The first class run that did not run to expectations

The first class run that did not run to expectations

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Running for nothing – how I found myself out of action

Running for nothing – how I found myself out of action 

I could hardly sleep.  I tossed and turned and tossed and turned some more.  My joints, especially the leg joints on the thigh, knee and heel were aching.  Any folding of either of my legs brought about an intense pain in the of my body.  I was shivering, despite the usually cold night that I was already used to and should not have elicited such a reaction.  I was clothed in a trouser, a T-shirt, a pullover and a jacket, then covered in three layers of sheet, blanket and fleece, but I was still feeling cold.  I had a headache from afar, though it kept getting intense towards my forehead with every passing minute.

“What is happening to me?,” I found myself speaking out loud, in the dead of the night.

It was quiet.  Not even the night crickets made a noise on this night.  I could hear my own breathing and heartbeat, meaning that it was that still.  The bed creaked as I turned, only to be uncomfortable in that turn, hence being forced to turn again, as the bed creak again.  Every turn hurt my joints and intensified the headache.  Every turn put me in a more uncomfortable position than the previous.

“What is happening to me?,” I asked the still night for a second time in less than a minute, as I got up and sat on the bed, the cold of being outside the beddings hitting me with vengeance.  I retreated to the bed to toss and turn some more.  I kept listening to the quiet night even as I kept turning every minute due to the discomfort of my aching joints.

I could not take it anymore and found myself awake at some point in the night.  I had so far just heard of a cock crow, somewhere in the distance of the silent night.  That was the only sound on this night.  I stepped out of bed, the cold contrast from the warm bedding hitting me badly.  I went to the washrooms and stood by the mirror, to confirm that I was still me.  I was still me, alright.  I looked haggard and completely beat.

I went back towards the bed and switched on the computer and monitor.  It made the buzzing sound as the fan on the CPU rotated around.  Usually this noise would be indiscernible, today it sounded so loud in the still of the night.  I checked the time on the lower right corner of the now lit monitor.  The light illuminating the full extent of the room due to the once still darkness.  It was just about 4.00am.

I turned on an online news channel for a lack of a better thing to do.  Sleep was now out of the question.  I just wanted to spend my time standing around, but the chill of the environment was becoming unbearable.  I went back to bed and glanced at the monitor, my eyes aching, as the forehead headache resisted the rays from the screen.  I closed my eyes and listened on to the announcer, the war in Gaza dominating the headlines, then the US presidential campaigns and debate, and inevitably, the demonstrations in Kenya.  That last one got me opening my eyes, as they highlighted the Tuesday demonstrations of July 9, just yesterday, leading to this night that I hardly survived due to this shiver and headache.

I believe that I must have fallen asleep for some minutes as some point in the morning, since I would become cognizant of the ongoing news stories once more at around seven in the morning, when most of the news were once again being repeated.  It is also at this point that I gave up on staying in bed and started planning on what to do next.

I left the house at about nine on this Wednesday.  I did not have an appetite for anything, and so just left the house, not even having taken a sip of water.  Accompanied by the junior runner, we walked the 1.7km road that is under construction to the main Dagoretti road.  I registered one of personal worst times in this walk, where I would usually average 10min per km, and registered a pathetic 15min per km.  My steps ached and I was even glad that I had made it to the main road in one piece.  

This stretch of road under construction remained an eyesore.  It has been under construction since February, only to be abandoned from April to early June due to the unrelenting rains.  We had suffered the mud and impassibility of that road in all that period.  The road construction crew was now back and were layering it up with yet another level of soil, but we were not holding our breaths on this road being completed any time soon, dust and mud notwithstanding.

We got a matatu at Jambu stage, where Thigi Thigi junction butchery is located.  The very TT junction that would later entice us with intense incense of roast meat, but even then, I would not feel anything due to my lost appetite, but back to the present, I was eagerly waiting for a matatu.  We soon got in and started the drive.  Hardly two hundred metres on and the matatu came to a screech as the makanga hit the side panel loudly to beckon the driver to stop.  We stopped smack in the middle of the road as the makanga jumped out of the still moving matatu.  A lorry that was just approaching from behind hooted deafeningly as it overtook us, the force of its motion almost shaking the matatu.  The matatu then started reversing fast, but not for long….

“Wowi, Ngai!,” we heard a scream from outside as the matatu came to an abrupt stop and we heard a bang.

We were a bit confused as to what was happening.  We peered around in all directions, trying to discern what could be going on.  We could see some woman somewhere in front of the vehicle, besides the road, exclaiming while kind of closing her mouth, a gesture of fear and danger.  It took us time to figure out what was going on.

“Unakanyaga conductor?,” the woman approached the matatu, even as the once-upon-a-time makanga emerged from somewhere behind the matatu, trying to walk straight.

The woman got into the matatu and went straight to give the driver a piece of her mind, “Yani dereva, wewe unaweza tu gonga conductor?,” then she turned back to face the conductor, who was now back to the door, just about to close it, “Umeumia?”

The makanga just shrugged off the conversation and gestured an OK to the driver and soon we were zooming off towards Gichuru Secondary School.  The makanga would eventually disembark at Gikambura with a slight limp, even as the driver handed back the matatu to the driver, and the makanga handed back the reins to the makanga.  It seemed like we were operating with a bonoko driver and a bonoko makanga, but that is our life.  We did not have time to even digest the going-ons before we were forced to sit four people on every row of seats, instead of the usual three.  That is the norm on this route and the only surprise was that I was surprised that this was happening even off the rush hour of the morning and evening.

We made another slow walk from Kikuyu stage to Aga Khan clinic somewhere within Kikuyu town.  I got my token number and awaited my turn to be attended to.  My head was still aching and I was by now shivering like a leaf.  I was finally called for registration then to the triage about thirty minutes later.  The thermometer must have lit red, since the nurse ushered me immediately to the chemist to get a 500mg paracetamol tablet, the one that is dissolves in water.  I dissolved it and let it fizzle out to completion in about five minutes.  I took the saline solution.  It tasted bad, but I drained it all.  It seemed to work, since some ten minutes later, and I was now feeling the expected room temperatures and even managed to remove my two layers of jacket.

It would be another hour before I could face the doc, another thirty minutes before I would get the bloodworks for the initial tests, and yet another hour before I was to get another plebo encounter for a malaria test.

Remember that Thigi Thigi story?  I would once again be back to this junction alighting from a matatu from Kikuyu at around two in the afternoon.  The whiff of nyama choma was by this time blanketing the whole road junction, but unfortunately, I felt nothing of it.  By this time I had regained my step and was feeling generally good, though I still felt the headache, but the joint pains had subsided significantly.  I was also holding a 2-day sick off sheet at hand and was eagerly waiting to get home so that I could take a nap, having missed a whole night sleep the night before.  

The feeling last night was worse than the feeling I had as I did one of my worst runs a few days ago, on July 1.  On that day I almost did not finish the 24km run, due to how my body had almost given up on me.  I however, soldered on and did a 5min 44sec average, recording one of my worst times in the history of the distance, but just glad to have lived to tell the tale.  I have not had a run since.  Coincidentally, that run was supposed to be the monthly run, aka June international marathon, that I was forced to do in July, since June was full of demos and uncertainties.

“They did not give you any medicine?,” the junior runner would finally ask when we got home, when she realized that I had nothing to show for my trip to Aga Khan.

“Nothing was found, not even malaria.  The doc told me to take a rest and have a review on Friday.”

She was as just as perplexed as I was, having witnessed my suffering for the last eight hours.  I had to chip into the mystery as were of reassuring her that all was fine.

 “Remember that Monday rain?  The one that I told you about?”

“Yes, I remember.  You got home soaked wet”

“Yes, that one.  That was the source of all my problems!”

And, who can forget that Monday rain?  The one that rained just as I disembarked from the bus after duty.  I had been rained on like never before in my life!  The subsequent evening travel from Thogoto to Jambu on that day had been misery, as I survived a fully packed matatu, four people per row, all mostly shivering in soaked clothes as it continued to rain outside.  I did not know that it would come to this.  Come to nothing!  Not even a tablet!

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, July 19, 2024

The May international in June – when the pain is delayed

The May international in June – when the pain is delayed

The pain would come in two days later.  I had thought that the worst was gone, but how wrong could I be?  I could hardly wake up this Friday, two days after the run.  My legs were hurting, especially round the knees.  I knew that it was that Wednesday run.

On that Wednesday, two days ago, I had started my run at 12.30pm on the dot.  The weather was great, with just the right intensity of sun.  The air was, however, a bit still.  I would have preferred some windiness.  There was no breeze, but it was a bit cool.  The sun was still suffering from the defeat of the long months of rain that persisted most of April and May.  School reopening date even had to be postponed by a week due to these selfsame rains that had rendered the country mostly flooded.  The rain clouds had now generally retreated and left a dry spell that had lasted for over one week.  The last real rain must have been at the end of May.  The sun has since been progressively trying to shine back to its glory while the rain clouds subside.

This lunch hour was no different.  The clouds were still trying to stop the sun rays at intervals as I started the run.  The run started well and I already had an idea of the run distant.  I was cognizant that I had missed the May marathon that was to be held on May 31.  I was however on a bus for the long 8-hour trip to Western Kenya on that marathon Friday.  I had for a moment thought that I would skip the May marathon after that miss.  However, I was sticking to the marathoners motto of ‘running is a must’, and here I was, finding myself doing a compensatory marathon on this twelfth day of the month.

“If you want me to cancel a run, then ensure that we do not cross the gate,” I have been telling my folks, and that saying remained true on this day.

I started feeling a pain on my right wheel as I started the run, hardly before reaching the exit gate.  This was just after a short warmup run of 4kms.

“Let me just push it to Kabete Poly and see how it goes,” I lied to myself as I exited the gate.  

I knew that an exit through that gate meant that I was going for the full run – come rain, come shine; come pain, come relief!  But do not take my word for it.  It was just last month during a similar compensatory run that I was rained on most of the way, and I still survived.  Sanity could have called for a dropping off, but the spirit of ‘running-is-must’ could however hear none of that.

The leg pain persisted to the 7km mark at Ndumboini market.  From there on I got some relief as I went downhill towards Wangari Maathai institute down onto Kapenguria road all the way to the river.  I would then take the 1km uphill on the same road to join Lower Kabete road five minutes later.  The sun was still overhead.  The air was still still.

I turned right towards UON Lower Kabete campus, and kept going.  The road was generally deserted of walkers, though the vehicular traffic of occasional matatus and mostly private vehicles traversed the road at intervals.  I approached two cops armed with Kalashnikovs just before the campus, also walking on the sidewalk heading the same direction.  

I thud my feet loudly as I approached their backs to alert them of my approach.  I did not want an incident where they pretend to have been run-towards and had to ‘do something’ in self-defense.  They both momentarily turn back as I get within range and soon after, overtake them.  I benefit from their “anakimbia na hii jua” comment.  I am happy that the complement is a bit mild this time round.  I have heard worse description of runners before, let me just leave it at that.

I keep going.  I meet a crowd of people around the campus.  I am running on the opposite edge of the road next to the campus compound, but even on this opposite sidewalk I do encounter people who look and behave like college students.  If it looks and behaves like one, then it is one!  But trust me, I know, have been there.  Same uni, different campus.  

Who else can display the following behaviours, if not the students?  To start with, I approach a group of three guys all of whom are walking all across the narrow one metre wide footpath.  And, do you expect them to give way?  No way!  They force me to leave the sidewalk and get around them through the rough grass patch between the tarmac and the sidewalk.  I feel like being angry, even uttering a curse, but I force myself not to.  It is the age.  

Soon thereafter I encounter another group of about five.  By this time the campus gate is just on the other side of the main tarmac.  These five are chattering and laughing loudly and animatedly.  They have no care in the world.  The world is theirs.  They almost remind me of that, and I guess are ready to tell me to ‘runner bow down’.  They even give me the benefit of a story about what they did over the weekend.  It is more of who did what to who, but I do get to listen to the eventualities, since my footsteps are already retreated.

I soon pass by that hullabaloo of the campus gate area and keep going towards Kenya School of Government, and soon out onto the leafy surburbs of Lower Kabete with hardly any walkers around.  I keep going.  The run is now imbedded into my system and I have reached cruising level.  I am just going through the motions in this quiet environment.  

I pass by the Farasi group of roads, one after another, that is, Farasi road, Farasi close and Farasi lane.  It is a relief when I finally get to Ngecha road junction just next to Zen gardens.  I check on the tower clock at the junction.  It is now 1.40pm.  I know that I have another kilometre or so, before I do the U-turn.  I keep going on the Lower Kabete road and then divert to Spring Valley road for the short run to the U-turn point above the Red Hill road.

It is a welcome relief to do that U.  The run is now at least halfway done.  I now just need to survive the run back.  I am still energetic and rearing to go.  The weather has remained good so far.  My good fortunes however come to an end when I am back to Lower Kabete road and now have to do an uphill run all the way to UON campus.  That is a whole 5km of uphill.  I persevere and persist.  I am, however, getting tired and I can feel it.  I wish for a sip of water, though I have none.  I wish for a shot of coke or a bite of a melon, but those are just wishes on this Wednesday.  I almost start losing my senses as I pass the campus heading back towards Kapenguria road.

One thing you learn as a marathoner is to learn to listen to your body and know when it can easily give up on you.  This giving up is sometimes called ‘hitting the wall’.  I start imagining that I may hit the wall.  My situation is just due to the dehydration.  I had underestimated the effects of the heat of the sun.  It seems to have been sucking the energy and fluids from me for over two hours now.  I am also losing my sense of perception.  

I know that I shall soon be on free fall if I do not do something about the situation.  I deliberately switch the phone that has my timer, from hand to hand in short intervals, just to keep my senses engaged.  That action, after about ten reps, brings me back to reality just as I reach the river in readiness for the 2km uphill run to Ndumbo.  I almost give up when imagining that Wangari Maathai hill, but I also envisage the relief from the cool orange juice in my fridge and keep running as I look forward to how it shall bring me back to life in another 20 or so minutes – if I make it.

And making it I do, when I finish that devastating hill and now has only the short run along Waiyaki way, then past Kabete Poli(ce) then Kabete Poly(tech) and soon to the finish line.

“Leo kweli uliwezwa,” the sentries welcome me back laughingly as they open the gate as I head to the finish line.

I am too tired to even respond in affirmation.  I do not even know how I get the energy to wave back in resignation.  I soon thereafter reach the finish line and collapse on my seat wondering, “Why do we even run!”.

That question is soon answered when I access that cold juice after a shower.  I am rejuvenated and my body feels different.  I cannot describe this exactly, but it is some form of jumpiness.  A mixture of tiredness and satisfaction.  Just the feeling of a run.  No, we do not run for the 27.25km distance of this Wednesday done in 2:31:10.  That would be bad motivation and we would not even want to be on the sun for that long.  There must be another reason why we run.  Maybe we just wait and find out about the real reason when we do the next monthly international marathon on the last Friday of June.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, June 14, 2024

Running in installments during the April International Marathon

Running in installments during the April International Marathon

I left for this run not very sure of my run route.  One thing was for sure – I needed to register at least 10.5km on this Tuesday, so that I can wrap it up with another 10.5km the next day to make the 21km half marathon.  This came to be since the MOE* allowed the April international marathon to be run in two installments, equal or unequal, but installment run was allowed for the first time in the history of the event.  This exemption came about due to the severity of the ongoing rains.  It had been raining daily and at all times, that getting a run time window, let alone a long run time, was virtually impossible.  Breaking the marathon into two offered a real possibility to be out for a shorter time, and still achieve the longer run.

*MOE - marathoners of expert, the committee that plans our runs

I left at 12.35pm on this Tuesday.  I knew that I had at least 10.5km to do in this day 1, with a repeat the next day, if this was to be so.  Those of you who have done daily runs know that it is not an easy thing.  I was already dreading the mere thought of doing two consecutive runs.  And do not take my word for it.  I tried doing the 5-runs-in-5-days just two weeks ago and failed for the first time in the history of these challenges.  I could only make it for three-runs on Monday, Tuesday and Friday.  I skipped two consecutive runs on 17th and 18th – but with good reason.  I was booked for an internal meeting on one of the days, and external on the other day – both at the lunch hour run time.  But even the three were not easy on my legs.

The monthly April international marathon was scheduled for the last Friday of April, being April 26.  But it was a month of firsts, since for the first time in the history of the monthly international runs, we had to cancel the marathon due to the unrelenting rains, that were especially prevalent in the evenings.  We were all happy with the cancellations, glad that finally the MOE had given us a break.  We even went for the rainy weekend in high spirits.  A first month without a marathon.  We were looking forward to a new week with the schools back in session and a new month beckoning soon after, where May 1, a Wednesday, would be a holiday break.  What a great week ahead!

That was not to be.  Things took a turn on Sunday night.  It was just past midnight, repeat, midnight, when the national government announced that schools were not to reopen due to the effects of the rain.  They granted one week extension to the school holidays.  I came to learn about this later in the day, Monday, after I saw comments online about the chaotic situation on our roads and schools, with some students already travelled to school since they were not aware of the postponement.

There were to be new surprises, when later in the day the MOE sent a notification that the April marathon had after all not been cancelled.  It has just been postponed and would in fact be held in that week of April 29.  They sweetened the deal by indicating that the run would be done in installments over the two-day period that was remaining in the month of April.  Runners were encouraged to pick their run distance, divide it into two, and do the first bit of the run on the Monday, with a commitment to finalize the remaining bit the next day.

I have never faced an installment run before, where the distance is split into two.  That is why I was not very sure of the run route as I left for the Monday run on April 29.  A 10.5km is a direct run from Uthiru to Lower Kabete road through Kapenguria road and back.  However, that is only possible if the river just after Wangari Maathai institute is not flooded.  It has been flooded of later, and was impassible hardly ten days prior, when flood waters overwhelmed the support structures and filled up the whole valley including the road passage on top of the drainage culverts underneath.

My plan A was to get through to Lower Kabete road, and get as much distance as possible on day one, maybe even stretch it to 15k, then wrap up the balance 6k on day 2.  That depended on the river section not being flooded to enable me cross over.  If it was, then anything goes, and this has in fact happened before and not long ago.  

Take that April 12 run as an example.  I had encountered exactly this challenge.  I was set for a long undefined distance run, that was to at least get to Lower Kabete road.  It was not to be.  I reached that river crossing and found it flooded.  I saw some people wadding through the completely submerged tarmac road, dirty brown water reaching almost knee high as they struggled through the five or so metre crossing.

I had screeched to a halt.

“Oh emm gee!,” I shouted subconsciously.  

I found other stranded people contemplating whether to cross or stay put.

I stopped and assessed the situation.  I could see a flooded plain on the left side of the road.  The flood waters had formed a big lake on the once lush green agricultural land that had some banana stems, maize plants, and arrow roots.  They were all mostly submerged.  Only the upper half of the banana stems were visible.  The flood had thereafter formed a river on top of the tarmac road, as it flooded towards the left edge of the road, all across to the right side and onto a valley.

This stoppage interrupted my run rhythm on a day that I was having one of the best run paces in the year.  I was already at an average of 4.40min per km, which was quite something.  I am usually over 5min per km by this point on the run.  I had to go to plan B.  I made a U-turn and decided to tweak my way back.  

Running back the Kapenguria road hill early in the run was not fun, when my last 2km had been a smooth downhill.  I persevered and reached Ndumboini.  I then turned right and went to a run on Kanyariri road all the way to the Northern by-pass near Gitaru and back, registering a 25k in the process.  That was 17-days before this Monday run.  I was not planning for another U-turn at the river, but with the rains being as unrelenting as they have been, this dreaded U-turn and a new plan B was still a reality.

Back to this Monday run.  The weather was quite good, being just a bit sunny but with a cloud cover that was preventing the sun from its aggression.  I was to get to Lower Kabete road first, then decide on what to do next.  The aim was a 10.5km, the ambition as a 15km, the reality was yet to be determined.  All was well until I got to Ndumboini and did a loop towards UON Upper Kabete gate.  I was just turning back from the gate when I heard something like a drumming or a humming noise.  I had already met a big group of students, and thought that maybe there was a congregation of sort making these noises on this apparent opening day.

A careful listening and a reaction from the student crowd would soon give me the answer.  There was a rain approaching from Ndumboini stage coming towards the University gate.  That was the drumming that I had heard.  I would soon see the crowd of students, whom I had earlier run against, scamper in two directions.  One group ran towards the shopping centre where the rain was coming from.  The other group were now running back towards me, intending to shelter back at the Uni.  I was running away from the gate to rejoin Kapenguria road.  However, I was now not sure what to do – either turn back to the Uni gate and take shelter or run ahead to the shopping centre and take shelter.

There was no time to even think, since I would soon be hit by those cold outburst of a heavy rain that seemed to have come from nowhere.

“This is messed,” I said loudly, as I kept running, completely unsure of what to do.

“Why did I even decide to run today?,” I questioned loudly, “When everybody else is enjoying their lunch!?”

The waters were just too cold and I was already soaked wet by the time I got to Kapenguria road still in indecision.  

“What a day!,” I muttered, as I got to Kapenguria road, already soaked.  It is only the running shoes that were still pretending to be dry, but that would not last long with this intensity of rain.

“This is messed,” I found myself repeating.

Anyway, I was already rained on, and taking a shelter was not going to help me at this condition.  I therefore saw myself turn right and run down Kapenguria road toward Wangari Maathai institute.  Visibility was quite low with the heavy rain.  I kept going, muttering curses as I went along.  I soon got to the river crossing, the one that was uncrossable just two weeks prior.  

I found a big group of workers, struggling to take shelter on the trees next to the riverbank.  The rain was subsiding.  The workers seemed to be doing something on that river crossing, since I could observe a big pile of stones beside the road.  I guessed that they wanted to deal with the drainage issue.

The river waters had not yet risen to the level of the road.  The muddy waters were still forcefully permeating through the culverts below the road.  I could hear the rumble of the force of the pressure as the waters emerged on the right side of the road.  It would just be a matter of time before the waters overwhelm the culverts and start spilling onto the top of the road.  However, the road was clear and crossable for now.  

I decided to cross over and keep running towards Lower Kabete road.  I already knew that it would take just another 1 hour of rains and the return journey would surely come to an end on this river crossing since it would surely be a submerged road.  The rains had reduced by this time as I crossed over, and I therefore hoped that I would have the opportunity to cross back when without being stuck when I came back at some point.

I reached Lower Kabete road with my clothes dripping water.  It was still raining, though it seemed to subside.  I decided to turn right, instead of doing a return U-turn.  That now meant that I was going for the big 21, since once you make that right turn, there is usually no turning back until you get to the natural turning point at Red hill road.  I kept running, and by some bad coincidence, it started raining and it kept raining.  I cursed along, wondering why I kept going instead of turning back when I got to Lower Kabete road.  

Anyway, I kept going and decided that I would have to turn back soon.  I could not survive running in the rain.  I promised myself to do a U-turn as early as Farasi lane, but that did not happen.  It rained and I kept running.  I promised to do a U-turn at Ngecha road, but I crossed and kept going.  The rain continued.  I was to do a U at Zen gardens, but I did not, I kept going.  That meant that I surely reached Red Hill road and finally did the U-turn for my way back.

To my credit, it did shine for about 1 minute while going past Zen garden on my way back, and another one-minute of sun at Kenya School of Government, just before UON Lower Kabete campus.  After that, it was back to some drizzles as I tackled the Kapenguria road on my way back.  I was lucky that the river was not yet swollen as I crossed over.  The group of workers was still there, with their building stones piled up on one side of the road.  

There was no rain as I finished the run just before 3pm.  If anything, it seemed like it would even shine if the clouds could delay their advances in covering the sun.  A hot shower finally ended my misery on this Monday, as the timer recorded a 2:21:36 for 26.53km.  Would I do this again?  Of course not!  Running in the rain is a bad idea.  I should have done a U-turn at that first sign of rain at Ndumboini and saved myself from this misery, but then again, runners have a mind of their own – or lack of.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, May 3, 2024 

One week that I would like to forget

One week that I would like to forget

If there is ever a challenge that I usually dread, then that challenge can only be the 5-runs-in-5-days challenge.  The organizers, MOE*, make it sound and feel like a simple 5-in-5, but the real run is in the details.  The intention is to ‘simply’ do one run every day, Monday to Friday, during the designated week.  The designated week for the February 5-in-5 was the week of Feb. 12.  The MOE makes the run sweeter by keeping it open and to the discretion of the runner, hence virtually no rules  – any run, any distance, any time, provided it is within those five days.
*MOE – marathoners of expert

Day 1
Monday, Feb. 12 was another hot day.  I am not used to the overhead sun that seems to stay overhead the whole day.  It burns the bald like hell and it does not relent.  However, this was day 1 and I was just from my two-day weekend rest.  I assumed that I had cheated the sun by going for the run in the evening, leaving at 4.40pm, but I was in for a surprise.  The sun was still hot and burning.  The sun this year has somehow increased its burn-rate.  It hits the skin and penetrates to the dermis then straight to the blood stream.  When that happens, you start by getting lethargic and soon thirsty and dehydration sets in hardly five minutes into the run.

I had intended to do a half marathon on day 1, then do short 5ks for the rest of the days.  However, that sun on day 1 put a halt on that plan.  I was not going to do any run more than an hour in this furnace.  I decided to settle on a short 10k run, which would mean running from Uthiru, through Kapenguiria road, to Lower Kabete tarmac junction and back.  It is the usual IKM 10k route.  I left at 4.40pm and survived the sun.  I was energetic on this first day and the run was quite enjoyable even as I finished the run at 5.50pm.  I had missed out on a record by doing 5.01min/km – that 01!?  Anyway, the 14.3k was a good day 1 run.  I did not think much about the other runs.  If day 1 was this good, then there should be nothing to it.


Day 2
I woke up with some pain on my right leg.  That very leg that almost messed up my Stanchart marathon last October.  I thought nothing much of it, apart from that maybe it was a result of that 2.5km hill from the river to Waiyaki way that is dreaded by all runners on that Kapenguria road.  It should subside, I thought of this pain.  I went on with my events for the day, skipping another temptation to run at the lunch hour, and deciding to do another evening run.

I wanted to ease the pain on my leg and hence decided to do the IKM ‘inner circle’ merry-go-round run.  This is a round-and-round run over the 1.3km circuit on the tarmac of the work compound.  It starts with a 400m of hill then a short flat section, then another 400m of downhill, then another flat section.  The route therefore keeps alternating between up and down on every circuit and it is a real test of endurance.  The sun remained hot, but running was still a must.  Twelve go-arounds resulted into a 16.2km run in 4.57min/km average.  I had finally broken the 5 barrier.  I was elated, but just briefly, since I was already limping by the time I hit the showers, and struggled home with the pain on the right leg.


Day 3
It was Valentine’s day.  For the first time in like forever I did not visibly see any roses anywhere within the staff desks.  The colour red did not seem to manifest much.  I would later see some ladies take some pics with a bouquet of flowers near the auditorium.  It was one big bunch being passed around the group of three, each taking a photo-op with it.  It did not register much, though I thought it was a bit funny.

I had already decide that I would do an evening run.  I would not risk the mid-day burn.  However, my leg was paining so badly that I was walking with a slight limp.
“This 5-in-5 is a bad idea,” I muttered subconsciously as I headed to the safety office to get some ointment.  I had already checked on all the first aid boxes on my way, and everything was in those boxes, apart from the ointment.

I was starting to doubt whether I would manage a third run, but I was still doing everything ‘by faith’ at this point in time.  I got to the safety office when the bus was just about to leave at 4.30pm.
“Sorry, deep heat is the only thing that you cannot get,” they told me.
“So, what can I get?”
“Anything else”
“But nothing else can help me at this point in time?”
“Blame the forces that take it from the boxes, I can swear that we usually refill”

Anyway, I managed to get one small tube after more search with their assistance.  That gel brought some relief and I was ready to hit the road by 4.40pm.  I wanted to go out there and face that Wangari Mathai hill once again.  But that was not to be….
“NCA are looking for you,” the person on the other side of the phone told me.
“Can it wait?, I was just preparing for an important evening run!”
“No, can’t wait, hawa watu wanataka kutu-arrest”

This was too sudden and unexpected.  What arrest?  What NCA?  What the hech is going on?  I did not even have time to say yes, before I heard a strange voice on the other side of the line.
“I am from NCA, I am arresting your fundi,” the strange tone on the other side said.
“But who are you?, why are you arresting my worker?,” I asked, not sure of what I should ask.
“I am from NCA, and we are inspecting your site, and your foreman has no papers?”
“But why are you on site, I mean, this is an internal renovation!,” I was almost losing it.

Why would there be someone called NCA, in a site where he is not invited, doing inspection that he was not called for, arresting a worker whom he did not have a warrant for and calling me, when I am supposed to be going for an important run.  It would take me a lot of phone time, including a disconnection and reconnection, to just tell the guy on the other side that internal works need no permit.  Of course, by then he had demanded to see architectural plans, approved council plans, environmental impact assessment approvals, utilities approval, and that my worker was under arrest for not having an NCA registration certificate, valid, he added.

I went for my Wednesday run at five, completely drained of physical and mental energy, made worse by the last twenty minutes of this evening.  Can you believe that that NCA guy wanted 20k for not seeing the plans and another 10k for my worker who had an NCA 2023 registration instead of a 2024?  I was already many k broke by the time I went for this run of few k!

Based on the late start of run on this date, I decided to do another merry-go-round-run within the compound.  However, my adrenaline was so shot up that I could not manage any better time in those 12 rounds.  I was still happy with my average of 5.17min/km over those 16.33k.  I was a zombie all through, just going through the motions of the run.  I did not even feel any pain on the leg, until I finally took a shower and took a rest around seven, when I started feeling the pain.  That ointment that I had applied earlier seemed to have waned.  I re-ointmented the back of my right leg and walked home.  What a third run day!


Day 4
I was to go to hospital for a scheduled medical check on this Thursday.  I had planned to wake up at seven, then start my 3km walk to the Mountain View clinic.  I had set the alarm for seven, and that is when the phone also came on.  I had hardly checked on incoming messages when I saw a call, with True Caller app indicating that the called was NCA office.  I ignored it.  I prepared to leave and just about 7.30am as I left the house, a second phone call came in.  This did not need True Caller app since I had already saved it as ’the NCA person’.  I ignored it and walked the distance to the clinic.  It did not take long thereafter to see an incoming text.  It was from ‘the NCA person’.  The text was straight to the point “Gari yangu imekwama, nisave na 2thao, nitashukuru”.

I was already having a medical issue to deal with and now this?  I ignored the text and went on with my mission to the medical facility.  I even complained to the doc about aching right leg and got another brand of ointment.  I walked back the three kilometres to the workplace with every step increasing the pain on the back of my right leg, specifically just behind and above the back of the knee.  Folding my leg was becoming a pain in the leg, but I persisted.  I was surely not going to do any more runs.  I was done.  The challenge was good while it lasted, but this was not for me, not at the expense of my leg health.

I was thinking of what I would do when I leave work early on that Thursday, maybe even apply that new ointment by five, then maybe go to bed early.  It is at exactly that moment, around three, that I saw the email that I did not want to see.  It was another brief one, “Coach, we are on for the run today at 4.30pm, usichelewe kama last time”

I almost cried out loudly!  All runners know that Tuesdays and Thursdays is usually a students’ run day, where they book the coach and go for a run.  There is no caveat to the rule, and so I was now suffering from the strictness of my own rules.  Anyway, a students’ run day is not full of run, and hence I was confident that I would somehow make it through those slow runs and walks.

As I prepared to leave with the two trainee runners, I did not know that they had another taste of my own medicine planned.
“Coach, remember today you are taking us to the tarmac for the ten k.  We are not ready, but we shall try”
I had hoped that they shall forget about this 10k debut, and we would stick to the proven 8k route, but I had promised that we were to take this run a notch higher on this day.  I wish that I had not promised this 10k on this day, especially when my leg was hardly movable.  I did not say nothing, I went along, and we did our runs and walks and somehow made it to the Lower Kabete tarmac junction and back.  They registered 10k, I registered 12.15km in 2.10.42.  We had finally broken the 10k barrier with the trainees and it was quite a fete.


Day 5
The new ointment seemed to have worked, since I woke up on Friday with hardly any pain on my leg.  My knee was folding well, and I was not in any discomfort.  I had already done the four runs for the week’s challenge.  The last one run was not going to evade me, even an evening appointment, at the time when I should have been running, could not cancel this run.  I decided to do a lunch hour run and wrap this up.  Using the same route of Monday, I ran to Lower Kabete road junction via Kapenguria road and back.  I left at 12.37pm and was back 1.21.36 later over that 15.25km distance.

Finished.  Done.

Whether I look forward to such a challenge, definitely no!  Whether I shall do this again, not sure, but it sounds too tempting to forego.  

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Sunday, Feb. 18, 2024

December international that was mean!

December international that was mean!

While the November international marathon went largely without a hitch, the December one was different.  It was done on the same route, but it got to me bad!  Blame it on the new route that came into the works during the October international marathon.  This new route takes you from Uthiru towards Ndumboini, and then down Kapenguria road, past Wangari Maathai institute all the way to Lower Kabete road.  

The usual runs, before October, would then direct me to the left to head towards Mary Leakey school to eventually join Kanyariri road, to then run along that tarmac to some turning point on the Northern bypass for a U-turn back to Ndumboini and eventually back to the starting line.  This December run, for the third time in as many months, would instead require a right turn as you join Lower Kabete road.  Then the run goes along Lower Kabete road all the way just past Zen gardens, then a U-turn back to the starting line.

This new route may sound simple, but it is not.  It has turned out to be one of the meanest routes that I have ever ran on.  I was initiated in October, did a second run in November, and hoped to nail it in December, but it was not to be.  The October debut was a struggle, as I got to learn the route.  The November run was more of a confirmation that this run could be modelled into the ‘new normal’.  December was to confirm that this route could be conquered and officially unveiled to the rest of the runners as the new route.

The November run, held on the twenty-fourth, was more of a memorial, and I would like to forget it in a hurry.  I even did not blog about it!  I left for that run on that Friday at lunch hour, instead of the usual evening run time.  It had been raining like crazy in that month, as blamed on the El Nino weather phenomenon (for those who do not know better), but the real culprit was climate change (who those who know better).  

In that month of November, it was raining daily, every time, every hour.  We occasionally had a few hours of no rains, and it is during such hours that we had to squeeze in the runs.  Friday lunch time was one such time slots.  The weather was good, and I just left and went for the run, not thinking much about it.  I went through the motions and finished the run at about 2.45pm after 2:16:02 on the road on that 25.25km distance.  My average of 5:23min per km was good enough.

I had largely switched off during that run.  I was still in deep thought over the events that had taken place that Friday.  Just a few hours ago, we had all assembled at the main hall.  The mood was somber, if anything, tearful.  I have never been in such a quiet meeting.  You could hear a pin drop.  There was no cheering, no clapping, no applause, no whispering, in fact, you even felt out of place to just think of clearing your throat.  The memorial service had started at ten.  The departed colleague had succumbed to breast cancer.  She was just a mother of one young child.  The service ended at 12.30pm.  I was downcast.  I could not have gone for the scheduled run that evening, I was feeling drained.  I decided to just go for the run after that service.  I was mostly robotic in my motions that day.  I was in Karatina one week later for Evalyne’s sendoff.

It is therefore the December marathon that was the run to confirm that the new route was a candidate for the new marathon route.  The MOE*, cognizant that December was a short month, had scheduled the Dec run on the second Friday of December, instead of the usual last Friday of the month.  Bad coincidentally, this last Friday would see me attending the last day of a three-day first aid training course.  This Friday was the last day that had the practical and theory exams that determined those who finally got through to be certified as first aiders for the next one year.  I could not make it for the run that should have started at four, when the exams were ending at four-thirty.
*MOE – marathoners of expert, the committee that organizes our runs

The December international marathon would finally come knocking on my door on Monday, December 11, 2023.  I did not feel ready.  I just did the run because it was a run day, and was also probably my last work day in the year.  I was scheduled to leave the city on or after the holiday of the next day.  In fact, this initial plan of starting the holiday the next day was put to the test just a week prior, when it became clear that I would have to miss the staff party on that Friday if I was to leave early.  I therefore had to extend my workdays by another three days after the run due to this last minute change.  Nonetheless, this was not going to change the date of the run.  The run was on.

December had also started with those daily rains, day and night, anytime, every time.  They kept being unpredictable.  Running continued to be timed whenever the weather permitted, instead of by schedule.  Finally, it was run day.  The sun was bright on that Monday at noon.  I was not taking any chances.  I found myself in the changing room and was out for the run at 12.35pm.  I had been on this route two previous times.  I should have been a walk in the park, but this was no walk.  It was a real run.  A real international marathon, where athletes are made… and crashed!  A run that you fail to take seriously at your own peril.  A run can dent your records… forever.  It is a run not to take lightly.

It was a good run, all the way to the U-turn on Lower Kabete road just past Zen gardens.  I even extended my run slightly to the Red Hill road underpass, where I did the new U-turn.  I was momentarily back to Lower Kabete road to run its length past Kenya School of Government, and the UON Lower Kabete campus.  And it is that section on Lower Kabete road that did the most damage to my run on that day.  The section was just hilly without a break.  It went on and on and on, every leg step being more tired than the previous.  It was a stretch of road section to forget.  I laboured on and managed to finally get to Kapenguria road.

However, the turning left from Lower Kabete road into Kapenguria road only offered a short seven minutes relief, as I went slightly downhill.  It was soon time to face the infamous 2km Kapenguria road hill.  The usual marathon routes have been crafted to avoid this particular encounter.  The new route unleashes this selfsame uphill in an equal measure, just when you are already tired after the long hilly section of the Lower Kabete road.

I was already deep in the run, with 19km already conquered, in just under 100 minutes.  Whatever was remaining had to be done.  What else was I to do?  Give up on the run?  Drop out!  Cry out loud!  That last one I actually did do.
“For crying out loud,” I cried out loud, when I reached Wangari Maathai institute where the next hill towards Ndumboini looks at you with a dare.  
With no choice, other than that crying out loud, I ran on and kept going.  I ignored the road repair crew who had reduced the road to a single lane for all traffic, and just kept pushing the legs uphill.

It was a relief getting to Ndumboini.  From there I knew that nothing, repeat, nothing, was standing on my way to the finish line.  And twenty minutes later, I finished my run at 2.50pm, after 2hr 22min and 54sec on the road.  My average speed had gone down to 5:27min per km.  I was happy that I was still standing after this run – another monthly run in the bag, oh, the last monthly run of 2023.  Lessons learnt from these twelve monthly marathons in 2023 – running is not easily, find a recurrent run event that keeps you on the road to force you into a routine, and finally, celebrate your run achievement every time, whatever it is.  You are doing better than you imagine.  Merry Christmas!

WWB, the coach, Eldoret, Kenya, Dec. 22, 2023

Running half naked – when running is a must

Running half naked – when running is a must

If there ever was a decision that I made just in the nick of time that turned out to be ‘healthy’, then today’s decision would be that.  Before this decision, the morning had generally been calm.  It promised to be a good day, even sunny if anything.  However, I knew that my troubles had started the day with me the moment I finished that cup of coffee with accompaniments at about eight-thirty in the morning.  It did not even take me thirty minutes to start being nauseated.  I could hardly settle down by ten, when I almost started drooling and made several trips to the washroom to clear my mouth.  It is then that I made the decision to take the day off and walked home.

That twelve minute walk seems like forever.  I finally reached home and virtually crashed the door down since my mouth was already filling up.  I went straight to the washroom where I threw up violently, almost suffocating from the continued outrush through my mouth.
“The hech,” I said loudly to the quiet house, trying to regain my breath.  Things had escalated quickly.
If I had delayed my walk home by even a second then many bad things could have happened either at the office or along the way.

I did many more spits and regurgitation in a span of thirty minutes while making the endless trips from the living room to the toilet.
“This is worse than I thought,” I thought loudly.
I was ready to get a vehicle to a medical centre.  I could not continue this way.  Any more outpouring and I was surely outa here.

My first aid training pointed to only one thing that could manifest and progress this fast – food poisoning.  There is something that I had got straight from fridge-to-mouth, and that accompaniment is what was the likely culprit.  This f-t-m was a shortcut that I now regretted.  I would normally have passed my fridged stuff to the microwave first, but not today.  I wanted to have a hot-and-cold, and now I was in for a bitter mouth and bile in the mouth.  I finally took some hot water, with the first round f the water triggering another outpouring from my belly, before my situation stabilized when I decided to take a nap in a seating position, empty pail next to the bed, just in case.


I was however lucky that this attack episode was today, and not yesterday.  Yesterday was a Tuesday.  It was the day that I decided to resume my runs after the Sunday, October 29 Stanchart marathon.  I had intended to have a week of rest after the marathon, but things happened and the break turned out to be two weeks.  I was therefore fairly well rested from that grueling 42k at Stanchart.  The intention for this lunch hour run was to do at least a 10k ‘welcome back’ marathon.

The spirit of running took me on a turn for the worse at Lower Kabete road after Kapenguria road.  I should have done a U-turn at this point and earned myself a comfortable 10k run on this dry lunch hour, the first in a long time.  It has been raining like 24-hours for the last week.  If anything, I should have as an alternative, turned left and done the Mary Leakey route and earned a 13k with no sweat.  Unfortunately, the run spirit directed me to turn right onto Lower Kabete road and head towards UON Lower Kabete campus.
“What are you doing?,” I asked the thing that was now controlling my every step.
“Turn back, you runner!”

There was no turning back.  I kept going.  My steps were strong.  I was energetic.
“Where are you going!  Turn back!,” the thing spoke.
I ignored.  I continued.  I soon passed by UON campus.  I then passed Kenya School of Government and the Post Office.  I kept going.  I at some point passed by Farasi lane school signboard.  I stuck to the sidewalk which was not there the last time I ran on this road, over five years ago.

I did not even know the end game on this lunch hour run.  I was supposed to squeeze all the run of the day to fit within the one lunch-hour hour, but here I was going and going.  The terrain was generally downhill.  I finally reached Ngecha road.  This should surely be a turning point, but no.  The spirit of run persisted.  I soon passed by Zen Gardens.  It brought back some good memories when training events used to be held in that compound… before COVID brought all that to an end.

“Turn back damn it!,” something in me begged.
I ignored it.  I kept going.  Even the walkway crossing the tarmac to the other side of the main road did not force me to turn.  I ignored the walkway and kept to the uneven path besides the road that did not have a walkway and trod on.  At this rate, I would soon be heading to the Redhill road and then Spring Valley Police station.  And of course the Lower Kabete roads terminates at Sarit Centre, and these landmarks were now becoming more real possibilities than before.  However, that would mean that the run would no longer be a lunch hour run, but a full marathon.

Finally, just before the Redhill road, I decided that enough exploration was enough and did a U-turn.  I am not sure what my ambition for this run was, but I told myself that I was exploring this side of Lower Kabete road, where I had hardly run for many year.  The roll down was equally easy on the legs which encouraged me on… but spoke too soon!  I almost came to a standstill when I did the U-turn.  The terrain of the return leg immediately turned out to be an uphill.  The struggle that I faced on those 5km back to the ‘tarmac’ junction to Kapenguria cannot be described on this generally hot lunch hour.

There would only be a short reprieve as I rolled down past Kabete Children home and KAGRI towards the river.  And I mean a really short reprieve, since I would then be facing the infamous Wangari Maathai hill section all the way to Ndumboini upto the Waiyaki way.  I almost collapsed in those 2km of real hill.  By then my once average time of under-5min per km was now thrown out of the run track.  I was likely to end up with an over-6, if this hill was to stretch even by a millimeter.

I soldiered on and managed to reach the finish line through lots of willpower despite my tired legs, stopping my timer at 24.12km in 2.03.44.  I was tired, but not as tired as the Stanchart.  I was not the only one tired at this late time of the lunch hour.  I found another run also taking a breather at the finish line at the Generator.


Josh has been in the marathon team for long.  We are in fact family friends.  I used to visit him sometime before COVID, when he stayed in Kikuyu town.  However, COVID spoilt many things including visiting each other, but I had kept in touch.  I know his family.  His spouse and child both run, and I have met them at some Stanchart events.

“You are still at Kikuyu?,” I asked, as we both sat at an umbrella just outside the Generator house, taking a short rest before we got back to work.
“Nope, niko kwangu huko Ngong’”
“Oh, you setup your own?”
“Sure, for the last two years,” he said, then continued, “You should plan to visit soon.”
“The year is still young.  I will purpose,” I answered, “How is Norah and that young runner of yours”
“Both are OK, lakini Norah hates Ngong’ with a passion!”
“Why so?”
“Wizi ni mob, houses get broken into all the time.”
“I thought you are in an estate with centralized security and all?”
“No, we bought plots and built.  Everyone just stays on their own, though we have neighbours.”

As we continued the chatter, now almost fully rested, he narrated a recent incident.  He was out of the country for duty, with the junior having gone to visit a relative, leaving Norah all alone.  On that fateful night, the bad guys jumped into his compound, which has a perimeter wall, but the wall is not very high.  The wife heard something like a commotion at the chicken coop, with the chicks making noises.  She shouted and raised an alarm.

It was not long before the neighbours woke up in their various compounds and started coming towards the direction of Josh house.  His immediate neighbor who has a domestic worker also heard the noises and sprang to action.  He jumped the separating wall and stumbled onto the thugs.  He noted three characters.  The unexpected confrontation startled the thugs who ran away and jumped hastily through the opposite wall of Josh’s compound, into another compound that is not yet inhabited, and soon disappeared into the dark night.  Quiet was restored for sometime, with the neighbours each talking loudly in their compounds, assuring all that all was well.

Finally, the domestic worker who had done the chase knocked onto Josh’s house.
“Norah, Norah!,” he called out, knocking the door, “Ni mimi, Simon.  Mikora imeenda.  Unaweza fungua mlango sasa.”
Norah finally gathered the courage to open the door, with the reassurance from the chatter in the neighbourhood and with Simon’s knock.
“Nimefukuza hiyo watu, wameenda,” he continued next to the still closed door.

Norah opened the door, relieved, but still shaken.
“Eh, nilikuwa nimeshtuka!  Haki ahsante sana, Simon,” Norah greeted him, door now open.  The dim light of the moonlight aiding in visibility and the light in the house now lit.
“Hiyo mikora ilikuwa tatu, iliruka kwa ukuta kama mashetani,” he described laughingly.
“Phew!  Ahsante!”

What a good ending, I thought.  No one was harmed.  And for sure no one was harmed and nothing was stolen this time round.  Previously, some of their chicken had been stolen in the dead of night by similar or same thugs.

But wait a minute, there is a part that I nearly forgot….

When Norah was now about to say her goodnight, she looked down the frame of Simon to note that he was armed with a slasher, but was also stark naked!
“Simon, eh, kuna endaje?,” she gestured downwards.

Simon seemed perplexed at the question, not sure he understood, before he followed the gesture of Norah's hand.
“Oh, oh, oh,” Simon responded and looked down on himself too, realizing for the first time that he was naked.

He abruptly and unexpectedly dashed off in full flight, without a word, and jumped over the fence to his compound, leaving Norah bewildered and at a loss of words.  She heard a loud thud on the other side of the compound as Simon fell over.  She did not know whether to get back to the house and lock or what was going on exactly.

It did not take long before she heard yet another thud as Simon jumped back to Josh’s compound now dressed up, still recovering her breath.
“Unajua nilikuwa nalala tu hivyo.  Lakini niliposikia nduru, nika amka tu hivyo na mzee nje,” he explained himself, and soon even forgot about the double-jump over his fence, and continued, “Lakini hiyo mikora iliruka ukuta kama mashetani!”

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, November 15, 2023