The first class run that did not run to expectations

The first class run that did not run to expectations

I was taking this ride through a complete twist of fate that should not have happened under normal circumstances.  I had first attempted to book the Wednesday train to Voi and saw that it was fully booked as per the online booking system.  The system only showed one free first class seat in the whole train.  I was sure that this was an error.  This was because the trains on any other day, including Tuesday and Thursday, had many free seats in either of Economy or First class.  There was no way that only the Wednesday train could be full.  I had tried this initial attempt at booking on a Sunday, but could not manage due to this apparent error.

I called KR on Monday the first thing in the morning when I got to office.  One of the numbers provided on their website did not go through.  The other number went straight to the automatic answering system.
“For service in English, press 1, for Kiswahili press 2”.
I did.
“For booking go to the Madaraka Express website, to get a ticket go to the train station, to get any other service, press 2”.
I did.
“For services that you can do online, go to the website.  To continue press 3”.
I did.
“You can easily book by going to the Madaraka express website, to get instructions on how to book, press 1, for any other service press 4”.
I did.
I went through hoops and loops until about five minutes later when I got an option to speak to an agent, after which, “You are number three on the queue, please wait to speak to the next available agent.  The waiting time is (voice change) five hundred and twenty (voice back) seconds”

Anyway, I waited for those additional five or so minutes, then finally, “How can I help?”
“Is it true that there is no space on the Wednesday, September 11, 2024, train?”
“Is that what the website says?”
“Yes”
“Then it is true,” she stated, paused and disconnected.


I was not taking any more chances with this travel.  I went online, booked the one remaining seat in first class, paid the 3200 for the Nairobi-Voi travel and got this done with.  I searched for a train to Voi on Wednesday immediately after, and for sure it was now reading ‘fully booked’.  That online system was working for sure.  For Kenya Railways, I only had one thought – why not just add a 90-seater coach and book anyone who wants to get onto that full coast train?  Problem solved; case closed!  However, KR have a mind of their own.  When the current coaches are full, then it is full, cast in stone, case closed on their part.

And knowing how KR was now ‘problem solving’ things, I was not taking any other new chances.  I subsequently booked an economy class seat from Voi to Nairobi on Saturday, September 14 – this for sure is problem solved in advance in both our parts, mine and KRs.  I was now set, with two SMS confirmation of bookings, one an accidental first class, another a real economy class for 1050.


I was at the station early on Wednesday.  As early as 6.50am.  I went through luggage sniff by the dogs at the entrance yard.  This is where we lay everything on a long tray about twenty metres long, with passengers standing a metre behind the two luggage holds that are in parallel.  The luggage trays were full, if this was an indication on the expected number of travelers on this morning.  We would soon scan the luggage and off we went to the terminal building to the ticket office.  There was a large lobby.  One counter was marked ‘cancellations’.  Another, ‘;reschedules’.  These two were having a sizeable crowd, I counted a queue of six on either.  One end of the lobby was marked ‘printing of tickets’.  I went onto one machine that had only one person ahead.  There was a staffer on the next machine.  I remember seeing a third machine and not sure if there was a fourth one beyond that.

My attention was drawn to the going ons at the second machine where the staffer was standing.  A person who looked like a passenger was also next to that machine, seemingly distressed.  Soon I would hear the staffer call someone on phone, “Si ukimbie usort hii machine, ticket ya passenger imekwama ndani”
“Can I just print another on the next machine,” the passenger guy asked.
“No, not possible, once released it cannot reprint”

I keyed in my phone number and the account number as per the SMS message and soon enough good a ticket sticking out of the slot below the touchscreen.  I printed a second one for the return journey then left the machine for the person behind me even as the queue started to form on this machine and the one after the stalled one.  I examined my ticket and saw the booking details for the first time.  I was on seat 41 coach 3.  “Let it be window seat”, I told myself.  Mathematically, 41 is an odd number, hence was definitely a window seat. Precisely the eleventh row on a 4-seater plan.  Such odd numbers should only be at the window on one set of two seats, or on the isle on the other set of two.  In this case, window it is for 41.

I went past security check on the ground floor of the terminal building, then went upstairs to the waiting lounge.  I saw a segregated section on the large lobby written ‘First class waiting area’.  I could count the ten or so people seated there, mostly non-Africans.  I thought of this for a moment then matched in the direction of that waiting area.  I did not make two steps before I got a stop.
“Stop, where to?”
“To the waiting area”
“Ticket?”

I showed it to the lady staffer.  She looked at it with some disbelief.  I did not know why.  Maybe that class has some characteristics that I was missing, with my jeans and T-shirt.  She let me go, as I went to the large waiting area with hardly anyone.  I could see just across the glass partition to my left, the twice large economy waiting area already three quarters full and filling by the minute.  It was now just about 0710hrs.  I still had almost an hour of nothing before I would be out of here.  I just sat down and kept an eye open for the going ons.  I could see the now peeling paint on one of the wall structures next to the transparent roof.  And I got attracted to that roof due to the two large patches of discoloration.  I know the effects of lack of maintenance when I see them, and I was surely seeing them.  I wondered what it would take to fix such apparently minor defects.  Maybe the price of just three first class tickets?

I left for the washrooms at 07.40am and while there heard some muffled sound on the public address system.  Many passengers along the corridors next to the washrooms paused and strained to hear.  It was as unclear as a broken sound system.  It was something like, “inaudible unclear unclear passengers on first unclear unclear boarding unclear inaudible”

I just knew that it had something to do with first class, and so when I was walking back to the waiting area, I saw a stream of passengers from that waiting area start walking on the walkway over the platform towards boarding.  I passed by the economy waiting area, many of the eyes on that section chagrined with my walking past and marched towards the action.  I walked with the twenty or so other passengers towards the platform.  Last time I was here the gates to that overhead walkway were opened by a scan of the ticket.  Now they were permanently open for all to walk by.  I wondered whether it was yet another broken system, or if they had just done away with it due to its inconvenience to the mass transit system.


The coaches were clearly marked and therefore it did not take me any guess to know when I got to coach 3.  There was just one person ahead of me as we got into coach 3.  I showed my ticket to the attendant at the entrance to the coach and was let through.  I faced the first class for the first time ever.  I thought that my knees would buckle with excitement but none of that happened.  I was surprised that I was not wowed at all, or maybe not yet.  I even wondered what the hype was all about.  Not that I was not impressed, I was.  The coach was clean, very, with two seats on either side of the isle.  The seats were VIP red, Ok, burgundy.  Each seat had an arm rest.  They were in a fixed reclined position.  Each seat was accessible to a foldable tray fixed at the back of the front seat.  They were all facing one direction, the direction of travel towards Mombasa.  The coach was not crowded.  The overhead luggage racks were empty as the passengers started streaming in.  I was probably the sixth person in.

My mathematics would turn out to be incorrect, since no. 41 was an isle seat, with 42 as window seat.  How this came to be, do not ask me.  Anyway, ask me, since I figured it out sometime later in the journey.  The coach was a sixty-six seater.  A division by four indicates that there shall be 16 rows of four and an extra two seats.  So, the numbering must be starting with those 2 seats, then odd numbers now get switched, with those to be on the isle moving to window, and you guessed it, those on the window going to the isle.  Those damn two seats!  I was now on the isle.  But the coach was too spacious that I did not even see an effect of being isle or window.  It was just cozy.  I sat on my seat and started enjoying my good ambiance.  The seat was comfy.

It took less than five minutes for the coach to start filling up.  Finally, the person seating on 42 came though, cross by me and sat on his seat.  He peered out of the window, which was not very transparent due to some streaks of dirty and age, and exhaled with some satisfaction.  He unfolded this tray and placed something that looked like a novel onto the tray.  He placed his phone next to it, dialed it, and proceeded to start chating loudly in it.
“Hello, munene, niatia rewu, ha ha ha ha!,” he laughed animatedly and went on to talk, loudly.

I stayed put, relaxed, just letting my eyes do the roving.  The coach continued to fill up.  Now back to why I was not wowed.  There was nothing to wow me so far.  The seats and configuration were not any different from what I would get on a typical Easycoach to Western Kenya.  I could even recline the Easycoach seats further back.  These were fixed at that angle of recline.  At least they had these foldable trays, that would come in handy at some point for holding the laptop and stuff.

My eyes continued walking around the coach.  A white guy and someone who looked like a Kenyan girl sat on the seat across the isle.  They looked related, somehow, in an item of sort.  Behind me was also some guy and lady, who kept talking to these two across the isle.  Occasionally the lady from behind would come physically between me and the mzungu and tell the couple something.  To the lady, whom she always talked to in vernacular or Kiswahili, she reminded her to ‘chunga huyo mzee vizuru’.  To the guy, she said two words in English then proceeded in some other language, “Habend du eine gute reise.”

She went back to her seat behind me and sat next to the guy, whom they continued to speak in vernacular and occasionally shouted their words to the lady across my isle on the window seat.  She would answer in the same, with the guy next to him complaining occasionally, “You speak what me hear that not”

The three would laugh at him, as he laughed back, then the lady behind me would speak something in Deutsch and kind of assure him that all was OK, even as she reminded the lady besides the guy across the isle to ‘chunga mzee’.

At exactly 0800, the train started to move as slowly as it can and started gaining speed.  The coach was almost half empty as we started heading towards Athi River as the first station.  With the coach this empty, it was just natural that there shall be movements, both voluntary and involuntary.  The two couples who had been struggling to speak in Kiswahili, English, vernacular and Deutsch got a chance to group.  The two across the isle stood and moved back to join the two who were seated behind me.  They conversed as a group in four languages and decided to all move away to some seats much further behind, since their talk would soon disappear somewhere in the background into a muffle.  The only time I heard about them was when the trolley for drinks was passing by and they shouted at the lady to hurry to where they are to give them ‘kakitu’.

It was then all good as the inter-city rolled along the standard gauge railway.


Ruckus would start at Emali station, the next stop after Athi River station, when a group of passengers came into our coach and demanded for their seats.  By then the person in 42 by the window had already left.  In fact, he had left before we had even hit Athi River.  He had picked one person from the front seat and another from the front opposite seat.  These front two must have been seats 44 and 46, isle and window respectively.  My colleague on the window seat incited the action.  He first stood, then shoved his phone in his coat pocket.
“Tuthie tunyoe njohi mani,” he told his friends.
“Eh, tuthie rethuradi, tugore ka njohi”
They left.  They seem to be in need for an immediate drink that could not wait a second.

There followed lots of movements within the train coach.  There must have been about ten or so vacant seats, add to those for the likes of my colleague in 42 window seat who had picked his friends and went njohi at the restaurant.  Passengers rearranged and sat at will.  My own seat was now also about to be free.  The two seats across the isle were also free.  I now had the whole row of four seats to choose from.  I moved to the seat across and sat on the window seat 39.  It was the East side and the sun rays were seeping through the not-so-clear train window pane.  It was better than the window seat 42 which did not have any sun.  I savoured the rays as the train rolled towards Emali.  All was relaxed.  The coach was not as noisy.  The first trolley would soon roll by.  Alcoholic drinks would soon start being served, despite the stern warning that was announced to the effect that there would be no alcohol allowed until Mtito Andei.  That was the point when the trolley person was summoned loudly for ‘kakitu’ by the quad-lingual quadruple.

The coach started getting louder as the drinks started being passed through with that trolley.  That trolley was the source of all the noise.  We were hardly 50km out of the city but the noises were getting louder in this carefree seat-anywhere-you-want environment.


Our once-upon-a-time peace came to an end at Emali when a relatively large group of passengers got in, mostly foreigners, and demanded to have their seats.  This disturbed the once random seating arrangement, as now everybody was forced back to their seats.  But do not blame our lack of civility on this issue.  We had first attempted, or rather, some people behind my row of four empty seats had tried to negotiate with the newcomers.  The negotiation was more of telling them to ‘take any seat’, loudly, drunk accent.  However, the new group wanted to ‘sit together’ as a secondary need, but primarily because it was their booked seats.  The wazungus additionally expressed their fear about what would happen later on when other people came in and they get dislodged from this current ‘take any seat’ open plan arrangement.  They had even started to attempt to take the ‘take any seat’ option, only for there quest to sit together to fail to materialize.  People had to go back to their seats.

I was dislodged from 39 window, but my own pair of seats was empty, and hence I just moved across the isle to get the back to my two free seats.  I only suffered the burden of moving my laptop and unplugging the power from the wall socket just below the East window.  I had to replug the power on my initially assigned set of seats.  My friend initially on seat 42 was still gone to the restaurant since before Athi River.  He did not seem like he would was in a hurry to come back.

Across the isle were now seated the initial occupants who had sat there as we left Nairobi station at 0800hrs.  The African girl sat by the window.  The seatmate sat next to the isle, a seat from me, as I had now sat next to the window at 42.  It is next to 42 that I could access the powering point by the wall.  Brings me to another lack of wow – only those by the windows get to access power points, unless they allow you to pass a cable across or below their legs if you are on the isle side.  My laptop was back to the tray top.  The couple across the isle came back with their bottle after this incident of being chased away from wherever they had been chased away from.  They were of course not happy and had loudly voiced their discontent as much.  The onset of intoxication and carefreeness did not help much, “Sasa train ni empty na watu wengine wana demand viti!  Si wazikule!”
The guy seated next to the lady would ask, “What you said?”
“Nothing darling”
Nothing who?  I managed to gather that intelligence, thanks for loud talk.
“We are just talking, just talking to my uncle and auntie,” she said while looking at the seats just behind me, where the two other members of the party were now also back to, even as they also joined in the lamentation.

They continued to pour tumbler upon tumbler from the wine bottle and kept ordering for ‘one more’ bottle as the trolley passed by.  That trolley!

They kept talking, and loudly so.  The drinks had surely got to them.  
“We are now at Kaibaizi? Kibezi?”, the German across the isle asked, both to his darling next seat and also looked back behind my seat to auntie and uncle.
“Yes, Kibwezi”, the two ladies responded almost in unison.

I shook my head in disbelief.  It was clearly visible through the window that we were at Mtito Andei.  We had passed Kibwezi almost a half an hour ago, when the seat exchanging drama was still fresh.  The train had not yet even gained speed as that Mtito signage started moving back as we rolled by.  A smaller sign just below it read ‘Voi 98km’.  They did not even need the visuals, since the public address system had just announced the approach and departure to Mtito.  Those four were already deep in the bottle to hear and see anything else.

“Bring bottle”, the German stopped the trolley and pointed to the existing bottle on the front seat pocket, “Like this,” he pointed again.  The trolley, that trolley!
This was probably the third such a 750ml bottle of that red liquid.  Two girls and two guys were on it.  Two just across the isle to my left.  Two just behind my seat.  The couple, an item, to my left.  Uncle and Auntie behind me.  How four people can down bottle by bottle that fast hardly 100km into the journey still baffles me.


That 98km to Voi would be quite a long non-stop ride and it did not take long before people started moving about, some to washrooms, some to stretch, and for the four drinkers, they just wanted to ‘chokozana’.  So, auntie left her seat and came to the isle just next to my seat.  And ‘chokozana’ she did.
“This one”, she pointed at her watch, “It is Tony who bought me”.
“Ha ha ha”, the seated colleague by the window responded, “Jana alipo nibuyia hii phone ya iphone, imagine alisema kuwa lazima nitaitishi kitu ingine, as if he knew.  I am envious na sasa najua what else nataka kutoka kwa mzae.”
“Yes, hapo umesema ukweli, itisha hizi earrings”, she pointed them, “Hizi ni za gold.  Ni Tony pia aninunua”.
“Ich liebe deine Freunde, wunderbar!,” the standing lady leaned at the GE guy and said laughingly.
“Nime kucomplement”, she told her colleague by the window, amidst hearty laughter from the two girls.  The GE guy just looked around, even looking back behind my seat to see if ‘uncle’ would say anything, but uncle just extended a tumbler and asked for a fill.

After the tumbler was handed back, the window girl leaned over to her man.  She whispered something audibly in Bernhard’s left ear, “Babe, you will buy me those earrings, yes?”
“You, you know me I buy you all everything you say”
She wore a big smile and poured a full plastic of the red drink, Dostdy hof, I thought I read from afar.  
“Tigana na muthuri wakwa”, she turned back to tell her friend who had now returned to her seat, just behind me.
“Badala ya kunishukuru kwamba nimekuchanua, wewe unaniambia ati muthuri wakwa,” the lady behind my seat responded in a clean coastal accent, apart from the last two words that she had centralized.

I kept looking out through the window.  I could occasionally glance to the couple just across the isle.  They kept their noisy sputa.
“Kawera, careful, muthe uyu ti mujinga”, the colleague from behind me told her as softly as those around could hear.

Occasionally, the Kenyan guy would chip it, mostly to encourage the girls on or to get a tumbler filled.
“Kawera, keep your man busy and stop looking behind”, he would interject, to the protest of Bernhard, who would then look back and struggle to protest.
“I not look back, just see corridor, and me sit with my girl,” he would look back while protesting.
“Bernhard, stop looking at me and my sister,” they guy behind me would warn him.  
By sister she meant the girl with the gold.  They were now permanently fixed behind me after that ‘sit anywhere’ bruhaha had ended prematurely, their voices increasing with every sip of the drink.  They were laughing so loudly behind my ear that it was now almost uncomfortable.  I minded my own business.  

“Kwanza hii njugu na drinki iko sawa sana”, the lady behind me said, loudly, if I may add, in the Coast kind-a accent.  She offered some nuts to the couple across the isle but they both refused to take the offer.  They probably did not want to know ‘iko sawa’ to what level.  They kept the drinks going.

“Tutalipa wine sita leo?  Leo ni leo!  Lakini mimi nitalipa mbili tu, Kawera na mzee wake walipe hizo zingine”, the coast accent said.
“Ni nne au ni tano?,” Kawera protested from the window.
“Hapana, ni saba?”, coast accent.
“Yani mumelewa?”, the guy behind me asked drunkardly, “The bottles we have taken are only six.  Can’t you count?”
“Me no care.  The wine is gut!,” Bernhard put a stop to the debate.  Then changed the topic, “You know today be nine-eleven?,” he looked back.

Oh, that is true, I said to myself, even as I started to put a wrap to my comfortable sojourn, by unplugging the power and showing the charger to the bag that I had already removed from overhead and place on seat 41.  It was a matter of time before that laptop was also closed and place inside that bad.

In less than thirty minutes I would be disembarking from the train.  The guy who had gone njohi in the restaurant since Athi river was yet to be back, even as I left both seats 41 and 42 empty and disembarked at Voi at exactly 12.02pm.

WWB, the Coach, Voi, Kenya, Sep. 11, 2024

Stanchart 2022 - The only marathon that did not get me

Stanchart 2022 - The only marathon that did not get me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End of corona? Really!

End of corona? Really!

I had decided to take a day off work and was just indoors on this Friday, yesterday.  To say that I was doing nothing on this rest day would be an understatement.  I was calculating voltage drops and lengths of electrical cables for a project that is now occupying my time, which should make me a titled man someday, but more on that anecdote later.

The quietness of the house was unmistakable on this Friday.  You could hear a pin drop.  I would occasionally make out some sounds like the house girls around the block doing a jig or two outside the corridor of this first floor apartment.  That laughter and a collection of muffled sounds would soon end and the eerie silence would be back.

The sounds of the engines of motorbikes that would otherwise disturb the peace of the day were unmistakably missing.  I had earlier in the morning passed by the supermarket that is just on my doorstep and had heard an inkling of why this was so.

“Kim anapishana na makarau,” a lady attendant was telling one of the gents who does packing of items in that mart.

“Kwani?,” the guy had gestured, looking in her direction, and momentarily looking through the entrance.

“Wanataka kachukua nduthi yake, na ana waambia haana!,” she updated him, loudly, for the benefit.

“Uongo!”

“Si unajua Kim ameficha nduthi, ndio ana waambia haana!”

This story hit home immediately.  You must be a non-Kenyan resident or citizen to fail to know that motorbikes have had a bad week.  It started by a video clip that made rounds online four days after the fact.  The video shows a short fifteen second clip of some lady screaming while strapped on a car seat, while a mob is tearing into her car, keys and self.  It was ugly!

An explanation note on the Twitter message that accompanied the video indicated that motorbike mobs were molesting the lady for having knocked one of their own, and attempting to flee the scene at Forest road in Nairobi.  The video had caused a national outcry, especially that it was emerging on International Women’s Day, and going against the very grain of the celebrations of the spirit of equality and dignity.  Even the president of the republic made reference to that video during his address on the IWD day… and that is when trouble started for the motorbike people.

A national swoop was initiated and the mob of motorbike operators were reminded to comply with rules that they had largely ignored in every attempt to enforce them in the past.  The rules include asking them to be registered in savings and credit cooperatives (SACCO), having reflector jackets with the group’s name and generally being on self-regulation.  These were best practice rules, but they had since caused a strike by the motorbike operators, a blockage of Thika road by the same mob… and had even caused this crackdown on all motorbikes that were non-compliant.

Now I knew why the motorbike noises were missing from the air.  The environment was so cool for my ‘vee equals ai ar’ calculations… until three, when another stir of excitement disturbed the quiet afternoon.  I could hear the block-folks talk animatedly from somewhere outside the house, possibly on the verandah or the wide parking yard downstairs.

“Imagine hakuna cha mask tena!  Ayi, nilikuwa nimechoka!,” some loudmouth said.  I was two closed doors away, but the statement did permeate.

“Aki Gresi usinikumbushe!  Hakuna cha masks tena!  Gava ime abolish hiyo mambo Gresi!”

“Joan, Hata sijui nifanyaje ku-celebrate!”

Wait the hech a minute!  What is this excitement all about?  No more masking, did they say?

Only one way to find out.  A few clicks on the keyboard and it turned out to be true that the Government of Kenya had (finally) officially revoked the requirement for putting on masks at public places.  People were now free to operate without masks at all public places without fear (or favour) of being arrested.

But wait again, for another minute!  Hadn’t they made this very announcement already? No, they hadn’t.  The last excitement was the abolition of the ten to four curfew in October 2021, but that same abolition did away with masking, didn’t it?  I am sure it did, since from that day corona ended and masking became optional, largely ignored and was more of the exception than the norm.

So, the announcement that it had finally been dropped did not even make a difference nor sense.  This is something that had already been dropped five months ago.  It was just being formalized now.  And is corona even a thing anymore?  465,132,541 infections and 6,060,378 deaths* later and this pandemic has generally turned into an epidemic that we just have to live with.  Kenya has decided to make this live-with-it decision when the numbers are 323171 and 5644 respectively.  Thank the vaccines for that, or what else can we attribute this to?

*source: worldometers

It could be that our focus has moved on to other things.  Maybe it was even the Ukraine war that started ten days ago that made corona lose its glory.  The war that start when Russia promised not to invade, but still did.  This bluff caught the world unawares.  I was one of the people who took the view that invading Ukraine made no sense and hence it could not be possible.  I woke up ten days ago and the pictures on AJZ were clear, as Russian tanks started infiltrating the Ukrainian borders from the south, east and north – the very places where Russia had been conducting military drills, which was now being turned into a practical.

This event put corona on the ‘can wait’ tray, as the world was caught off guard with an impossible situation.  The only thing that was on the table was imposition of sanctions since directly attacking Russia had not been contemplated.  However, just like invading Ukraine did not make sense, something else that does not make sense at the moment can just happen and it becomes – what shall be shall be.

So, as we celebrate the end of corona, forced by other issues that are taking centre stage, let us try to make sense of everything that is happening, if this is even possible.  While at it, make sense of this one – I participated in a democratic election today, where we had to pick one of two candidates… and the votes were 101 against 100.  How democratic can that be?  If you think that is democratic, then you have not heard about the other one that I participated in earlier in the week.  That one had someone with 250 votes being dropped in favour of another with 200 votes – so as to comply with a regional balancing clause.  How is that even possible?  I told you – things no longer make sense.  Live with it!

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, March 12, 2022

The motorbike that ran me over on a prayerful Sunday

The motorbike that ran me over on a prayerful Sunday

It was just a matter of when and not if.  I already knew that this day would come, and when it come, it did come so suddenly!  All those scenarios that I had played on my mind did not seem to conform to the current reality.  I found myself sprawled on the dusty grounds.  My specs had flown out of my face to I-do-not-know-where.  The bag on my back had been dislodged and had fallen just next to where I was.  The laptop bag that I had been carrying on my hand had been thrown some five metres away.  The umbrella that was initially on my right hand was equally thrown away some distance from the laptop bag.

I had just fallen from a motorbike at the new Nakuru matatu stage located next to the Nairobi-Nakuru highway.  The motorbike was just getting out of the stage compound as it headed to the exit gate when this mishap occurred.  The bike had been starting to speed up when this happened.  But this was bound to happen on this Sunday, August 22, as I travelled from Nairobi towards Eldoret.  That motorbike had ‘falling’ written all over it from the first time that I had seen it.

But how did I get to this stage where I was being helped up my feet by well-wishers at the matatu stage?  I had left Nairobi at a few minutes to eight by taking a Climax Destiny bus at the Uthiru highway stage.  The bus was not full, with a number of empty seats scattered all over.  I decided to take the back seat, with another passenger who had got in with me from the same Uthiru stage.  The bus would soon speed off on its way, but we did not even have time to settle down on our backseat before someone stood up next to the door and called us out.

“Nawasalimu wote wapendwa kwa Jina la Yesu,” he introduced himself.

“Niko hapa kuwaletea injili, Halleluya!?,” he asked.

“Amen!,” some few reluctant passengers responded, many still adjusting to the new person and the going ons.

“Hebu jibuni nyote kwa nguvu, Halleluya!?”

“Amen!,” the responses were now a bit strong.

“Wengine bado hawajibu.  Nyinyi watu wa back seat huko nyuma.  Wacheni kuangalia simu zenyu.  Simu ni vitu za dunia.  Hebu sote, tujibu kwa pamoja, Halleluya!?”

“Amen!,” that last response was forcefully loud.

We were hardly at Limuru and the animated preaching was already in full gear.  The preaching was intense.  Prophesy to some three passengers was unleashed to them loudly, and to our benefit.  Everybody in the bus would soon be raising their hands in prayer, in a ‘wapende wasipende’ style, having threatened bad tidings and unrecoverable curses for anyone who did not raise their hands.  All passengers had no choice but to go through the motions.  Things were thick on this Climax bus on this Sunday, even as the bus sped on.  The preaching continued.  The prophesy was unleashed.  The prayers were offered.  We all raised our hands.  No one dared not raise them.

Finally, it was time to give offerings to support the ministry.  It remained forceful.  It was targeted.

“Sasa nataka shilingi mia moja tu, kwa kazi ya injili.  Kila mtu inua mia moja yako tuombe ndipo nichue.”

There was some shuffling, as people looked around.  Few people raised one hundred shillings notes.  Most people remained unmoved so far.

“Nimesema kila mtu atoe mia moja yake ainua juu.  Hiyo hata si pesa yakufikiria.  Hata ukienda nayo utanunua tu chai na mandazi halafu uende kwa choo ikaisha hivyo.  Afadhali utolee injili.”

There was more action as more people reacted.

“Nyinyi watu wa back bench, mbona sioni mia moja zenu?”

We shuffled through our bags and pockets and extracted them.  He would soon collect them after prayers.

The passenger that I had got in with me, whom I now knew to be Frank, even offered to pay up by MPESA, as I saw the preacher typing his number onto Frank’s phone.  The preaching episode would come to an end at Soko Mjinga market located after Kinale, when the preacher thanked us all, blessed the givers and disembarked.

When Frank and I got into the bus, the conductor had asked us to pay the fare.  It is then that I had learnt that both of us were going to Nakuru.  While I had cash money, Frank seemed not to have cash, as he initially told the conductor that he would pay by MPESA at the Nakuru office, which I later learnt was more of the Kikopey stopover.  The conductor of course kept being distracted by the stopovers as he beckoned for passengers and hence it did take him quite some time to finally come for the fare.  By that time the preaching was on fire and “Amens” were the only pause you could hear in the bus.

It was while the conductor was gone before collecting the fares that Frank had asked me if I could give him cash and he sends me MPESA in lieu.  This would enable him clear with the conductor, instead of waiting until Nakuru.  I gave him my number and sure enough, I got the five hundred shillings by MPESA almost immediately.  I gave him the new crisp green note of the five-hundred shillings denomination and we started waiting for the conductor to finally pick the fares.  The preaching was still going on.

The conductor finally came to the back bench and each of us gave out a five-hundred shillings note.  Each of use reminded the conductor that the fare was four hundred shillings as per what we had been told as we go in at Uthiru.  The conductor took the money and just left.  He had already told us that there was no ticket for mid-point stations, hence we would just have to travel without tickets until Nakuru.

We kept waiting for our one-hundred shillings change each, while the preaching continued.  The conductor was in no hurry to give us our change, and did not make any move towards our direction, even when the preaching ended at Soko.  The conductor did not give us our change even after the washroom stopover at Kikopey.  He just kept saying that he was aware of our ‘little money’ and he would ‘sort us out’.

The bus was generally quiet after the preacher disembarked.  The engine kept roaring as we moved along the Nakuru highway, occasionally picking a passenger or two.  We eventually got to Nakuru where the bus stopped at the highway stage just before the railway flyover.  Opposite this stage was now a new Nakuru stage.  I could see a sign written ‘Gilgil’ on top of one of the matatus at that stage across the busy highway.  I had heard that the main stage in town had been relocated but was not sure whether this was it, as I gave it a casual observation, just opposite our bus.

The bus should have made another stopover somewhere in Nakuru for the Nakuru people to disembark.  I had assumed that this stop should be at some petrol station, but this is not what happened.  The bus started getting through Nakuru town and kept going, without any intention of stopping anywhere.  It is when we got to industrial area that I realized that this bus would not be stopping anywhere in Nakuru.  I asked Frank if he knew where the bus was supposed to stop in Nakuru, since he had also indicated that he was a Nakuru person, but he just shook his head and remained seated and unbothered.  Maybe he was heading to the outskirts of Nakuru.

I had to rush through the isle to the door area where the conductor was seated to ask him if we would be stopping in Nakuru and where that stage was to be.

“Ah!, Nakuru tulipita!  Mbona kuhushuka?,” he wondered casually, without a bother in the world, as the bus kept going.

“Simamisha basi!,” I instructed him, as I now headed back to the back seat to pick my two bags and an umbrella.

The bus came to a stop at some petrol station past the industrial area roundabout.  I alighted as I asked the conductor for my one-hundred shillings change.  He said that he had given all the money to the ‘mwenyewe’ and pointed to someone seated next to the driver.  I was now alighting, and the bus was rearing to go.  I was now out of the bus as I asked the person next to the driver, through the window, to give me back my change.

He pretended not to hear what I was saying and started showing those hand gestures that mean ‘what are you saying, I am not getting you’, all this while as the bus started to drive away.  He looked back at me with the same hand gestures as the bus sped away on the Nakuru highway leaving me standing on the tarmac.  The crew had just conned me.  Anyway, bad things happen.  The day shall get better, nothing to worry.

My cellphone has this bad habit of exhausting battery power after very few hours of usage.  Due to this, I usually alternate between full power and airplane mode to just conserve power.  I was now planning to do a walk back to Nakuru town and I estimated the distance to be two kilometres.  Anyway, why estimate when I have the Runkeeper app?  I started the app, switched the phone to airplane mode and the app showed a map of Nakuru and displayed a dot to show my current position next to the highway.  I pressed the start button and the timer started and I took the first step of more than two thousand towards the town.

The walk was quite relaxing.  It enabled me to appreciate the town of Nakuru, which was my main town many years ago while still working at Gilgil town.  The town looked like the same old town that I had known, even the street names remained unchanged.  Towards the end of Kenyatta avenue is a Naivas supermarket that I have been to before.  I had decided to pass by that supermarket to get some soda in readiness for the next leg of the trip.  I also decided to pay up the cashier by MPESA to preserve the cash that I had, after all, cash is king, while MPESA is… well, MPESA is just MPESA.

Getting to MPESA meant getting my phone from airplane mode back to full network connectivity.  I was soon at the cashier with my two items and proceeded to pay by MPESA.  I left the store and was just heading to the left luggage section located out of the supermarket when I saw the MPESA payment confirmation and another message from REVERSAL.

I have never gotten a message from REVERSAL ever.  I was therefore too curious to know what this was all about.  I did not even pick my bags yet.  As sure as this day being a Sunday, there on my phone screen was a message that Frank had asked MPESA for a reversal of KShs.500.  And sure enough, I realized that my MPESA balance was five-hundred shillings short.  However, the same SMS from reversal informed me that I had to accept a call from Safaricom to either accept or cancel that transaction.

What is going on here?  Can it be true that the very Frank who was doing the loud ‘Amen’s with me in the bus was trying to scheme me off my money?  I was still wondering the course of action, but calling Frank turned out to be the most logical step.  However, as you can guess, his phone was off.  It dawned on me that I was surely being conned… yet again.  What a great Sunday I was having so far!

I sent an SMS to Frank cautioning him that trying to con me was not his best move and that he had exactly five minutes to return my money.  By now I was still on ‘threat’ level with no clear cause of action.  He could as well just call it bluff and take no action on his part.  I however feared that I had missed the confirmation call from Safaricom when my phone was on airplane mode and that it was too late to do anything.  After all, even my MPESA balance was already short.  I was sure that this was a done deal.  I had been conned.

I was just about to reclaim my luggage at the Naivas left luggage section when the phone rang.  It was the Safaricom official number, and I have saved it on the phone address book as such.  I answered on the second ring.  It was an automated message, just informing me that some number had requested for MPESA reversal of five hundred shillings.

“What a waste,” I thought, while listening to the monotone of the automated voice.  They were just calling to confirm my misery.  I kept listening.

“Press 1 to accept the reversal or Press 2 to decline the reversal”

That was music, I tell you.  I pressed a 2 on the phone dialer screen so fast and so hard that I almost punctured the phone screen.

The automated voice then confirmed that the reversal had been cancelled and that the funds would remain in a suspense account for another twenty-minutes before I get it back.

I was not sure if this voice was surely the real deal, or it had already been overtaken by events.  I was not holding my breath.  What shall happen shall happen.  I was already past denial.  I had now accepted this Sunday as it was, with all its unfolding.  I took my two bags from the luggage section, together with the umbrella that I had gone with to the supermarket, and started my walk towards where Nakuru matatu stage should have been, at the middle of the town.

I would be surprised to see no matatu at all at the supposed stage.  The stage must have been moved.  I however could not figure out where it had been moved to.  Even the vehicles to Eldoret that would usually park a bit out of the main stage, near the petrol station at the roundabout, were also not there at all.  I asked a motorbike person where to get the Eldoret matatus and he instructed me to go towards the highway next to the railway flyover.

That is a place that I was very familiar with.  It was about a five hundred metre walk from where I was.  I was at that stage in no time.  I looked around but did not seem to see any matatu that goes to Eldoret.  The signage on the matatus showed that most were going to Nyahururu, Naivasha or Gilgil.  Nothing for Eldoret.  I had to ask.

“Eldoret ni hapa, kuja ukate ticket.  Matatu za Eldy ni hapa,” the very aggressive matatu stage person said.  I was about to doubt him when I saw three other people going to Eldoret standing next to him and they were getting tickets.  I still did not see the matatu, but the person seemed genuine enough, even with a badge of one of the matatu operators.  He gave us tickets branded with the logo of one of the matatu companies in that stage.  Mine read six hundred shillings.  I told him that six hundred was too much, though I did not know what was the right fare.  For lack of a figure, I told him that it should be five hundred.

“Lete hiyo five hundred,” he extended his hand to pick the single green note.

Now, it is true that there was no Eldoret matatu at this stage, at all.  Soon the matatu person who had given us the tickets beckoned to a motorbike person.  He asked the motorbike person to carry some two pieces of luggage, belonging to the other passengers who were also going to Eldoret.  While these three passengers were being taken towards the main Nakuru highway to be led to the vehicle, I was instead asked to take a ride on the motorbike.  This was because I had my two bags, and it would easy the movement if I also took the motorbike.  I was also in time to hear him instruct the motorbike person to give the Eldoret matatu ‘four hundred kwa kila passenger’.

The motorbike seemed already packed, with the two gunny bags already tied on the seat of the motorbike.  I had to make several attempts at trying to jump astride the gunny bags to take a seat on what was now technically the driver’s seat, despite the rider trying to squeeze himself next to the handle bars as he controlled the bike.  Finally, I managed to seat astride, while keeping my backpack on my back, the laptop bag on my left hand, and the umbrella on my right hand.  The rider struggled with his balance as he started wobbling around the matatu stage with its uneven ground.

As expected, the people at the matatu stage kept making fun and games at the rider, some waving at him, others even blocking his way and laughing out loud as he maneuvered off towards the exit of the matatu stage.  The inevitable happened when someone jokingly blocked the motorbike just as it was about to get to the exit.  The dusty road and its potholes were the last straw, as the bike wobbled out of control and….

I found myself down on the ground.  I do not even remember how I got down.  The bike had fallen on my left foot.  All my baggage was scattered around.  My specs had gone wherever they had gone.  I was still processing what was going on.  I knew this day would come, but not in this manner!  Not at the Nakuru stage!  Soon the many people at the stage were coming to our rescue, getting the bike off my foot while someone brought me my specs, with one of the glasses dislodged having detached itself from the frame, but luckily not broken.  

I managed to fix back the dislodged glass of the left eye and put the specs back on.  They seemed to be working fine, no cracks, no bends.  I also picked my two bags and my umbrella.  I tried to dust myself off.  It is then that I started feeling the pain on my left ankle.  It was a sharp pain, though I did not see a bruise or a cut.  It was just painful internally. The bones on that foot seemed to have been squashed flat.  I could still manage a walk without difficulty.  That seemed to assure me that my leg was probably not broken.

The bike was brought back upright.  The two gunny bags that were still intact having been tried onto the bike frame were now removed and taken back to where we had booked our tickets for an alternative arrangement.  And… and I still managed to sit on the same bike, with my same three luggage items and took the ride to the unknown place where I was meant to get the Eldoret vehicle that I had already paid for.  

We joined the highway then went into Nakuru town, past the former central matatu stage, and kept going for another kilometre or so.  I was about to wonder if I was being conned again and taken to some unknown place.  This is because we seem to have been going forever and not reaching our destination.  I was just about to ask about where we were going, when we reached this other matatu stage that have vehicles to Eldoret and Molo.

It is with a slight limp that I got into the Eldoret matatu, now carrying full capacity after the corona mitigation social-distancing rules on public vehicles were revoked the previous week.  Most of the people at the stage and in the matatu did not have their facemasks.  Those that had them had hanged them on their chins.  This corona thing had been totally left to its own devices and we were now on our own.  My left foot kept painting as the matatu finally left Nakuru at almost one-thirty, for the three hour journey to Eldoret.  It is during the travel that I had checked on my MPESA balance and confirmed that no money had been reversed from my account.

WWB, the Coach, Eldoret, Kenya, August 23, 2021

Running into a con-game in Nairoberry… again

Running into a con-game in Nairoberry… again

I have heard of being conned.  I have read con stories.  I have even seen con schemes and I have been conned myself anyway.  I therefore believe that I am experienced and mature enough to detect a con trick and smell it even while a mile away.  It is probably for that reason that it has taken long since I was conned in this Nairoberry of ours.  That would mean that I have matured and probably cannot be conned until….

Until yesterday.  Yes, yesterday Friday, I was in the city centre early in the morning to run some errands.  I alighted at Latema road around nine and finalized my mission on Ronald Ngala street just before nine-thirty.  I was now planning to finalize a final errand at the stockbrokers on Lonrho house on Standard street, just near Stanley hotel, then intended to run back to Uthiru for an eleven o’clock meeting.

I had decided to use the washrooms next to the National Archives before crossing Moi Avenue to head towards Kimathi street then Standard street.  I would momentarily observe that the washroom block seemed to be closed and even disused.  I suspected that it was no longer in operation.  By that time, I was probably just ten metres to the facility.  I would then have just moved ahead towards Tom Mboya statue and onto Moi Avenue.  But with this washroom seemingly closed, I would have to turnback to Tom Mboya street and head back to Latema and use that facility.

I was just starting to turnback when I experienced a sharp grip on my left hand.  It was still broad daylight and that part of town was busy with both vehicular and people traffic.  There was nothing to worry about, nor was there any semblance of commotion or danger.  I was therefore taken aback…

“Tunauza Safaricom 4G bure!  Chukua yako hapa!,” the lady who had grabbed me declared, when I gained composure.

“Sawa,” I said, as I tried to release her grip.

I would then observe that there was some form of a vehicle parked just near our standing position.  Several people, adorning some branded white Tees were milling around, talking almost randomly to different people in the melee.  The branded group were about fifteen, in my estimation.  I was momentarily relieved.  Just another sale promotion going on.  My good!

That hand had not yet released my left, before a second lady joined us.

“Tutaku uzia Safaricom 4G line bure!  Tuna-celebrate fifteen years, bure kabisa!,” the second lady said.

I was still digesting.

“Nina laini ya Safaricom tayari,” I responded, after finally getting my hand out of the grip.

“Lakini, sisi tunauza 4G bure kabisa, chukua yako.  Migrate kutoka 3G,” the first lady stated, while the second one observed.

“Laini yangu ni 4G already,” I responded.

This is when I should have bolted, but I allowed myself to be sank deep into the scheme.

“Hiyo si hoja, wacha tukupe zawadi ya fifteen years na Safaricom,” the first lady said.

I did not even have time to digest what she had said, before she grabbed my hand once more and said, “Chagua lucky number from these,” she pointed to a small sheet of paper, about A5 size, which had some small white circular sticky papers.  Each of them has a number.  Probably from number 1 towards number 50.  Some of the white papers had been removed, leaving gaps on the paper.

“Chagua lucky number.  Chagua any.  Ni bure kabisa!”

What is going on here?  It started ringing a bell.  A faint one at first.  I let that mental bell die down for a moment and was back to the present moment on this Friday morning, just about ten in the morning.

“Twenty-four,” I pointed and said.

The lady let go of my hand to have both hands free to unveil what my number 24 would reveal.  Her colleague was still standing next to us, observing.

“Wow!  Una bahati kama nini!,” the first lady screamed in excitement.

I was in a state of shock by just the way she shouted.

“Umeshinda simu!  Imagine ya bure!  iPhone!  Kweli una bahati!  Thank Safaricom fifteen years promotion!”

Hey!  Wait the hech a minute!  What is going on here.  Is hitting it lucky this simple?

I did not even have time to digest before the second lady seemed to have abra-cadabrad by disappearing and reappearing with a box that seemed to have a phone in it and another one, a bit larger beneath it.

“Unabahati kweli!  In fact, umeshinda simu na tunakuongeza iPad,” the second lady declared while extending the two packages in my direction.

I hesitated.  I did not want to touch these free gifts.

“Hatuwezi kukudanganya!  Hi ni Safaricom fifteen years anniversary promotion.  Umeshinda hizi ma gifts free kabisa.  We mean f…fff…r..rr…r…eeeee!”

I still hesitated.  I did not still want to touch these items.  She noticed my reluctance.  She literally put them on my hand.  If I was to release my hold at this moment, then the items would fall on the street concrete.  The numb hand was forced to hold them.  The desire to let them fall overwhelming.

There is no way this is happening, I kept telling myself.  Was there some just-for-laughs-moment awaiting my experience?  Was I to be the person giving audiences the gigs on their televisions due to this episode?  Something was just not right.  Instinct can never lie to you.  It was telling me that something was not right.  Something was amiss.  I could not just put a finger on it, but it was there somewhere, on this part of town, near the Kenya National Archives.

“Usijali kitu,” the first lady resumed, noting my apprehension.  

The second lady by that time had done her magic once again, disappearing and reappearing like a flash, this time with something like a book of sorts.

“Sasa tuna kuregister tu, halafu simu na ipad ni zako, bure kabisa!  Haki unabahati!  Wengine huwa hawana bahati kama wewe!,” the second lady reassured.  

The two packages were still on my hand, just a wind push away from their falling to the ground.  Reluctance was so manifest on that right hand that the packages would soon be hitting the ground.

The first lady came into the equation immediately, “Sasa lete ID tuku rejiste, halafu ukashereke Safaricom fifteen years na gifts zako!  Bure kabisa!  Kweli unabahati leo!”

I had not moved.  I was not moving.  I had not said anything for about two minutes now.  I was digesting everything, and they intake was coming in fast and furious.

“Una ID, si ndiyo?,” lady two asked.

Then that mental bell rang again.  I had suppressed it and it now came back ringing.  Soon the mental light bulb was also on.  This was happening to me again.  I was not dreaming.  I was doing this a second time in about two years.  I was back to Westlands two years ago, where this selfsame thing happened just as it was happening now.  The preamble was slightly different, but the promise of a free gift was the end of the game, followed by this very same registration process that I was about to encounter.

“Oh, the hech!,” I almost shouted, becoming back to my senses!

“I am being conned!”

I had to get out of the situation and get out fast!

“Hebu shika hii,” I asked the first lady, while lady two was still holding the book, “Wacha ni angalie kama nina ID.”

She did not want to repossess that package of two boxes, and for good reason.  They only had leverage on me provided I was still hooked and attached to the freebies.  Handing the items back should never be an option.  It was now happening.  Messing their script to the core.

She finally, with the reluctance of a tired marathoner, took hold of the two boxes.  I proceeded to take two steps back and started to pretend to ransack my laptop bag.

“Nilibeba ID kweli?,” I self-asked, loudly, as they observed me ransack.

“Hebu nipe time ni angalie vizuri.  I am not sure kama nina ID,” I assured them, as I took another one step back and pretended to be busy ransacking through my bag.

I kept taking one step back, then another, then another, and was soon gone!  Gone back to Tom Mboya street and onto Latema road.  I was out of there never to be seen again!  I would soon thereafter run my errands at Lonrho and be back to Uthiru past eleven.  Missing my eleven o’clock appointment and of course, missing out on the free gifts by Safaricom at fifteen.

Now, before you call me names and accuse me of not appreciating the philanthropy of Saf@15, let me tell you how this would have unfolded, if you do not know already….

Never trust anybody, physically or on phone, who speaks so fast and gives you no time to think.  Phone cons work that way, and street cons work the same.  Even mind-gamers, like these promotion people know this fast talk trick and they exploit it their full advantage.  This is based on the experience of two years ago, at Westlands, just outside the Mall, where we now have the Naivas supermarket.  

I was having the very same two packages, one gift that I had won, plus the extra one that I had been added in appreciation of my ‘lucky day’.  I had my ID with me and I therefore proceeded to the registration desk.  The people, even on this occasion, two years ago, were as jovial as always.  Smiling, singing, loud music and hi-fiving each other and potential winners.  They were adorning the brand of another major telco in Kenya.  They ware all genuine.  They were operating on a public street.  There was no danger of being robbed or anything bad.  In fact, there is usually no danger or threat to your personal safety at all.  It is just mind games that go on after that.  You need a strong mind and you need to be a fast thinker.

On this occasion, at Westlands, I had handed over my ID and they proceeded to start filling in my details on some register.  Just names, ID number, then they asked for the phone number, which they wrote on that register, and when I was just a breath away from my freebies…..

“Sasa, manze, unaona,” the person registering, “Hi phone ni free.  Free kabisa!  Hata ishike usikie,” he reminded me, pointing at the boxed phone on the registration.  The very phone that I had won for free.

“Lakini, manze, hii iPad ni thao tano tu!  Imagine!  Regular price huwa fifteen kay, lakini leo ni thao tano tu!  Haki bahati yako ni nzuri leo!”

“Mmmhhh, now I can see the catch,” I self-talked as I nodded, on that Sato, at Westlands.

“Sina chapaa saa hizi,” I responded.  I am one of those people who cannot buy when I am not ready, even if the world comes to an end.

  

I should have then been given my free phone, right?  Wrong!

“Lazima una ka kitu hata kwa MPESA.  Tunakubali hata ka deposit kadogo, halafu hiyo ingine unaleta tu baadaye,” the gentleman at that time, two years ago, had assured me.

“Sina hata MPESA kwa sasa,” I responded.  I was still sure that I would get the free phone and forego the additional top-up gift.

“Sasa tutafanyaje?,” he seemed to ask aloud, wondering along with me.  He must have got a new solution to the situation, since he added, “Maybe lazima una pesa kwa ATM.  Weka tu deposit, halafu tuna reserve hi kitu.  Hebu icheki, ni kitu ya nguvu.  Kitu safi!  Usiache hii offer.  After hako ka deposit, utamaliza kulipa siku yoyote.  Ka-deposit kama thao moja tu.  Lazima una ka thao kwa ATM.”

Now I knew exactly what was going on, here at Westlands, with loud music and all.  There was nothing for free.  I was being compelled to buy the iPad.  That phone was even not going to be free, even if I bought the iPad.  And… and that iPad was not even five thousand.  I was being forced into a contract.  I would be forced to pay a deposit.  I would lock in my deposit, then struggle to clear the balance however long it took…. At my own risk, with probably no hope of refund.

I was thankful that I was a marathoner, capable of thinking on my feet and… capable of bolting at a short notice, and so did I bolt….

“Sawa, wacha niende kwa ATM, halafu nirudi,” I told the person registering.

“Wacha tubaki na ID, after all, unarudi to saa hii, ndio tu reserve hi samsido.  Hebu icheki.  Ni kitu ya nguvu!,” he responded.

WWB, think, quick!

“But naeza kwende kwa bank counter in case ATM akatae, wacha nitembee tu na ID.  Naenda tu hii bank near Jacaranda hotel.  Narudi saa hizi tu!”

I could see his reluctance while handing back my ID.

Do I need to tell you that I was gone for sure, never to be seen again?  With no free phone?

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, May 8, 2021

COVID is out, or did I not get the message?

COVID is out, or did I not get the message?

It was inevitable that Kenya would have to unlock the locked down zone of Nairobi, Kajiado, Kiambu, Machakos and Nakuru, and open it up to the rest of the country.  This zone had been on an 8pm to 4am curfew.  This locked us out of the rest of Kenya, who were still having a more favourable time, including shorter curfew times and continued use of their congregational places.  

I knew that this lockdown would have to ease somehow, since the Ministry of Education had already insisted that schools would have to reopen on May 10.  There was no way that students would get to school unless the lockdown was eased, otherwise, how would the travel cross country, when they cannot cross the country?  I however had not imagined that the easing of restrictions would be occurring today.

But was this easing even possible?  Should we even be easing restrictions including the lockdown?  I even believe that the lockdown should instead even be extended to the rest of the country and restrictions made even more stringent!  I believe this because things have gone worse in the world, as far as COVID is concerned.  

Sample this – on that March 26 date of the lockdown, the global infections were 126,256,838 with 2,770,139 deaths.  Kenya numbers were 126,170 and 2,092 respectively.  Though the positivity rate from samples collected in Kenya had gone down from a high of over 30% to the current rate of about 15%, that had not been the case elsewhere in the world.

The current total infections* of COVID19 globally stand at 152,550,779, with 3,200,571 deaths, while Kenyan numbers are 160,053 and 2,744 respectively.  I was not seeing how easing of restrictions was going to be possible based on these figures.  But that is not even it.  A situation had just arisen in India, where confirmed infections were numbering** almost 0.4M daily, while the death toll was about 3,500 daily in the last two days!  Imagine!  3,500 human beings dying each and every day!  

I had seen on AJZ news channel of the untold devastation in India.  The country that is famed for being the leader in vaccine production, and amongst the top COVID19 vaccine producers was buckling under the weight of the same COVID.  Almost half of those dying of COVID19 in the world were dying in India.  This was the worst situation that corona would bring to humanity.  Can it or will is even get worse here or somewhere in the globe?  How worse can it get?  How will that ‘worse’ look like!!

* https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/

** https://graphics.reuters.com/world-coronavirus-tracker-and-maps/countries-and-territories/india/

How was life going to be better at all, when the situation was getting worse with each and every passing day anyway?  I had pondering over this since the morning.

“Mwanzako akinyolewa, tia kichwa chako maji+,” is the saying that came to mind even as I started my activities for this Saturday, May 1, 2021, with those bad corona numbers in mind.  (+When your colleagues is about to be shaved, be ready for being shaved next)

It was yet another May 1 date, but there was no Labour Day for a second year in a row, at least not the pomp and festivities that come with it.  The congregation of workers at commemoration venues was not going to be possible again this year, especially in our disease-infected zone, where congregations had already been banned anyway.  

I did not make much of the day, until I watched the evening news of the day.  And a surprise was awaiting!  The country had eased the restrictions!  The lockdown was been lifted and free movement within the country would now be possible, starting tomorrow May 2.  Our curfew hours would be revised to be at par with the rest of the country, being from ten at night to four in the morning.  

The revision meant that eateries that were previously on a take-away basis only would now allow sit-ins.  Bars that had been shut completely, would now open albeit to seven in the evening; talking of which, who even drinks while it is still daylight!  Religious gathering that had been prohibited in the zone would be allowed to restart at one-third sitting capacity.  Schools were directed on open on the scheduled date.  This was happening… and it was happening now!

I still do not know what to make of this new development.  I am now more fearful of corona than ever before, especially having seen how it ‘came from nowhere’ and wiped out India in just one week!  I am now more conscious of how bad corona can be, after watching those doctored videos that showed people falling down and dying in the middle of the streets in India, due to lack to hospital beds or lack of oxygen at both hospitals or homes.  I have given corona new respect after watching it devastate India as it did in just one week.  That is why I am not sure whether we should be easing restrictions or making them tighter!  I appreciate that we have to put food on the table, but who will be eating?

I am however comforted that the head of state assured of a swift return to restrictions if ‘anything unexpected’ came up.  I am also aware that vaccines for second doses and first shot for the additional numbers in the next group of Kenyans is on the way.  These shots should be landing anytime in June.  It is only time that will tell whether I am overly fearful or overly fearing.  For now, let me hit those 10,000 walking steps per day in the name of the marathoners May challenge – a challenge that I would have preferred to skip and hibernate, but what is on is on.  

Happy Labour day!

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, May 1, 2021