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

When tired…. Accept and run on

When tired…. Accept and run on

Monday was my usual day of run.  I was good to go, after a three-day rest period.  I started the run at 11.40am and felt fairly well as I did that first kilometre.  The weather was good, being sunny with the morning sun.  However, it was a bit hot, even as I finished the first k and started on the second.  I was on the same good old ‘new’ route from Eldy town to Kipkenyo centre and back.  The turning point at the centre is on the 8km mark, and that is where I was aiming for.  My tiredness started being manifest on the second kilometre.  I just felt tired thereafter and almost turned back.  The spirit was however willing but it was residing on a weak body on this day.  Was it the heat?  Was it the high altitude?  Was it just the day to be tired?

I however kept going with a view of ‘stretching’ the run to the very limit of collapse, then see how it shall go.  This stretching would get me to the 8km turning back point at ACK Kipkenyo Secondary.  I was just glad that I had made it to this turning point.  But now the real task was just about to start.  I was now 8km from home and I was as tired as a log.  I had to somehow drag myself through the uphill that runs from 2000m above sea leave at the 8km mark, to the 2100m at the finish line.  This run back has been difficult every time that I have been on this run.  Today it was twice difficult as I was the most tired ever.

What must be done must be done, and so I just turned back and started the slow uphill hill over the eight-thousand metres.  That distance was long!  It is just the dream of hitting that finish line eventually, at some point, that kept me going.  I would otherwise have just given up and probably taken a matatu back, in my sweaty form.  I did not take the matatu, but instead kept going.  I usually do not carry money with me, and hence the matatu option would also have not worked anyway.  

My tired body pounded that tarmac somehow, all the way to the 15km mark at the junction where I would either turn to the left to go back to the finish, or turn right to increase my kilometre-age through Langas Kisumu Ndogo.

The mere thought of turning right was already just painful, leave alone forcing my body to turn to the right when the time came.  Finally, I was at the junction and…. And I surely turned left and headed to the finish line.  There was no way I was going for anything more than a k.  I was just glad that I would be finishing the run in another five minutes.  I eventually finished run!  How I managed the 16.32km in a time of 1.28.26 is still a wonder.  That 5.25min per km pace was the most painful pace I have experienced in a long time.  

I was exhilarated that I had managed to finish the day’s run ‘somehow’.  The tiredness would just momentarily evaporate, just like that, since I was back to normalcy immediately after the shower.  Despite this, I wanted to forget the experiences of this run in a hurry and be ready for a better experience next time.  Nonetheless, the body dictates and decides on how to carry itself – some days are good, others days are bad and yet others are ugly.  Today was one of those Mondays.

I would momentarily be seated for the afternoon rest.  The next major event of the week was to be the announcement by the GOK on the next stages of COVID-19 restrictions, since the current modalities were set to expire tomorrow, Tuesday.  I expected that announcement same tomorrow.  I thought that that is the date of announcement as already promised.  It was therefore a real surprise when I heard the prime news item that the announcement was actually on this very day.  I am however already used to extension of restrictions, and was therefore not expecting any better, whether the announcement was today or tomorrow.  

Corona aka ‘the thing’ or TT was still causing havoc on planet earth.  Worldwide confirmed infections now stood at 33,492,659* with 1,005,057 fatalities (3% mortality rate) and 24,801,703 recoveries.  At number 69 in the world, ranked by number of infections was Kenya with 38,168 infections, 700 deaths (1.8% mortality rate) and 24,681 recoveries.  In Kenya, the rate of samples that are being confirmed positive from any sample size was now about 4%, from a high of 14% in June.  This reduced positivity rate had already generated a debate that corona was now a goner, and that life should be reinstated back to ‘normal’.  I was not holding my breath on this end-of-TT prediction.  And it is even good that I did not….

There were no surprises when the night curfew was extended for another two months, meaning that night events would continue to be off until December.  Despite this, more extensions during that December festive month is the likely scenario.  This thing is likely to run until 2021.  The curfew hours had however been shortened to 11pm to 4am, unlike the previous 9pm to 4am.  

Other extensions of restrictions included public gathering still being limited, but to 200 people instead of 100, while the tax reprieve for individuals and corporates would remain in force until end of year.  Attendance at places of worship would remain restricted, but the maximum numbers had now been revised to one-third of the building’s capacity.  Schools and educational institutions would however remain closed, until the ‘how’ of their operation upon reopening was addressed.  

Finally, it was a reprieve to liquor business since bars would be opened for the first time in six months, and they would operate until ten.  Other eateries which could not sell liquor previously, despite being open, would now also be allowed to offer ‘kanyuanji’ to their revelers.  This was a long time coming and I know that hell shall break loose when these restrictions are lifted from tomorrow.  

Well, marathons remain suspended and maybe being tired today was just a good thing, as I can continue resting in readiness for the time when the runs resume.  It could have been a disaster if I would have felt this way during one of the September marathons such as Ndakaini.

*All data from worldometers website

WWB, the coach, Eldy, Kenya, 28-Sep-2020

Where are the runners? – ending July without company

Where are the runners? – ending July without company

Being a Friday, it should have been a day for just another Friday run, but it felt different.  I started the run at 12.45pm.  The weather was downcast, the sun was nowhere, the cold was struggling to persist in the inevitable warmth that was permeating from the hidden sunshine.  The clouds were not making things easier on this temperature situation.  The sky was enveloped in white but it was not as cold.  Maybe end of July also meant end of the cold?

I left for the run and was soon heading to Waiyaki way, hardly ten minutes after the start.  The road was a bit deserted.  What was happening on this Friday?  Even the vehicles on the roads seemed fewer than usual!  I would in a moment run across Waiyaki way and then get running on the other side of the road, for that stretch of about a kilometre, that would take me to run under the Uthiru flyover.  

This stretch of road that takes you from the point of your crossing over towards the flyover is a long straight tough section of the road.  You are running through an unending major road, with vehicles zooming from ahead, some leaving the full six lane road to push you out of the edge of the road where you are!  

You are glad when you start finally leave the highway, turn to the right and circle around the roundabout to soon turn left to face the downhill towards Ndumbo.  At this point of heading towards Ndumbo, you only need to worry about the matatus that park in the middle of the road as they beckon passengers for the ride to town.  That blockage means that vehicles from opposite directions have to struggle through one lane of the road.  It is the runner who has to suffer by running out of the road on the very rough edge, where there is no semblance of walkway – just a rugged patch of stony road shoulder.  

However, once you survive the Ndumbo stage area, then it is all smooth running towards Wangari Maathai.  Coincidentally, the road section around Ndumbo was not busy on this Friday.  I even enjoyed my run on the edge of the tarmac until I was through with that stage section – something that is hardly possible with the matatus have parked on the road.  What was happening today?  Where are the people?  Where are the vehicles?

There was hardly a vehicle or a person by the time I was heading towards Wangari Maathai Institute.  I would however encounter a group of people, some in yellow jackets, slashing the edges of the road, just before the Institute’s gate.  That group was probably all of humanity on this road.  I would later encounter one person washing a motor vehicle near the river, with potted plants lining the left edge of the road, the edge where I was running on.  I have progressively seen these pots grow from none, hardly three months ago, to now about ten of them.

I overtake the potted plants and soon get to the river and start the uphill run to Lower Kabete road.  I meet no one.  However, one or two vehicles pass by on either directions.  I reach Lower Kabete road and the two motorbikes are parked on the pedestrian walkway at the junction of the road, as usual.  I overtake them and turn left to run about three minutes uphill on Lower Kabete road.  Even this major road that connects Wangige to Westlands and town centre has very few vehicles to count.  Usually there would be at least one every half minute.

I eventually make the left turn to the dry weather road that would take me towards Mary Leakey school, then the University farm some kilometre away from there.  This road section is also deserted.  I hardly meet a person.  I would soon face the University farm that would for sure be lonely for the kilometre run-through.  It is for sure deserted, as expected.  I meet no one through that five-minute run.  

I am tempted to ask the ‘where are the people’ question while on the farm, only to remember that this section usually has no people any day, anyway… usually only the runner, and occasionally, such as on Monday, some farm workers tending to the plants.  On that day I had tried to decipher what plants they were tending, but my running motion could not register the green sprouts on the vast land.  Could it be coffee?  Could it be tea!  It was not maize for sure!

I am back to reality as I now run to the tank.  I for sure have to go for the half marathon route on this occasion, but who knows, I may just surprise myself by giving it an end-of-month twist and adding ‘something’ to it.  However, I am not sure yet.  I first have to get to the U-turn before I decide on how much more I can add to the usual run-back distance.  The weather is still downcast.  A gentle wind swishes by my running frame as I keep running on Kapenguria road.  I shall be running for about fifteen-minutes before I get to the U-turn point.  This section of the road towards the U is generally flat, though a bit hilly after the cross road at Kanyariri AIC church.

I keep going.  I am now just looking forward to that U-turn.  My mind is blanked, but I still notice that there are very few people on the road, even on that cross road shopping centre, which would normally be bustling with activities and the notorious loud motorcycles.  I soon get to the U-turn and I am glad to be heading back onto the return leg towards the finish.  But there is no need to get all excited and all.  The finish line is still very far.  As far as one hour or more, depending on run speed and final route chosen to the finish point.

I am now running back and heading home.  I get to the tank after about fifteen minutes after the U.  I have the option of continuing down the road, then up towards Ndumbo – the usual straight road towards the finish… or turning left at the tank and doing the same same route that brought me here.  The left turn means an extra 4km on my bill.  It is however too late to make sense of my decision, since I find myself taking the left turn back to the University farm.  

I shall soon face that eerie silence and nothingness for over a kilometre through the farm.  I do not even think about it as I traverse the farm in complete solitude.  I just keep running.  Going back to Mary Leakey school, then Lower Kabete road, then the right turn back to Kapenguria road.  All these while I can hardly see humanity.  Where are the people?

I now have to run from ‘the tarmac’ back to my starting point at Uthiru.  These are about six kilometres of pure painful run, coming at a time when I have been on the road for over one-hour-thirty-minutes.  I however have no choice since I have to get to the finish line one way or the other.  Runs are not just finished in the middle of nowhere at a whim.  After all, there are no people, or even motorbikes passing by.  How else would I get to the finish line even if I decided not to continue with the painful last thirty minutes?  I just have to keep going!

And that if what I do, first to the river, then to that dreaded 1.5km of uphill from the river, past Wangari Maathai institute, back to Ndumbo.  That dreaded hill!  I shake my head in dread, just as I still meet the same group of people who were doing the slashing of the roadsides just past Wangari, on the final hill stretch.  One of the people slashing comments loudly that the sun is too hot, which would mean that it shall be raining soon.  His colleagues shout their affirmation.  That brings me back to my senses.  It is surely shining.  When did the shine begin?  I cannot recall!  It was cold and cloudy the last time I checked.

I am now only three kilometres from the finish line when I am get back to Waiyaki way.  I am too tired to notice anything, though there is nothing much to notice with all this desertion.  However, I can see the traffic police, for the first time since the initial lockdown in March, with a roadblock just next to the Kabete Police station.  I see vehicles from town forced to stop and the men and women in luminous yellow jackets approach and speak to the drivers.  These activities are unfolding on the other side of the dual carriage way.  I ignore them and keep going to enable me cross the wide road and start my home stretch.

I finish the run in 2hr 13min 35sec.  I am completely finished!  I collapse on my desk as the phone app beeps with a message ‘Congratulations – 26.84km is the longest distance this month’.  I do not even care.  I do not even want to be congratulated.  I am finished completely!  I even fell like drifting off into slumber, though I am still all sweaty and the environment feels so heated.  I need to hit that shower if I am to feel any better.  

I am just about to take a painful step from the seat, when the announcement from the online stream that I keep on comes out loud and clear, that the world has reached yet another milestone in COVID-19 cases.  So I pay attention to the numbers - 17,630,927 infections on planet earth with 679,655 deaths!  That 17M level got me into searching the data for Kenya.  And soon I would scroll through the list on worldometers to see the motherland listed at number 64 with 20,636 confirmed cases and 341 deaths.  

I am resigned to a ‘what shall be shall be’ state of mind, when I soon hear a ‘cautiously optimistic’ sound-byte from a US top infectious disease expert that there shall be a vaccine by end of year.  The very prediction that I had given TT a few articles ago.  I was now heading to the showers with the mindset that humanity shall wrestle TT to the ground by end-year when it dawned on me that this Friday was Id-ul-Azha holiday – it was not a work day!

WWB, The Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, July 31, 2020

Running through a roadblock… with life changing consequences

Running through a roadblock… with life changing consequences

June 15 was the exact middle of the month.  It had a cold mid-day, the first such weather in a long time.  Maybe the first this year.  I could feel the chill hit my skin.  My exposed legs and arms bore the brunt of the low temperatures.  It was a still day with no sign of rain, though it was a bit overcast.

I really thought about it long and hard.  Was I really ready for this?  In fact, the only reason why I saw myself leave for this run was because it was a Monday.  Had it not been a Monday, then I have doubts as to whether I could have exposed myself to such a cold.

I left the starting line at 12.30pm.  I have to reemphasize that it was cold.  I was however capable of managing this.  I have been in worse cold.  Worse runs in worse temperatures.  I have even run in sub-zero, albeit for a short time and survived.  By short I do mean about one hour.

I have been hit by sub-zero rains during runs and I managed.  It was not a good feeling, but it happened.  I have been able to breath in sub-zero air.  It was not a good feeling, but it happened.  These were last year experiences at the Arctic circle when I did my runs up there near the North pole.  I was not looking forward to a repeat, but it was a Monday and the run was on.

The route of my runs over the last two months have now been fixed.  Etched on stone even.  I was now so used to it that I could even let go and do the whole run without thinking about the course.  You cross the Waiyaki way, do the Vet loops, then run the Kapenguria road to Lower Kabete road so as to get to Mary Leakey route then through the University farm.  From there, you join the Kanyariri tarmac back to Ndumbo and once more back to the Vet loop to finally head to the starting line as your finish line.  

A good circuit with uphills and downhills, mostly uphills, but a good circuit by all definitions.  There is very little exposure to vehicular traffic, apart from the fairly deserted Kapenguria tarmac and that dreaded crossing of six-lane Waiyaki way, with its mid-road half-metre high barrier.

The first phase of the run was just starting.  I had clocked just about 10k.  The body was now already used to the cold after doing those two loops at the Vet circuit.  It could only get better, so I thought.  Then….

Then as I finished off the two loops and was heading for Ndumbo matatu stage when it happened!  I just stumbled upon a giant metallic gate fixed menacingly across the whole width of the tarmac!  Totally blocking any way through!

“This is messed!,” I thought of saying even as I slowed down to start thinking of my options.  The gate was progressively getting nearer and nearer as I moved on.  I would soon collide with it.

A marathoner must be ready and fast in thinking while on their feet on the run.  Things can happen from nowhere and this was one of those moments.  I was now facing a closed gate in the middle of the road and in a few steps I would be crashing into it if nothing else would give.

But come to think of it, this was not a real surprise.  The signs that things may change started about three months ago, just when COVID19, aka TT was starting to affect the country.  By then Kenya was registering the first confirmed case and had just instituted a curfew and lockdown.  I had started seeing signs of an upcoming building, just a few metres from the main Ndumbo matatu stage.  At that time I thought this building on the right side of the road while approaching from the loop, was related to TT.  

My thoughts were that it was either a washroom or handwash station of sorts.  I largely ignored it even as it kept on being constructed and taking shape over the last three months.  It would finally evolve into a roadside building.  It still had all the makings of a washroom or handwash station.  It did not look like dwelling quarters.  It remains a single room, even as it started receiving finishes in terms of metallic windows and doors.  

Then two week ago I started noticing a new development.  The sideroad section, near this house structure, just next to the matatu stage was being cleared and the ground was being levelled up.  And one week ago the levelled ground started receiving fencing posts.  That got me thinking.

“Why would they be fencing the area next to the new building?”

If anything, the concrete posts of the fence were being installed on the other side of the road, after the new building.  For sure, a fence was coming up, but how was it related to this block?

Then the impossible happened!  Last week I saw that the fence and its chainlink were largely finished and two giant sections of a gate were lying beside the road, just next to the new building.  There was now no doubt as to what was coming up.  I had even given my marathoners team on WhatsApp a heads-up on this.

“The loop as we know it shall soon be out of our run route, since a gate is coming up near Ndumbo stage to block access to the loop.”

Little did I know that that ‘soon’ would be this Monday.

There I was, running towards a blocked road.  Blocked by the imposing double sections of a big metallic gate standing tall astride the whole width of the road.  I could see the matatus make a U-turn just on the other side of the gate, about fifty metres away.  I just had to get to the gate and make a final decision at the gate.  The decision was now likely to be a turnback.  

A turnback had the implication of having to map a new route out of the loop and back to the other side of this gate.  It would be a long circular route to just get to the fifty metres that I was seeing across that gate, if I was to turnback and seek an alternative route.  This seems to be inevitable.

I was just about to stop and walk to the gate, mainly just to examine it and quench my disbelief that it was surely a real structure blocking the road, when I heard a sound,

“Pitia hapa!”

I was taken aback.  

I saw a small pedestrian walkthrough gate just touching the new building.  Someone standing next to the small gate had held it ajar and was beckoning me to use it.

It was a relief to just get through.  I could not help but look back at the gate and the blockage that it was now causing.  I have run this loop for over ten years, and in fact the usual adage is ‘there is no run without the loop’.  All our international marathons have the loop as a permanent feature on the run map!  

Our daily runs have the loop as the warmup section before doing the serious runs on Kanyariri road or Kapenguria road!  Surely!?  I could not believe that this was the end of the run through the loop.  Our runs and marathons shall never be the same without the loop.  I have to go back to the drawing board to map many of our runs, especially the international marathon route!  This was dire!

Could it be related to this TT thing?  I thought TT and I had agreed to let each other be?  To mind our own respective businesses?  We agreed to have a common understanding of non-interference in each other’s affairs?  This could not be defined as ‘non-interference’.  It was interference by any definition.  This was surely getting into my business, if you block a marathon route that has existed for over a decade.  

I know that TT can claim to have infected 8,108,667 people as at this Monday, with 438,596 deaths worldwide and Kenya registering 3,727 infections and 104 deaths.  I know that TT is responsible for new addition to our vocabulary in the name of ‘social distancing’, ‘alcohol-based hand sanitizers’, ‘temperature checks at entrances to buildings/compounds/malls’ and ‘facemasks’, but going to the extent of closing a major road?  That is hitting below the running feet!

That gate kept me thinking and calculating alternatives through the whole of my run on the Mary Leakey route.  It was not long before I found myself back to Ndumbo and was about to turn left to face the gate and loop once more, when the idea of exploring an alternative route just hit me.  Remember, a marathoner must be fast at thinking on their feet.  I decided to continue with the road and maintain the profile taken by matatus as I headed back to Waiyaki way, avoiding the loop altogether.  

After a two-minute run I found myself back to ‘the wall’, which would usually mark the start of the loop on Waiyaki way.  I had already run using this ‘the wall’ throughway twice when doing the two loops earlier on.  I could have easily turned left to get back to the wall and do a loop if I so wished, but I was suffering the shock of closure of the loop and was not willing to do another loop.  Let me mourn the demise of the loop, the ten-year-plus loop, in peace.

I was back to the starting line ten minutes later.  The weather was still cold with no signs of improvement though it was heading to two-thirty.  By three I had already gone through denial that the loop was no more, and was now accepting the new reality.  If anything, I was already crafting a route that would have the loop and still avoid that gate.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, June 15, 2020

Route 11 run – passing the mock and failing the exam!

Route 11 run – passing the mock and failing the exam!

The boycott

This was a boycotted run from day ‘announced’.  It was initially scheduled for Friday, November 29 but hardly had the announcement sank before we had to reschedule it to a week early.  This was because several ’elite’ runners had informed the MoE* that they would not be participating if the date was not changed.  

It was a quick action on the part of MoE to move the run to November 22.  This was hoped to ‘appease’ the elites, who are usually the main sponsors of this run.  They sponsor by participating and pulling a group along.  Take four of such elites, multiply by the groups that they pull along and you have a big marathon.  Do the converse and you can guess how it shall go.

*MoE – marathoners of expert, organizing committee of the marathons

On that same day that the MoE were rescheduling, there was a call amongst the MoE to scout the route.  As a general guiding rule, the ‘international’ runs cannot be held without a scouting and re-measurement of the route.  This is usually to confirm that the route still existed and that it was at least 21.1km as per international standards.  

The last time this route was in use was during the July International, code name ‘the unveiling’, when we unveiling our branded merchandise.  Five months later and many things could have happened.  These are the ‘many things’ that needed to be discovered in good time, before the run and hence planned for.  You cannot send out an international team of international athletes before the route is confirmed to still be of international standards.  It is a never!

“Hands up anyone who can volunteer to check out the route before next week,” I posed to the MoE.

All hands remained down.

“Surely, we need to scout the route, don’t we?”

Hands remained down.  Voices remained muted.

“So will we just run it?”

No answer.

Scout it out

When I left the starting point on Monday, November 18 to scout the route I did not know what awaited my run.  I had not been on this route since my last ‘half’ on August 7, when I did a 1.43.25.  At that time the Waiyaki way was still being expanded from Kangemi towards Uthiru.  The major works had not yet taken over the Uthiru section.  

I was hoping for the same old situation when I hit it out on this Monday evening.  This was not to be.  I faced the first struggle when trying to cross the now expanded and almost finished up Waiyaki way road section at Uthiru, just after Kabete Poly.

“This shall disturb the runners,” I made a mental note as I waited for more than a minute to get a chance to cross the first section of the road of three lanes, to get to the middle island between the roads.  After the middle island, I had to cross the other side of the road used by oncoming vehicles.  This was another three lane road, followed by a barrier, then yet another two other lanes after that half meter barrier.

“This is worse than I thought!,” I did another mental, though this side of the road was not as busy as the side that I had just crossed.  Nonetheless, one had to jump over the half metre barrier – which was not a comfortable leap when doing a run, or even when walking.

However, the ‘same old’ came back immediately after crossing this wide road.  Just the run as it should be, through Kanyariri road all the way to Nakuru highway at Gitaru market, then a turn to Wangige road for the short half k that then leads to the right road to get you round the market and back to Kanyariri road.  

But turning onto Wangige road brought a new experience.  This half k section was under construction.  The vehicles were being diverted to a narrow side road, while the profile of the once original road was a now a heap of soil and busy heavy machinery.  I even had to stop and re-evaluate my options on how to proceed – either by walking on the drainage cover that was still under construction on my right, or battle it out with the vehicles on the narrow muddy road on the left of the heap. 

Road closed

It did not take long to be told, “Just go through here,” the person who looked like a contractor of the road, due to his reflector jacket, pointed as he responded to my query as to where I should follow to get through.  He did not have any qualms on the narrowness of the temporary road, nor the volume of traffic that I was already seeing struggling to jostle for all the hardly available space.  I was tempted to ask him an “Are you sure” question but thought the better of it.  Aren’t these adrenaline inducing moments, such as the battle with the machines on the road, the fun of the run anyway?

I walked and ran along as I tried my best to get through.  The vehicles and motorbikes were full of hooting and gestures as I went along, opposite their approach.  I finally survived the scare and finished the run.  

After my run, I had informed the MoE of my experience on the road.  They authorized a communique to the runners before the Friday run.  It therefore came as no surprise to those in the inner circle when this information was included in the final call for the run on Friday…

“

Precaution –

1) be careful as you cross Waiyaki way at Kabete Polytechnic, which is now expanded with many lanes and a barrier on one side.  Vehicles have right of way.  Take your time and only cross when the road is clear.

2) the road from Gitaru market towards Wangige is under construction.  All traffic (vehicles, construction vehicles, pedestrians, motorcyclists) have to squeeze onto the temporary narrow side road.  Nonetheless, vehicles (and specifically motorbikes) have right of way – do not dare them. Run easy on this section, or just walk.  Do not dare these machines!!

”

Can’t be happening

By the time of that particular announcement on Friday, everything that could go wrong had already gone wrong.  Even the coach was surely going to boycott his own organized run!  This started on the same Monday that I did the scouting, stopping my timer after 1.42.42 for 21.28k.  All of a sudden, I was just hit by a ‘feel bad’ on my body as I took that shower after the run.  By Tuesday I was already feeling something strange creeping within.  

By Wednesday I was so out of normalcy and I could not even imagine that the Wednesday midweek runs still existed on our three-times a week run schedule.  I saw my two Eng-thoners run it out over the lunch hour while I sat on my desk wondering how it was even possible to run.  I could not imagine treading the tarmac for anything in the world.  

Then the bug hit!  It did so just before I took supper – I just felt the pain on my lower right jaw and it started intensifying with every passing minute.  By the time I had given up on trying to eat due to the pain that accompanied every movement of the jaw, I knew that I was heading for trouble.  But ‘imagining trouble’ and ‘getting trouble’ ain’t the same!

By the time I was about to hit the sack at midnight on the Wednesday, I had fire burning in my mouth!  The pain was pulsating like a heartbeat.  I am even convinced that the heartbeat was responsible for the rhythm of the pain.  I turned and tossed and turned and tossed some more – but the pain intensified with every turn and toss.  It was a night with a mouthmare!  

It was a bad night.  I did not even wake up.  I was awake whole night.  I just got out of bed without knowing my next move.  Instinct was directing me to just try to sleep, though duty was calling.  I also had an important meeting to preside over – one of those that you have planned for, for over four months.

“I will do this and I am out to the doc,” I told my lazy walking body as the pain on my right lower jaw persisted.  I could not eat or drink.  I just walked with a now slightly swollen jaw.  I could hardly talk.  I just pretended to speak normally but I was really struggling.  I did not even try out the plenty of tea and snacks provided for the meeting.  Each item on the serving table reminded me of the anticipated pain if I dared.

“Mwalimu, leo hauli samo?,” a departmental colleague attending the meeting at the new auditorium asked, a mixture of smiles and wonder on his face.

“Later, after masomo,” I responded, struggling to sound normal, a beam on my face.  I was lying.

November is December

I was on the phone with the doc’s clinic immediately after the seminar that ended at twelve-thirty.

“When is the earliest that I can see doc?”

“Let me check,” the respondent stated and went quiet for some time, each second counted by the number of painful pulses passing through my lower jaw, “How about December 4 as per your originally scheduled checkup”

“You are kidding, right!?,” I almost shouted out loud, but I did not.  Instead I did say, “This cannot wait.  I have a new situation”

Another, “Let me check,”, another pause, then, “Kesho at nine, how about that?”

“Can’t it be earlier?”

“Nope, Doc reports at nine.  That is the earliest”

“I will be there.”

I did not eat anything on Thursday.  I struggled with a cup of tea.  Ending up taking it cold after waiting for the ‘right moment’ which never came.  I just had to force it down.  Though my Thursday night was not as mouthmare-ish, I still felt the pain and the swelling was evident.  I was out of the house Friday by eight.  The first matatu that could leave Uthiru took me towards Kawangware, while I did not care paying 50 shillings to town, though I was alighting just at Adams.  I was just in need of a relief.

A brief exam on the dental chair is all that was needed before the verdict was out.

“We have figured out what was causing the pain,” the doc declared.  

I have noted that she liked using ‘we’, just like you do when writing a research paper.  However, I could only see her alone at the upstairs clinic room.

“We have noted an infection that need urgent and immediate attention, otherwise…. Big trouble.  We sense big trouble!”

The known unknown

The x-ray machine that I was sent to, at the downstairs clinic cube failed after only one of the expected three runs had been done.  I was left seated with a heavy lead jacket while the doc was being consulted on the next action.  

While seated, doing nothing, I wondered why humanity calls these rays as x-rays.  In 1895 when they were discovered, they were surely ‘x’, unknown.  But now we know them, don’t we?  Wouldn’t calling them the ‘rays between UV and Gamma’ be too much trouble, or too mouthful?  Maybe be RBUVAG abbreviation would be easier on the mouth?

I would end up being sent for RBUVAG rays, OK, x-ray procedure at Upper Hill and to a pharmacy at Hurlingham!

“Am I your patience or a tourist?,” I almost asked the receptionist.  These two locations were worlds apart!  I however did not have time to care.  

By this time the lidocaine anaethesia had cooled things down.  I was back to almost normal.  I had still not eaten anything since the last failed dinner.  I found myself walking to Prestige, then to Yaya, then to Hurlingham for the medicine.  From there, another 20 minutes’ walk took me to Upper Hill for the RBUVGA rays, sorry, x-ray.  

I was still waiting to be booked for the x-ray when the phone rang.  I ignored the unknown number.  After a short disconnection, it did ring again.  Another ignore led to another ring.

“Eh, Hello, Who is it?”

“This is the chemist.  You left your medicine.”

“Wait, say what?”

“I am calling from the chemist, remember, Hurlingham chemist?  You left your medicine!”

This ‘you left your medicine’ blame was surely their own making.  I had initially wanted to just pick the three packs and shove them into my bag but they insisted on parking them ‘properly’.  The next thing I remember being given was the medical card as I left the premises.

“So I have to go back to Hurlingham!  This is just great,” I murmured even as my name was called to the upstairs x-ray room.

Double walk

I was facing another walk back to Hurlingham, then yet another walk back to Adams to get my matatu back to Uthiru, which were not on the initial plan.  The initial plan would have been to get a matatu at Upper Hill KNH stage and go straight to Uthiru.  

This change of plans did not even consider that I had not yet taken anything, solid or liquid since morning.  These walks were taking out all that I had.  I had already trekked for 10km by the time I stood at the stage just past Adams waiting for the Kawangware matatu.  It had to be past Adams since the road construction had now removed the Adams stage.

It is also at this point of waiting for the matatu that I got the first reminder of the run.  In reaction to the walking stats on Runkeeper, Janet had posted a message, “Yenyewe you can walk fast!”

“I have to make it to route 11,” I responded.

It did not take long before I saw her message on the runners WhatsApp, that she was also joining route 11.

“I shall be doing a virtual run today,” she posted.

“Very funny,” I smiled widely, as I momentarily took my gaze off the phone to look around for any approaching matatu that should take me to Kawangware.  There was none yet.

A virtual run means sitting in the house, with the only run done being the slow walk to the kitchen to fix yourself a drink of your choice while running your fingers through the remote of the TV.  

It was on the same matatu stage that I also saw the other postings by runners who were joining in on route 11.  Edu posted a message on how hot it was at Turkana on Thursday as he did a run there.  His message did not need interpretation.  He was nearer to Ethiopia than Nairobi.  

Beryl had already informed me that she was running in Ug on November 23.  She left it to my interpretation as to whether she would be anywhere near route 11.  Bad news is better left to the interpretation.  It sinks deeper that way.

No run, just walk

I eventually got to Kawangware and could easily have taken another matatu to Uthiru, instead, I did a last walk from Kawangware to Uthiru knowing for sure that ‘Route 11’ was off.  I was just recovering from a strange bug, while my body was in need of carbos and fluids, and hence was not the right candidate for the run.  

My regular participants had either ran virtually, ran far north or ran in the neighbourhood.  Additionally, the elites who had called for change of date had not indicated that they would participate on this new date, a date specifically rescheduled for their benefit!

That message about the ‘precaution’ on route 11 was therefore just a formality.  It would not be of any benefit to anybody.

Two bananas and a glass of soda later, and I found myself starting to be back to normal.  It was now two o'clock.  I was not worrying much since I was now just getting back to taking some solids into my system.  I would assimilate slowly over time.  Maybe try some carbos at dinner?.  Maybe.  

I was not going to run as a convalescent on this serious international.  I would skip it with feeling.  Bad things happen on unexpected days.  That day turned out to be today – just when we are scheduled for an international marathon.

Mock or exams?

When I went to the Generator, the usual starting point of the marathon, at four-forty-five, all dressed up, pretending to be ready for a run, I did not expect to find anyone at the starting line.  I was not disappointed.  It was true.

“Umeona wakimbiaji wowote hapa?,” I asked the sentry who sits at the next block. 
(*Have you seen any runners around?)

“Tangu saa kumi sijaona mtu.” 
(*None)

“I knew it!,” I said loudly.

“Kweli sijaona mtu.  Ni wewe wa kwanza” 
(*You are the only one so far)

My mission was to wish those running well, as I explained my situation and hence why I was skipping the run.  There was nobody to explain nothing to.  I was just standing there, generated, alone!  I therefore just started the timer, for the love of the game, for the love of the team, and flagged myself off for the eleventh international marathon, codename ‘route 11’.  There is no way that this run would go un-ran.  

I was soon on the road running, carbo-loaded or not.  Convalescing or not.  Ready or not!  The run turned out to be just as it had been doing the scouting mock of Monday five days ago.  Same route, same challenges at Waiyaki and Wangige, same 10km of hill and almost the same time – 1.43.14 for 21.26km.  I however failed to score what I did get on the Monday mock which was 1.42.42.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Nov. 22, 2019