hindsight become true when I got to the apartment and just realized that I had not purchased any sugar!  That would mean that my next morning’s tea would be sugarless, just on my first day of business.  It was too late to get back to the supermarket with curfew hours fast approaching at ten.

It is when I carefully examined the room upon settling back from the supermarket that I took in what would be my home for the week.  The washroom was comparatively big, though it did not have hot water nor did the shower work.  Only the lower taps worked, and only cold water came out of them.  Hot showers would have to be more of ‘hot basin baths’.  And as if they knew that would be the case, there was a basin and a bucket on the floor of the bathroom ready and waiting.  

Then I looked at that kitchenette area.  Though it had utensils, they seemed to have been out of use for some time – at least there was a cooking stick, meaning that I had the option of at least taking ‘food’ while at the coast.  The small black insects moved around the sink area.  This seems to be a thing in Mombasa.  This is not the first time that I was seeing such during a stay at the coast.

It was bound to happen, and it did happen, since it did not take long before I saw roaches moving about the sink area, especially the drawers below the kitchen sink.  I can tell you that it did not surprise me to finally see a giant roach run behind the wall of the opened cover of the cooker.  I thought the Kisumu roach as big, but this was from a different world.  It was bigger than the biggest I had ever seen.  It looked scary and it soon ran to the main door that is just next to the cooker.  I let is run to the top of the door before I opened the door for it to run out of the door to the external world.  After all, you cannot afford to harm ‘anything’ while in Mombasa.  Things talk back at people – just believe me when I tell you.

It was now past nine on this Tuesday as I settled down at the now changed coast.  Changed due to the temperatures that seemed lower than I have known them to be.  I was even having my coat on.  I could even feel the chill.  The customary hot humid air was gone.  If Mombasa continues to be this ‘cool’, then I am seeing myself settling here for a longer period of time at some point, against my earlier assertion that Mombasa was as hot as hech.  

However, the internet in my residence was not connecting.  I had sent a message to the housekeeper who has asked me to switch on and off the WIFI adaptor, but the issue would still not be resolved.  We agreed that they have a look at it on the next day.  I would have to hotspot from my phone for now.  The giant TV did not seem attractive, compared to a working internet, and I do not remember watching it much.  The mosquitoes were as many as expected in Mombasa and they seemed to celebrate the arrival of mtu-wa-bara.  They bit the blood out of me while I was seated and only got a reprieve when I finally hit behind the bed net.

I set the alarm for nine, since I was to be out at nine-thirty for a ten-thirty appointment in town.  I still slept past midnight since my brain is now wired not to be able to go to sleep in the PMs.  I woke up even before the alarm.  It was about eight-thirty.  I canceled and removed the alarm since I was now already awake anyway.  I looked through the morning emails and SMSs and even caught on some cable news.  I decided to take a ‘short’ nap to 9.15am, since I was just to wake up, boil a cup of water in the name of a beverage and be out of the room.  I already had a 9.30am taxi booking with Abbas.

That nap would be the last time I would even imagine having my morning tea, since I jolted myself from the nap at 9.25am!

“Oh, this is messed!,” I cursed as I jumped out of bed.

I struggled into a shirt and a pair of trousers.  I was brushing my teeth while putting on my coat.  I put on my shoes as I locked the door.  I just made it to the parking yard at about 9.35pm to find Abbas waiting.

“Twende Swahili Centre iliyoko karibu na Mombasa hospital,” I instructed Abbas as he eased off the compound and started the drive towards Old Malindi road.  We would soon survive the morning jam on the very narrow Old Malindi road, with shops and stalls built so near the road that pedestrians and vehicles have resorted to sharing the main road.  I was at the National Museums of Kenya compound just past ten.  It would soon be business day one, and it exposed me to the challenges of a typical field work day, including respondents who did not want to be recorded despite them being sources of valuable information that was needed.  It even got worse.

“Hata usiandike!”

“Na andika tu notsi za kunikumbusa nitakacho kitafuta baadaye!”

“La, hata usiandike chochote, kwani mahojiano kamili na ruhusa ya uandisi itakuja ule wakate ujao tukikutana Kilifi”

We were in a persuasion session with a well established mashairi speaker, an elderly man, who insisted that he was not a malenga despite having many of his unpublished work on the very table where we were having our discussion.  From him we learnt that mashairi was also a form of argument and response in the early days, where a shairi would be directed to a particular person or group, which would in turn compose their own in response.  

The back and forth would sometimes last for months, with the shairis being distributed in the villages of the waring factions.  He even told of an incident where he composed a shairi to rebuke two warring factions but used a pen name.  This rebuke ended the feud while he remained anonymous for some time, until he offered to help a friend respond to a shairi rebuke, that his style of response was linked to the earlier style of the anonymous writer.  

It did not take long in the topic of mashairi, before we were informed that the Tanzanian president had given a kitendawili in a shairi, the very memo that I had missed.  The kitendawili, the mzee said, was that…

Kuna kijungu cha pwaga, bila ya moto jikoni

I can only tell you that mzee gave us a different nugget of wisdom on this, which I would later learn was quite contrary to popular belief*.  I would even soon see full PhD thesis written over this particular kitendawili.  Let me just say that he said that the kitendawili has ‘naked truth’.  

*See: https://news.un.org/sw/audio/2021/08/1124852

It was on my way back from the Museum that I had passed by Nyali to say hello to JC, unleashing a surprise that left her surprised, that I would then take this walk from Links road in Nyali towards Mombasa-Malindi road.  That walk was based on pure instinct, sense of direction by just keeping to the left turns, and pure determination to get to that road whatever it took.  However, when I started walking I just kept walking.  That is why I found myself walking from Nyali to Bamburi and surviving all the going ons.  And would you believe that it was only seven kilometres?  What’s the big deal?

WWB, the Coach, Mombasa, Kenya, August 11, 2021