Sotokoto 6 with ones and firsts

Sotokoto 6 with ones and firsts

One am
I slept at one AM on July 3, 2016 – same day of the big run.  Thank Germany for this.  I had bet on them winning the quarter final match against Italy at the ongoing UEFA European Champions Football tournament in France.  I was confident of sleeping by 11.30pm when they scored their first goal in the second half for the match that started at 10.00pm.  However, it was not to be.  The game ended 1-1 by 90 minutes.  Extra time was a must, and no more goals were scored in the additional 30 minutes.  

I was therefore awake past mid-night to witness the penalty shootouts.  I have been ‘listening’ to the penalties in the last month, but I discovered that a local free to air channel was showing the matches and had my opportunity to watch the shoot-outs.  And who would have expected that both teams can squander three penalties a piece at the initial five kicks each?  The match was therefore won on the 9th kick of the extra five kicks.  I hope ‘the machine’ does not keep me waiting this long as they advance to the semis.  (Read a previous blog story where I lost a bet on some matches leading to this quarter finals stage.  I was therefore a bit passionate about my bets at this point.  So far all but one had come true.  The single miss being the Portugal-Poland tie, where the penalty shoot out let down my Poland bet)

Kumi na moja
That is the time was that I was taking breakfast, ready to leave the house for the bus stage.  I was at the Nakuru highway at 5.20am and got into a matatu ten minutes later.  I landed at the city centre at six and walked to Haile Sellasie – Uhuru Highway junction to await a vehicle.  This next vehicle took me past Nyayo stadium to the diversion at T-Mall, where the left side of the road was already closed and had to share the wrong side of the road with oncoming traffic.  I walked from Wilson Airport to Uhuru gardens – a ten minute walk – to warm me up ready for the run.

One toilet
The athletes had already started gathering at Uhuru gardens by the time I arrived at the gardens compound about seven.  It is usual to empty the body ready for such a run, and that is what forced me to the usual directions of the washrooms.  I was glad to see the single toilet block, though I wondered why they did not think of portable ones or any other way of coping with the expected numbers.  Woe to me, when I reached the block to find it locked.

“Wapi choo?,” a colleague in front of me asked the stranger standing around.  He could have been an official of Sotokoto or a cop or just someone in some uniform.

“Eh!... Imefungwa?,” he asked and answered himself, “Sijui”
A lady who was just ahead kind of pressed her mid-part with his hands, tried to walk aimlessly, but could not hold it any longer.  She just crouched and let go.  The two gents, and those behind us, now at an abrupt stop, just out of a locked block, decided to look elsewhere.  Luckily, there was a ticket on the fringes of the gardens.  The guys just watered the thicket.  Those with ‘heavier’ ideas fertilized the thickets, just almost in plain sight.

Saa moja
“Ni saa moja,” someone announced on the public address system, “Twakata kuanza mbio.  Wote waende kwa barabara nje ya compound hii.”

For the benefit of the foreigners, evidently Japanese, who were the main sponsored, she translated, “We are about to start the run.  All are asked to get out of this compound to the main road.”

Soon a crowd gathered outside Uhuru gardens, on the tarmac road now closed to traffic, next to some two signs of both of the road, written “START”

First Lady
We got to learn that the run shall be flagged off by the first lady of the republic, Mrs. UK.  Time started running and no sight of our host. Runners just milled around, some in chatter, others in thought.  Some took selfies, others watched them take them.  Some warmed up, others stayed put.  Some complained loudly of the delay, others were indifferent.

Three outrider motorbikes followed by three dark Mercedes Benz saloons signaled the arrival of the guest.  A fourth big van, same dark colour, followed at the rear.  As usual, these machinery forcefully ejected the once settled runners out of the comfort of the tarmac and had to seek refuge on the road side for the 30-second duration of the drama.

One hundred
One hundred is the number of runners that I counted at the starting line.  Is this not the worst publicized run in Nairobi?  Raising only 100 runners out of a city of over 1 million!?  Is this a joke or what?  I wonder why the organizers cannot raise the numbers, when other runs are twice expensive in terms of registration fees and these usually marshal over five thousand runners.  

This was the worst attended run ever.  I was been to other three Sotokotos in the past, 2009, 2010 and 2013, but none was this bad.  I tend to think that the organizers just woke up some day in mid-June and decided that they are holding the run.  Contrast that to the Nairobi International marathon, for example, which is already registered runners for the October event, over 3 months in advance.  And, this is just because it is local.  Other international runs at the big arenas in the US and UK register runners almost one year to the event, and close half year before the run.

July 1
Looking back, I was at Uhuru gardens secretariat office of Sotokoto on Friday, July 1 to collect my run number and kit.  This was after receiving official communication that the kits would be ready for all to collect from 9.00am on that Friday and the following day only.  I was taken aback as to how they can issue the runner kits just 48-hours to the event, for all the runners that they were expecting?  Had they deliberately orchestrated this run to fail or what?  How many people can collect kits within 48-hours at such a remote location?  It took me two hours on two public transport vehicles to get to these offices (plus a third broken down matatu and double the fare as a consequence).

“We do not have T-shirts yet,” the lady at the unmarked reception and the equally concealed secretariat office started when she saw my approach.  The reason why I was able to trace this office location was due to precedence.  I just recalled where I got it three years ago.  Without that experience I could have been lost.

“What do you mean?,” was my answer.  They had communicated to me that I should pick the gear, and here they were telling me that there was nothing.  Could they not get their act together first before inconveniencing such philanthropic runners?

1pm
She tried to explain that the kits were late, though they had the run numbers only at the moment.  She said something about suppliers, delays, expected after 1pm, come back later, or come back tomorrow.

“I come from Uthiru, which is in a different province” I told her, “I am not coming back here!  Get me someone who shall give me a solution.”

She hesitated.

“Make no mistake,” I reiterated, “Am not coming back to Langata road until Sunday.”

There is nothing that breaks the toughest of situations that some simple words, which I encountered when finally some guy came into the office, “Apologies, we are very sorry that the T-Shirts are not available yet.  Truly sorry.  Accept our apologies.”

What say you, when someone apologizes over a situation?  You are completely broken down and your defenses are no longer in place.

“Get me the run number.  I shall use a previous T-Shirt,” I assisted them.

0011
Was I really runner no. 11?  I registered for the event on June 15, having received an invitation through email the previous day.  The registration fee was KShs.1,050 – a strange figure, but when I finally saw the receipt showing only 1,000/=, I understood that the organizers did not want to incur any processing charges through the PesaPal platform that was handling the online payments.

If it was true that I was the eleventh runner, based on the run number, then the registration for this event was worse than I thought.  Add to the delay in providing runner kits in time and you have a situation at your hands.

One stanza
We sung one stanza of the national anthem just after her excellence arrived.  Thereafter, it was a matter of the flag off though a countdown from 10.  At count 1, the blast of a starter gun was heard and all started the run.  I started my timer.

The run route had changed.  I have run from the Nairobi National park to Nyayo stadium and back as was the inaugural run circuit or from Uhuru gardens to Nyayo stadium with two loops and back, as was my second run in Sotokoto two.  

This third run on Sotokoto 6 was taking advantage of the newly build Southern by-pass that connects Langata road to Nakuru highway.  It was a simple enough route – a run from Uhuru gardens, straight to the by-pass to head towards Ngong forest side upto the 10.5km mark for a U-turn back to the stadium.  Just 21km of nothing but pure, dark, hard, unforgiving tarmac.

One water point
I had expected some water points along the route, especially at the 5km marker, but this did not turn true.  The ‘5km’ board was lonely at the centre of the road with no water point on site.  It took sheer will power to just keep running without knowing when this vital hydrate shall be available.

The run was uneventful.  They elite runners just sprinted off, while the rest of us veterans tagged along.  The runners were quite few, and that meant that the crowd was think, in fact just a file of runners, usually 20-50m apart.

I met the first runners, the fast ones, at a time of 0.38.00.  They were already on their way back while I was yet to hit the 10.5km turning point.

Water relief!  I meant what a relief!  I finally reach the U-turn, to get the first water point, even as I dip my fingers into the basins that contain some ink.  Just like the First Lady marathon in March, we have a similar dip-fingers-in-ink situation.  Please, invest in some simple timing chip.  Those transmitters cost less than a cent for crying out loud!!  I briefly glance at my stop watch which reads 0.50.00

One (more) water point
I encounter a second water point on my way back, at the 5km mark.  I know it was now there for long, since that is the route I have just been through some 30-minutes ago.  One other rule in running is to ensure that you have some water at all time.  I apply this rule by throwing away the almost empty bottle that I took at the turn-back point and pick a full one.  I run with this to the finishing point.

The way back is easier.  I just realize that the first leg was hilly and the way back is generally on a downhill.

111
I hit the finish line inside the Uhuru gardens and the organizers hand me a small piece of paper.  The number 111 is written on it.  This is my finishing position.  I guessed the runners were one hundred only, but maybe I was wrong.  However, I doubt if they shall be more than 200, based on the numbers that I encountered on the route.

Another round of recording names on the finishers’ sheet, and then a walk to the tent where the blank finishers’ certificates are issued after they put a big cross with a marker pen on the runner bib having the run number.  

The predominantly red lettered cert reads, 
“Certificate of Completion – 2016 Sotokoto Safari Half Marathon.  This Certificate is hereby awarded to dash dash for succeful completion of the Sotokoto Safari Half Marathon dash dash category (21km/5km) race in a time of dash dash.  Awarded on this day of 03rd July 2016.  Signed (signed for sure) Douglas Wakiihuri, SS, Race Organiser, Sotokoto Safari Marathon”

The typo on ‘succesful’ is real.  I had to re-verify to confirm that this typo shall last with us for eternity.

Good thing is that I shall be having the first certificate to show for this event – which I had previously described as the run with nothing to show – no cert no medal.  At least they have now worked the cert part, albeit a dash dash version.  Maybe, just maybe, we shall be looking at some medals soon.

This is what I shall fill on one of the dashes… a time of 1.34.18.  The other parameters such as distance, calories, average speed, max speed, slow speed were not available since I just replaced the bat of the gadget and forgot to calibrate.

11.11am
I alight from the matatu back home at 11.11am.  I finally have my T-shirt as a carryon luggage.  I collected this T after the run.  The organizers had asked me to check before/after the run.  I managed to check after the run, and after sms reminder that, “Pick your size small T-shirt as the only ones remaining”.

I was categorical on the application form that I needed a size L.  I was even the eleventh athlete to register.  How is it possible that I can get a leftover T-shirt of size small?

“You are lucky,” the gentleman at the secretariat office informed me, “I stumbled upon this size M”

Lucky?  Really?

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Kenya, July 3, 2016

Of Lost Bets and Broken Buses – My Latest Run Down Coast

Of Lost Bets and Broken Buses – My Latest Run Down Coast

No where
“Shukeni.  Basi imefika,” that was the announcement that got us out of the bus at 0345hrs at the wee hours of Monday morning on this 27th day of June.  It was cold, chilly, drizzling.  We were in the middle of almost nowhere.  My Google map on the phone indicated the position as somewhere about 10km from the Voi turnoff from Mombasa direction.

The passengers got out and momentarily settled on the ‘new’ bus.  This bus was a distant relative of where we had come from.  Open-the-window air-conditioning instead of ‘real’ air-conditioned.  Rattling-structure-and-almost-deafening-engine, from the quiet and almost inaudible hum of an engine previously.  From hardly any movement, to almost earth quake vibrations.  From free wifi, to what-is-wifi?  From projection screens for watching movies to nothing!  From Oxygen to eh… No-Oxygen!  It was a compulsory move to the rescue bus.

Impunity
I was seated on no. 25 seat before the move.  This was almost mid-bus, aisle side, on this 45 seater.  The next seat passenger was on the 26 seat by the window.  We left Mombasa at 2230hrs on the dot.  This was a bus B for sure.  The bus A that my colleague Charles took was a real bus A – with all things ‘A’ class, including personal video screens behind each seat.  I was seeing such show of tech for the first time on a long haul bus.  I cursed under my breath for having been given a ‘B’ bus despite having booked before him.  How do these things go?  Same price, different offers, no explanation?  Both buses left 10.30pm – probably the latest departing buses from the ocean front towards the inland.

“That is meant for both of us, stupid!,” I did not say, but I considered saying.  This happened when the bus had departed and the attendant was issuing small packs of juice and equally small packets of biscuits.  The juice part was smooth.  He handed a couple.  I direct one to 26 and it was taken.  The biscuits arrived when I was already reading through One Bright Summer Morning by Chase.  I saw the two packs being handed over, which were picked by 26… who proceeded to keep both!  Without even blinking an eye and just kept quiet as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary!.  Now, do you get why I almost called names – surely!  How dare he!!  I considered asking, but avoided the likelihood of an exchange over a 20 bob packet.  However, I kept this experience for a future blog story.

But not yet.  What impunity!  Imagine he went ahead and started munching from the first packet, hardly 15 minutes after setting off, immediately after the lights in the bus went off.  I was almost kicking the front seat in anger when I stopped short, remembering the saved trip to the dental unit.  I cheered up – my good, his bad!

Bolts and nuts
About 30 minutes into the drive, I kind of noted some change in the vibration from the wheel, which was just under my seating position.  It is like it started consistent bursts of vibration just beneath our seat, though the bus kept going and the internal smooth ride persisted as usual.  I even proceeded to sleep, ignoring this as some uneven road or something.

Out of my unconsciousness, I noticed that the bus had come to a halt.  I thought it was probably a police stop or they were waiting out on another coach that was on distress.  However, it is usually difficult to sleep when the soothing hum of a moving vessel comes to an end, and this is what brought about my momentary awakening.  So, I started becoming consciousness of my surroundings, noting that it was 2.00am, based on the prominent display at the front of the bus, top left, just above the door.  It oscillated between ‘2.00am’, ‘25C 45%’ and ‘8m26d’.  That last combination did not make sense.  If it was meant to be the date, then it was 2 months ahead or 10 months behind.  Maybe it was something else.

Jumping ship
At 2.15am there was a kind of a stir, causing a number of mainly sleeping passengers to awaken.
“Watu tano, wenye haraka, washuke waingie gari lingine,” someone at the front of the bus announced.  Some passengers grabbed their carry-ons and left stumblingly, on the relatively dim bus – just as the internal lights were switched on.

“What is going on?,” someone asked.

No answer, was the answer.

The group that stumbled out just disappeared, the rest of us just sat.  Others stirred from their sleep.  Small murmurs started.

At 2.20am, the same voice that made the first appeal came back to the front of the bus with an update, “Jameni, muwe wavumilivu.  Basi limeharibika lakini tutalitengeza tu.  Muwe na subra” (Please be patient.  The bus is having a mechanical problem but we shall deal with it.)

Aha!  So that is why we were stuck something, actually nowhere!  It is at this point that I switched on the virtual map that revealed our location – we were about a dozen kilometres after after Voi turnoff.  On a deserted patch of the great Nairobi-Mombasa highway.  I was facing a second breakdown, in as many years, with the same bus company, only that the direction of the travel was different this time round.

What's your name?
I decided to exit the bus, as others moved around the bus aisle.  I could see another bus from the same company stopped besides the road, just behind ours.  Those who disembarked with their luggage must have got into this particular bus.  It left while I was still out, only for us to all observe in amazement that they had not locked their side luggage compartment.  

It was useless shouting after a bus that had zoomed off on this still dark night, and shot through the smooth tarmac, hitting cruising speed in under five seconds.  Our driver tried in vain to remember the conductor’s name… and driver’s name to no avail.  We were of no help either.

“Sasa yule Kondakta ywaitwa nani yule?,” he asked the group of six or so passengers milling outside the bus on this pitch dark part of the highway, occasionally illuminated by blinding headlights from approaching vehicles on both sides, then left darker thereafter.

No one answered.

“Huyu nani, huyu jama wa kuenda Kampala ywaitwa nani huyu.  Huyu mwenye kelele kelele huyu!”

No answer from us.  What were we to answer?

At 2.30am the driver asked us to embark so that we can move to a ‘safer’ location.  

“You mean we were unsafe all this while?,” I thought of asking the obvious.  I kept this question to my worried self.  But surely, being deserted in the middle of nowhere must be unsafe.

Abandoned
Moving at a slow pace took us to an abandoned fuel station, about 2 minutes from where we had broken down.  The driver then switched off the engine and all systems, including air-conditioning… and we started waiting for we-do-not-know-what-next?  

From chatter, I gathered that there was a kind-a bolt on the rear left tyres that had broken and fell somewhere on the route.  This caused a noticeable instability on steering the left side of the bus.  It is upon stopping to check the cause of the unstable movement that this discovering was made, and the captain decided to abandon ship, Ok, bus.  I also gathered that they had called for an ‘emergency’ bus from Mtito Andei, which was to be with us in 15minutes.  What a relief!. 

However, the relief came 1hr later, at 3.45am and it was a contrasting relief I can tell you for free.  Reaching Mtito an hour later ourselves confirmed that we were surely far from that haven all this time.  The rest of the travel back to the capital was uneventful and we disembarked at the Modern booking station in Nairobi at ten, about 4 hours from our expected arrival time.  However, there is a saying that “Msafiri ni mkafiri” so this was OK – to me, another adventure in the course of travel.

Big pool
Flashback four days earlier – I had used a bus from the same company, leaving Nairobi at exactly 10.30pm and arriving at the coast at seven.  After checking into the hotel of accommodation, I had spent the day just relaxing, waiting for the arriving of a fourth member of the team, Charles.  Janet and Mercy had already checked in when I arrived at ten since they had arrived early morning.  We could not do the business of the day without the full team.  We were to develop a corporate strategy as mandated back home.

Our second day was fully constrained by the business of this long weekend, which had seven deliverables.  By nine P when we took the dinner break, our list of deliverables was reading four complete, one partially done, two not yet started.  However, the human body can only take so much and so we had to call it quits, have dinner and retire to bed - the earliest we have ever gone to bed while near the ocean.

We were just to take a short walk on the giant pool, with white sandy beaches, on the Saturday morning on our third day.  The short walk ended up getting us to the warm waters, which started being sole deep, then heel deep, then mid-leg deep, then knee deep – that was my limit.  Janet and Mercy had remembered to come ‘dressed’ in inflated tyres.  Charles was the swimmer, and kept nudging them to the deeper waters.  I was the non-swimmer, and kept nudging myself to the shores.

“Dada, nikufunze kuswimi,” I heard someone offer Janet.

“How?,” I heard her, just almost beyond earshot now, mixed with the many noises made by the many swimmers on the big pool.

I could figure out Janet being moved around on the tyre, towards the deeper waters, though at some point she called to Charles for his attention.  At confession time, a few wines down the throat, she said that the ‘teacher’ was starting to massage her legs.

“And what is the problem with that,” Charles laughed out loud.

“You missed a free massage,” I rejoined.

Of course we knew what she was driving at.

“Mwathani!,” she exclaimed.  She only did this special exclamation if matters were elephants, “That guy had started going bolingo*,” she elaborated.

We burst out laughing, momentarily interrupting the concentration of the crowd watching a live match between Switzerland and Poland at the ongoing UEFA championships.

“That is not anything,” Charlie volunteered, “At the deep sea where we were,” he continued, “Things were being done live.”

“What ‘things’,” I asked.

“We WB, wacha kuwa analogue,” Mercy reminded me, “Manze hao watu walikuwa bolish wote.  What else?”

“Mwathani!”

“But you two also disappeared from the shallow water to that place,” I observed, but was cut short.

“So long as you are afraid of the water, you shall be losing out.  Sisi pia tuli…”

I did not want to hear no elaboration.  Liars!  Just because they were 20 meters from where I was!

Shisha
A walk to the rest room brought me face to face with quite some interest observations.  One of the madams seated to our left was actually just having a top (only).  She was bolingo elsewhere!  Just in front of her seating place, about two tables from ours, stood the pool table and believe you me, a pregnant mama was shooting the ball!  A shisha pipe here and there was nothing extra ordinary.  Skirts that ended near the waist than near the knee seemed to be new fashionista.  Just in front of our table were two gals, chewing miraa from a big collection of the herb at the middle of their table.  They both spewed enough nicotine to addict all in the kibanda.  They did not give a damn about other revelers.  We had similar sentiments on them.

A chick moves from her seat next to the one who is bolish.  She moves to an empty seat just next to where a jungu is seating.  That is now just in front of our seats, to the right.  The jungu momentarily leaves, while the chick remains.  When the guy comes back, there is some sort of exchange between them.  What we can see is the shaking of heads.  The rest of their conversation is now muffled by the shouts from the patrons who are supporting one of the teams on the big screen.  It is penalty time after a one all draw.  The situation is tense.  All are tense.  The chick is tense, the jungu is tense.  The chick leaves her seat and goes back to where she had come from.  Whatagwan!  The penalty kicks are taken!  One team kicks one out – the other kicks all their five.  It is done.  I lose a bet.  Damn Swiss!  And to lose a bet to Mercy!?  Of all the people!?  I feel like whiffing onto that shisha thing now.

Maybe that is where I started losing out, since the next day she completely abandoned me and was taking her wine inside the residents’ pool at the hotel, with Charles, both half naked, while I had another humiliation of losing a second bet to the same gal, when Ireland allowed themselves to lose 2-1 against France.

I am not taking any trips down coast during a tournament.  Of lost bets and broken buses – I have had enough.

*bolingo - slang for 'without clothes'.  Short form is bolish

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Monday, June 27, 2016

Mater Hear Run 2016 - record breaking with a dream

Mater Hear Run 2016 - record breaking with a dream

Top 10
That I was a top 10 finisher in Mater Heart run 2016 is quite something.  I did not plan for it though.  It just happened.  When I woke up at 4.50am to start my morning on this good Saturday May 21st morning, I was in fact contemplating on just doing a walk, instead of a run.  After all, this is not a competitive run.  All participants get a certificate of participation, even if they do not leave the confines of Nyayo stadium when the run starts. 

I was just in the group of first 10 runners who squeezed past the matching brass band to get some space from the human chain setup by G4S guards just behind the band.  This ‘squeezing out’ occurred out of the stadium on Aerodrome road, where I started my stopwatch at 8.05am.  From there I did not look back.  I found myself hitting Mombasa road with the first group of ten and maintained this by Haile Sallasie avenue turnoff.  One athlete overtook me as we started the uphill towards Kenyatta hospital, however, after hitting the gravel for over 6 minutes, he gave up on the hill run and let me run past.  My pace was good.  The weather was good.  It was just a good day for a good run.

There was a final twist as we reached Nyayo stadium to approach the finish.  Instead of getting back to Aerodrome road past the Kenol petrol station and straight to the finish, the organizers decided that we had to run round the outer perimeter of the stadium back to where we started.  This was all good, save for the fact that this is the same road where late starters were found starting the run.  These were the school parties.  This section was full.  I had to almost collide with several children who were not even looking ahead as they started the run.

“Cheki huyo jamaa anamaliza,” a kid said loudly, pointing in my direction.
“Na sisi ndo tuna anza!,” someone among the group filing the tarmac, forcing me to run to the extreme, next to the perimeter fence, said.
I knew what was ahead of them… but did not join them in their conversation.  I left the discovery them, without envy.

I faced a “what the?” moment just a few paces later, when I turned to get to the stadium and found these G4S bouncers forcing all to stop to be frisked (again)!  Who in their right mind obstructs a runner heading to the finish line!
“You can’t be serious!,” I thought of saying.  I did not say.
Momentarily I was at the stadium to do a final lap, clockwise, to the finishing point.  I stopped the timer with a 0.37.18 and distance check of 8.13km.

Finish
It just hit me that I was in the top ten, when I saw some seven or so runners ahead of me, restrained by the barrier, warming down, and kind-of lining up next to someone with a mike.  It did not take me long to observe that he was a member of KTN television crew.  While still absorbing the shock of the moment, the reporter who was interviewing a runner next to me, just cleared with him and moved towards me, mic in hand and made introductory remarks.
“Mimi ni mwana habari wa KTN News na tunapeperusha matangazo ya Mater Heart Run laivu Kenya nzima,” he started.  

I could not see a cameraman anywhere near him.  That gave me the confidence to talk to him.  Who wanted to be beamed Kenyawide (and worldwide, as they claim to have a presence online and in East Africa?).  Isn’t it in the public domain that media can ‘destroy’ even the toughest?
“Hebu nieleze, ni matarisho gani uliyafanya ndiposa ukawa mmoja wa kumi bora kwa mashindano ya mwaka huu?”

After a serious of four of so questions, he let me go as he continued his interviews.  Surprise hit me when I saw the camera man standing about 30m from the point of interview on an elevated platform inside the playing field.

“I saw you on live TV,” that was the first phone call that I got while on my way back from the stadium.
“You can have jokes when you mean to,” was my answer to the caller.  Partly due to the reality check that had now downed on me and partly due to the effects of the Red bull.

But was this really real?  I contemplated how the day turned out as I dozed off in the vehicle, provided by the employer, taking my team back home from the stadium.  I dreamt back to two weeks ago…

Dinner table
“Hebu taste hii nini, eh, hii something.  It tests funny,” Solomon said pushing the cocktail to the centre of the table where six had sat, three on either side, having dinner.
“Not me – I have just taken a Sambuca and it does not mix with that,” Mercy was the first to respond.
“No way!  That and this?,” Jannet pointed to her glass, the bottom lined with things that looked like leaves, “… haiwesmake”
The three on one side of the table had had their say.
On the opposing side, Charles just shook his head in response.
“I don’t do milk,” I said.  This was my observation of this whitish stuff in the cocktail glass.  It has to be.
“Manze, we kunywa hiyo something.  That is how a colada tastes,” Mercy was the final authority.  The rest of us just stared, without experience.

Anyway, everyone had ordered their favourite and there was nobody tasting nobody else’s drink.  Why then did each of us take their sweet time to scrutinize the menu and order?
“Nothing with alcohol,” Solomon had said loudly, in a manner of seeking inputs from those around the table.  We have always known him as a teetotaler and does not say much.  He is the type who can close his ears at the mention of body parts.  It is impossible for him to say some words in the human atlas.

“Manze, tafuta cocktail,” Mercy had started him off.
“Take water!,” was an easy suggestion from yours truly, but seems like water is laced or what? Since this is a suggestion that all frowned at.
“Kunywa a colada.  Manze hiyo ni cocktail ingine poa sana.  I like it myself,” Mercy again.  
All agreed.  In fact, in terms of experience, I believe that she was the most experienced in the world of drinks, having sampled a wide variety.  Some of the people on the table were sworn to some brands that the waiter just serves without asking.

“Basi, colada.  Mimi niletee colada.  Nonalcoholic,” Solomon made his final choice.
“Virgin,” the waiter said.
“What!?,” the six said almost simultaneously, to the shock of the waiter.  
He composed himself and repeated, “Virgin. Virgin colada.”
“Ooohhh.  Si ungesema!  Usiseme ‘virgin’, sema ‘colada’,” Charles offered free advice.
Why again was Solomon offering his drink for tasting?  Is it that we did not have our own drinks?

A la what?
It had been a daylong meeting, with a parked agenda.  It was a real relief to finally break for the day with dinner and a drink.  The dinner, described as ‘a la carte’ did not take long to arrive.  It did, about 30 minutes after ordering.  I was informed that it can be worse, depending on the establishment and what is ordered.  For example, if you order fish, then make sure you can wait for them to fish.  Do not start me on ordering mushrooms.  Thinking about it, is the English language so poor in voc that there is no translation for ‘a la carte’?

We managed to discuss the drinks menu during small talk at this dinner table.  On the page of cocktails: 
‘Dirty Lemonade’ – do they expect you to drink that?
‘Saint and sinners’ – let me just leave it at that, no comment
‘Dawa’ – I like that
‘Kitandani’ – I don’t like that.  Is it meant to knock you down to bed or you should take it while in bed or there is something that I am missing.
‘Virgin colada’ – they explained it as the drink without alcohol.  It has an alcoholic sibling called ‘Pina’
There were others.

Shock was yet to hit us when we reviewed the next page on the cocktails menu.  I cannot even fathom writing anything about them.  Let me leave it at that and let it slip...  No way, the temptation is just too much…
‘Screw driver’ – I will stick to froth!
‘Grenade’ – They can’t be serious.  You can swallow that and live to tell the tale?
‘Screaming O’ – it is x-rated.
‘Slippery N’ – this may not be x, but it is not in the normal day time lingua.

V or P
When the time to settle the bill came, about thirty minutes after Solomon had all of a sudden decided to leave, even offering to give the gals a good night kiss! (shock on us by this offer), we were a bit surprised at the content and final amount.  The amount was a bit higher than we had calculated over time (maybe we were a bit drunk and we could not calculate properly anymore) and the list of items partaken was different from what we had thought we had ordered over time (maybe we were surely drunk, not just a bit).
“Reconfirm this bill,” we beckoned the waiter as we bottomed-up our glasses/bottles, ready to leave.
“Reconfirmed, it is correct!,” was his response.  He did not even move.
“No it is not!,” we started almost at once.  Feeling excited and buoyed by the effect of fermented sugars in our bloodstream.
“We did not order no Pina colada,” Jannet pointed out the receipt to the waiter, “I told you this bill is wrong!,” she looked as excited as someone who had proved a point.
The waiter stepped back and went to the bar to reconfirm.  He looked like one who did not like this apparent defeat.
Five minutes later, “I have confirmed it is correct,” he looked triumphant, like someone having the last laugh, “‘Virgin’ was not available, so we served ‘Pina’ instead”
“OMG!,” we all shouted!!
No wonder Solomon was talking trashy and buoyed like all the rest of us!!!


“Red bull!,” I heard from afar...
Someone shook me as I regained consciousness, “Give these colleagues a Red bull each.  They did not take theirs while at the stadium,” Joan sitting next to me on the van nudged me.
The van had come to a stop and staff were already alighting.  I was back home already.  Dream and reality fighting for prevalence on my mind.

What a Mater Heart run 2016!!

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Kenya, May 21, 2016

FLHM 2016 – A good run with a chaotic end

FLHM 2016 – A good run with a chaotic end

Early

I was in town early.  I left the house at 5.30am and walked to the highway.  Being a Sunday, there were few vehicles at the highway, but was lucky to board a matatu at 5.50am that did not waste time on the road.  I disembarked at 6.10am and walked from Odeon towards Kimathi house.  I then walked on Kenyatta Avenue to Nyayo house and joined Uhuru highway all the way to Nyayo.  The roads were already closed from Kenyatta Avenue and the whole of Uhuru highway from Nyayo (house) towards Nyayo (stadium).  A few runners, evident by their running kit, the Tshirt of which had a big portrait of the first lady on the back side, were already enjoying life of the closed road as they headed towards Nyayo.  All of a sudden there was a siren behind me, and before long, a big car almost knocked me off the tarmac.  I was lucky to see a convoy of over ten vehicles negotiate the Haile Selassie roundabout towards Nyayo.

“The road is closed for crying out loud,” I cried out loud!

As I approached the stadium I saw the big cars parked beside the road.  I was in time to hear the flagging off of the 10km wheel chair race, which started at 6.30am prompt.  I still had 30 minutes before my run.  I counted the cars – 14 big cars and 4 limousines – even if it is power!

There were no washrooms around the starting point, so I had to get into the stadium compound, where there were just a few Excloosive portables.  How did they expect to manage the ‘water out’ needs of the expected multitude?  I started sensing some form of impending crisis, but there probably was a plan B.

I hanged around the stadium compound to about 6.50am, when I started making my way to the starting line outside the stadium, on Uhuru highway.  I cannot express my chagrin when I headed to the exit point only to be turned back that it was closed.  This was the nearest exit to the starting line.  I had even used it to get to the stadium less than ten minutes prior.

“So, what gate do we use?,” I asked, as other runners behind me benefited from this query.

“Eh, I don’t know… Maybe…. Eh…,” the unhelpful person responded!

“Sasa nini hii!  You people are so disorganized!,” a lady runner behind me could not hold back.

There was no time to argue.  The only way out was through the entrance gate to the stadium, near the Police post, next to the Basketball court and Swimming pool.  Then one had to make their way back to the starting line – as if going round to just get to where you are from!.  I had to run, with only five minutes remaining.

Watery course

The run just started while I was recovering from the short sprint that I had just done from inside the stadium compound.  The weather was good – cool, no sun, a bit cold.  The start time was new on this course.  I am used to starting at 7.30am.  Of course I started at 7.00am when I was doing the three 42k in 2008-10, but it has been ages since I started a run this early.

The run to city centre, then Kenyatta Avenue to NSSF building was at a good pace.  We turned to get into Uhuru Park and benefited from the first water point at the 3km mark.  This was timely, since immediately after that point was the Upper Hill section that runs from the park all the way to Kenyatta Hospital.  From the hospital back to Nyayo is generally flat, with some mild uphills.  There were about five water points on this Nyayo to Nyayo stretch.  I was at Nyayo in about 43 minutes.  This was to be the 10km point.  Was I that fast?  Were records going to be broken today?

The turn to Mombasa road was something I was expecting.  In fact I even knew its profile.  This would be a 10km circuit, followed by the final 1km to the finish line.  In my mind this was the ‘tarmac’ route, which I have run often when practicing.  It is exactly 10km and a circuit too.  I just tuned myself to the feel and imagination of ‘tarmac’ and just let myself flow.  (Though this route has nothing compared to the hills on the ‘tarmac’).  In five kilometers I faced the extreme turning point, after only two water points.

“Discrimination!,” I thought of shouting.  How do you provide five water points for the first 10k and only two for the last 11k?

“Dip you fingers in the ink!,” someone shouted from ahead, interrupting my mind that was on the ‘tarmac’.

“Make sure you dip your fingers in the ink!,” someone else reminded us?  Yes, reminded us.

I saw about three stretched out basins, with some bluish fluid.  I dipped in my left hand, reluctantly, as I ran to the turning point and started my last 6km back to the stadium.

In this era of timing chips, one of which was surely affixed on my race number 7794, who still dips their hands on ink as proof of adherence to the run circuit!

Since the first lady was running the 10km (could it be that they did not care much about the rest of us to even provide more water points because we were on our own!), the 21km route was relatively uneventful.  Last year there was a continuous stream of security forces all along the route – but that was last year – and she was running the twenty-one thousand meters then.

I reached the stadium just as the first fast 10km runners were finishing off their run that had started at 8.00am.

Though I finished the run and stopped my timer at 1.32.56, the overhead LCD at the finish line was displaying 1.30.50.  On this run, I trust my timer, but miracles still happen that the timing crystal in the watch may have been faster by 2 minutes? – No way, I still trust my timer.  How about the distance – 20.85km.  Well, I still trust my timer – but let us wait for the official results.  The ‘gadget’ provided me with the run stats as follows:

Date – 06-03-2016

Time – 1.32.56

Distance – 20.85km

Speed avg – 13.5 km/h

Speed max – 31.5 km/h

Cal/h avg – 1054 kcal/h

Cal/h max – 2131 kcal/h

Calories – 1633 kcal

Time in zone – 00.23.05

Km01 – 4.35.89

Km02 – 4.16.17

Km03 – 4.17.22

Km04 – 4.43.41

Km05 – 4.57.38

Km06 – 4.40.49

Km07 – 4.16.73

Km08 – 3.58.23

Km09 – 4.20.14

Km10 – 4.24.11

Km11 – 4.28.09

Km12 – 4.29.57

Km13 – 4.08.78

Km14 – 4.21.57

Km15 – 4.32.05

Km16 – 4.29.08

Km17 – 4.28.57

Km18 – 4.33.05

Km19 – 4.26.10

Km20 – 4.48.44

Km21 – 3.41.22

Chaos 1

After the finish line, runners were being directed to the terraces.  No one had an idea why there was a queue at the terraces.  I just joined the queue of sweaty runners.  Another queue formed up, and someone shouted, “Ten kilometers”, in the direction of this second queue.

For some reason, the queue that I was on, the 21km queue, was not moving at all.  After staying on the same spot for some 30 minutes, runners become agitated and started shouting.

“What is going on!,” a chorus shouted.

“Give us certificates on the queue,” some follow-up shouts.

“Give us medals.  To h**l with certificates,” yet others.

I then came to realize that the queue was for medals and certificates.  A first one, since they did not honour the runners last year.  Thinking about it, I deserve two sets, to compensate for last year or…

My thoughts were cut short when a scuffle ensured on the 10km queue.  Water bottles were being thrown in the air while tables and chairs were evidently flattened, from the sound that was coming from that direction, just five meters to my right.  Our own 21km queue got messed up momentarily as people feared for a stampede.  I lady runner stumbled and fell on a table top that had them thrown towards our queue.  A plastic chair rolled following the table and crashed on the legs of those on the 21km queue.

After some hullabaloo, peace was restored and whatever was going on, continued going on.  Meanwhile, there was no movement on our queue, while the crowd of runners kept swelling.  I observed some contributors to the lack of movement – someone was for a second time, reading the runner bibs and recording the numbers on a paper.  He was at the queue and each runner had to find him or vice versa.  What was this for?  First the ink that was never checked and now scribbling numbers on a piece of paper! 

But that was not all – some other lady was putting a tick mark using a felt pen on the runner bibs too.  What the *?.  And to add tiredness to tiredness, after being issued with blank certificates, the calligraphers were just next to the issue desk taking their time to pen down each name, a process that involved one fishing their ID card, to ensure that the right name spelling was captured, then taking their sweet time watching the artists do their thing.  (And I can tell you for free that art takes time!).  Then they had to pay the 50/= fee and in many instances wait for change!  The worst thing you can do at the head of a queue!  Go write the damn certs at home using a biro pen for crying out loud!  (Or at least write on them somewhere miles after the issue desk!  Simple non-common sense!).  All these conspired against us to keep us on the queue forever!

Chaos 2

The peace did not last long, since after this first scuffle, more runners came to join the queue, now that the two major runs were coming to an end and the mid-pace and slow-pace runners were getting to the finish line.  Even the first lady was finishing her run, this being around 9.30am.  I had stood at the same spot for almost one hour!  Things were bad.  This was the most disorganized medal issue point on the planet.  I thought of even giving up on this medal issue thing and going home.

An evidently agitated NYS staffer, in full regalia, started commanding runners around.  He was at the 10km section.

“Songeni nyuma au nisukume nyinyi*,” he said, pointing at the sea of runners on and around the 10km runners queue.  It was more of a 10km runners congregation.  There was no queue at all.  None, I tell you.

(*Move back or I shall push you back)

“You did not run!  We are the runners!  We are tired!  Give us our medals now!,” the crowd roared back.  They did not attempt to move at all.

He stood on something to make his frame more distinct.  He was by then joined by five or six other staffers of NYS.

“You over there, move back!,” he tried to command, while pointing somewhere in the sea.

“Hapana!  Hatusongi.  You did not run!,” came the response.

“Waiguru,” another runner shouted from the crowd, causing momentary laughter.

‘Momentary’ is the word, since the second scuffle ensured when he pushed a runner back.  The other runners surged ahead and almost ran over the contingent from NYS.  No chair or table was left standing.  There was shouts and runs all over.  There was near stampede.  Water bottles were thrown on top of peoples heads again.  There was total confusion!  Blows were exchanged!  There was total chaos!

Somehow, things came back to normal and the situation was calm once more.

Chaos 3

It was now time for our very own 21km to be messed up.  A big crowd just joined from nowhere and we no longer had a queue.  We ended up with a congregation.  Nobody was moving.  Nobody knew what was going on and the agitation was evident.

At some point, there was a semblance of a queue.

“I am not running this event ever,” the runner ahead of me told the air.

“They should have let Standard Chartered marathon organizers take over,” an equally angry athlete responded to the first one.

There was small talk on how Nairobi marathon aka Standard Chartered marathon was miles ahead in organizing such events.  But give credit where due.  The FLHM is trying, being just in the third year while Nairobi marathon has done thirteen.  However, the small talk was not convinced that experience was to blame.  After all, you do not have to experience all instances yourself – you can learn from others – that is what FLHM is currently lacking – the ability to learn from the best.

Chaos 4
“They did not even give us bags!,” someone added to the list of misery.

“Yes,” another one joined in, “Not even a runners guide!  They could not afford to give such a simple booklet!”

“The website did not even show the starting time of the runs!,” someone reminded us.
“TShirts of size Large or XL were also missing.  Imagine they gave me the option to pick either a Small or XXL instead of Large.  Can you imagine?,” someone else shared.
“That's not all,” someone gave a rejoinder, “There were no kits at Nyayo stadium from 24th Feb or even at KICC, yet they had asked runners to collect from 24th”.
“Do not even remind me of the misery,” a runner shared, “I was at Nyayo on 27th but nothing.  Even at KICC there was nothing until 1st”.
“Sikimbii tena.  Never!  Umechoka halafu you queue for one hour!  Sikimbii tena hi mbio ya first lady,” another disappointed runner added.

One and a half hours after finishing my run, I managed to get a blank certificate of participation, signed by Her Excellency.  I also managed to bag my first medal in 2016.

As I walked back to city centre with Mandy, a colleague at the work place, who ran with the first lady on the 10k, we had lots of experiences to share.

What a run!  Would I do this run again?  Maybe one more time, just to see if the medal issue debacle recurs.  It was something worth writing about.

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Kenya, March 6, 2016