A tale of two Fridays 1500km apart

A tale of two Fridays 1500km apart

Today I did my Friday run.  It was meant to be a 13k, preferable within the hour.  It neither was a 13k nor was it within the hour.  I failed in both.  I ended up stopping the timer at 17k some 1hr 26min later, tired as a rock.  It is those additional loops within the employer's compound that usually seem to be nothing that must have tricked me.  Those loops can take you upto 10min on one way.  And I know that is where the 2km additional distance per loop must have come from, adding the 4k to my bill.  And the starting loop is hilly!  Hilly I tell you.

Anyway, that is not the essence of today's story.  Though I was running that route through Kapenguria road to Mary Leakey school and Uni farm, I was not quite cognizant of much that was going on around me.  My mind had already wondered to last Friday, seven days ago…..  

On that day, last week, I woke up, rather was forced to wake up at around nine in the morning.  That 'forced' condition was necessary, because I would otherwise miss out of the breakfast bit on this BnB accommodation arrangement.  The prepaid BnB meant that a lost breakfast was surely lost, without any chance of compensation.  You either take it or miss out on it.  There is no middle ground.

There was however nothing much in the name of breakfast at that time of the morning.  All the juice brands were already all gone.  Empty vases stood on the buffet table at a place marked ‘Juices’.  I managed some coffee ‘with milk’, the ‘with milk’ part being necessary, otherwise everything is served without, unless you specify explicitly.  

I also managed an omelette with chili, that did not have any chilies anyway.  I also scooped some firfir.  Firfir being pieces of injera prepared in such a manner as scrambled eggs, tasting as sour as ever, but milder than the real injera roll.  I was however now getting used to injera.  There was nothing else on that purported breakfast buffet.  Maybe it was not much on this Friday, or I was just late for breakfast.  In fact, they started clearing the breakfast things while I was still seated, yet it was hardly nine-thirty.

We had on the previous day already setup a ten o’clock visit to Unity Park at the Addis Ababa city centre.  It was a holiday for the staff over here.  The rules of employment over here gives the staff an extended holiday on Friday or Monday, provided an official holiday fall on a Saturday or Sunday respectively.  So, Maulid holiday was on Saturday, October 8, and so was this Friday a holiday.

Sharon and Rachel were to pick the Kenyan team of Rose and I on this Friday.  I moved from my C48 hostel block room and walked four doors along the corridor towards C44.  I knocked the door as I passed by, beckoning Rose to move towards the parking yard where we were to meet the hosts.

I found Rachel in her car, a white Mazda, left hand driven, as per convention over here.  She was in distress, even as I opened the front door right side seat.

“Imagine Sharon not come and she switch phone off,” she greeted me, not even looking in my direction.

“Hello there yourself.  The day is not as hot,” I responded, ignoring her anguish.

“This girl Sharon!  I no longer her friend.  She let me down.  I not want hear her!”

She continued starring ahead through the windscreen.  She was completely mood less.

Soon Rose would join in and seat just behind me.  We were ready to go.

“Where is Sharon?  Do we wait for her?,” Rose asked.

I answered for Rachel who was not in any more mood to discuss the runaway companion, “Sharon did not make it, and she seems unreachable on phone.  We shall have to go without her.”

We left the hostel block admin office parking lot and drove out, keeping right as we headed toward the B-gate.

“Selamta,” the sentry greeted the car.

“Selam,” Rachel and I responded, almost in unison.  Rose kept quiet.  It was her first time traveling to Ethiopia.  She was still getting used to the language.

We soon joined the main roads and started moving around to unknown roads.  She just drove and drove and drove.  It took us about thirty minutes of driving before we came to a stop.

“We park car here.  We walk to park there,” Rachel instructed, pointing ahead, as we disembarked.

We walked some one hundred or so metres and were soon at Unity Park.  We could see the military personnel guarding the massive gate and generally all around the compound fence.  There was a side entrance that we had to pass through, with the big gate being the exit point.  We bought our tickets at that side entrance.  We had already been prepared for this, with Rachel having already informed us the previous day that we would be charged Birr 1,050 each since we were non-nationals.  I believe that Rachel was entitled to half the fees.  

Rachel collected the 21 red notes from me, and another 21 red ones from Rose, that I had to count for her.  Rachel added the 42 notes to her own money.  She gave the big bundle of notes to the ticket person.  We got a single ticket for three, which Rachel momentarily handed over to another staffer in exchange for temporary paper armbands.  Each of us stretched a hand and the band was affixed to the arm.  The red armband read, “Unity Park - Regular”.  The Ethiopian flag was printed along the length of the strip, so was the map of Africa in the image of a fist.

We then moved to the security clearance desk.  We were asked to remove our belts, shoes, all metallic items and then go through a metal detector.  The rest of the items removed and put on trays went through a luggage scanner and emerged through the other end of it.  This was similar to the motions you go through at an airport.  

While awaiting my items on the other side of the conveyor, I did get a callback, while the ladies had already been cleared.

“What be this?,” the guard asked, pointing at an item on the tray.

“Viewing lens, for looking at things from far,” I responded.

He consulted his colleagues in Amharic, while pointing at the monocular.  After a half a minute or so, I got my response, “This not allow, so we keep here, then you take when leave”

Our trio walked past the security clearance area and moved towards the imposing gate.  We met a couple of bride and groom, unmistakably in their wedding attire, also getting through the gate.  We received a map of the park, an A3 paper folded into two to create four pages of information.  The middle section of the paper had a big map of the park.  The front and back pages contained some assorted pictures of the various parts of the park.  

I also learnt from Rachel, who was now quite cheered up after the morning moods, that this compound was also the current Prime Minister’s residence.  She said that occasionally some visitors to the park are lucky enough to see Abiy.  Now I could connect the dots between the security check and the visit.

We were informed by the person handing over the map to ‘follow arrow and go round arrow’.  There was almost a circular path around the park that would take you from gate back to gate, if you followed it religiously.  Of course, you could change course and go around in any direction or even turn back to the gate and exit.  We decided to ‘follow arrow’.  The very first passage was through the ‘lion’s den’!  That den was a real lion’s den, with all the lion noises and all.... and finally, even a live lion lying on the grass patch across the glass window was visible.

We survived the black lion zoo and went through other sections, including traditional houses and the botanical settings of the indigenous plants garden.  At some point we went into the emperor’s throne house.  And the first person that you meet seated at the throne is.... you guessed it, the very emperor Haile Selassie II.  Seated in his royal majesty.  Hail HIM!  And we had no choice than to hail him.  We paid homage to H.I.M, HIM.  We have photos to show for it.

We would then move around the hall where lots of historical literature was posted on poster boards.  Another part of the corridor round the main hall showed the historical account of Ethiopia, from King Solomon to the Queen of Sheba, who not-surprise, not-surprise was one of King Solomon's wifys.  Yes!  That is how Ethiopia links to the big picture of creation, Eden, Adam and Eve.

We even had an occasion of visiting the basement of HIM's hall, to see a different type of history, as we looked through the cells and the dark history of Ethiopia.  The documents, videos and pictures displayed on those former holding cells at the basement level did not have any kind words for Derg, the military council, and Mengistu Haile Mariam, the president in 1977-1991.  If anything, he was convicted to serve a life sentence in Ethiopia despite being in exile in Zimbabwe.  They are just waiting for him to come back to Ethiopia to serve his sentence.

At another separate but nearby building with a big hall, the Banquet Hall.  At this hall we came face to face with Emperor Menelik II, another one of the great kings that has Ethiopian history written all over him.  And he was there.  Right there at the head of the big hall.  I saw him seated.  I took a photo with him, next to him.  I hailed him, but unfortunately this was not HIM.  And when we talk about a big hall, we are really talking big!  As big as half a football field.

After that visit we walked around the roads.  We then saw Sellasie's vintage car displayed right there, outside his throne house hall for all to see and admire, but not touch, since it was encased in a glass covering.  The tour was so far so good and we were already tired.  I had tracked my movements on the app and we had covered just over 5km since the time we got through that gate.  

We took a lunch break.  By then Sharon had already found her way into the park and even joined our party by the time we were paying homage to the two kings, sorry emperors.  The three ladies and I took seats at the small restaurant just next to the emperor’s palace, Menelik II’s palace.  The palace that we did not visit since extra Birrs were needed for the ‘extended’ tour to include a walk into the pace.  This extended tour was not in our ‘regular’ package.  The palace was just next to the emperor’s throne house.  

We sat at the traditional stools at one of the corners of the restaurant and ordered soft drinks and some Ethiopian lunch.  I qualify it as ‘Ethiopian lunch’ since I still do not understand why they even call it ‘lunch’.  It looked more of a snack to me.  They bring a big flat tray layered with a thin white big circular wafer that they call injera.  

Onto that soft wafer, the injera, they put on it some little portions of spices of all manner, then some little veggies on one of the corners of the injera and that is about it.  You then start tearing off the injera as you dip it into the spices and veggies.  Tearing through from the end, as you go towards the centre.  You literally eat the container base as you go towards completion at the centre.  At least we had some tibs, aka fried meat that is eaten from atop a charcoal-heated clay pot.

After the lunch, we had our coffees on those small cups.  The content is hardly 50ml.  We put onto the coffee some rue leaves (Ruta) to spice it up.  We let the bitters sink in for a moment before we took a sip.  We loved the flavoured coffee.  Rose hated the flavoured coffee.  It takes time to get into Ethiopian ways.  She was adjusting too slowly.  We contributed about 400 Birr per person and gave the collection of money for the lunch and tipping.  I was now realizing that giving tips was the way of life.  I even remember having tipped when using a ‘free’ washroom in this same place.  

Thereafter, we moved just next to the restaurant to an adjacent open stall where a prominent sign was hanging on a mid-post within the hut, “Make your own injera”

I pointed to that direction as we were handwashing in the washrooms, “Is that for real?”

“Oh my God, yes!,” Sharon responded, almost jumping up excitedly.

“Do you know how to make injera?”

“On my God, of course yes!  No Ethiopian girl not know making injera”

“Can you make injera now?  Here?”

“No, me not ready now.  I only make with teff that me prepare, not any.  Oh my God, no.”

That is when Rachel came to the rescue, “Me, I make injera even now.  Want to see?”

Of course, yes!

“Yes, sure,” I responded, as the four of us moved into the small hut.  

We sat on the low stools while Rachel talked to the lady in charge of the cooking pot, sorry, cooking pan.  Soon the metallic pan that is about half-metre in diameter became the centre of attention, as Rachel first started by cleaning the hot pan with some oil put on some cloth.  She let the oil-dried pan to heat up for a minute or so, before she poured the teff flour that had already been premixed in water to form a paste, onto the pan.  

She then poured the paste in a circular motion, starting from the centre progressively moving towards the edges of the big pan.  She was soon done, and it was now a matter of waiting for the cooking to take place.  I did not see much of how the cooking was taking place.  I just saw the white paste remain white, but it kind-a solidified into a big circular white soft wafer, the injera.  The injera was then scooped off the pan with a woven plate and set forth onto a big plate on our table, ready for our next action.

“Wow, I did not know that it can be done that easily,” Rose spoke for the first time in many minutes.  I believe the Ethiopian experience was still overwhelming.

So, we sat and started eating.  It is only Sharon who did not make any move towards the injera that had been laced with a thin layer of butter for the expected sweetness effect of a freshly baked injera.

“Hey, Shayy, join into the injera feast!,” I reminded her, a layer of injera in my mouth.

“Oh my God no!  Today be Friday, and me not take no milk on Fridays.”

I had come to know Sharon as the only true Christian in Ethiopia.  The only true Orthodox that I had met.  She takes no animal products on Wednesdays and Fridays, and fasts for more than half the year at various times during the 13-month Ethiopian calendar.  That girl is going straight to heaven when the trumpet sounds.  The rest of us need grace and are likely purgatory-first candidates.

We then moved around to the zoo within the park, the Unity zoo.  We saw the animals in captivity, including lions, cheetahs, zebras, antelopes (nyala, impala, kudu, eland, wildebeest, gemsbok), meerkat and ostriches.  We even walked through the aviary and saw the birds (greater flaming, Guinea fowl, crane, ibis, gull, moorhen, white-faced duck, weaver, francolin, egret, spoonbill, turaco, hornbill, starling, heron), that are living within the grounds and environs of that giant structure that stretches almost ten metres into the sky.  

After that we were just to pass by some traditional houses that depict various cultures (Tigray, Somali, Harari, Oromia) before we were already being reminded by the many staffers on the park that it was time to get out.  It was already past five.  The exit party included one or two couples with their wedding gowns.

Part 2

The day was far from over.  The four of us drove back to our residential place.  They dropped Rose and I at our hostels.  Rachel and Sharon decided to stick around by going to their office to do some work since we were soon having another event set for six.  I however knew the better of this timing when the girls decided that they would be having a ‘make up meet up’ before we go.

I did not even bother to call the girls before seven.  And when I used WhatsApp to call Rose at seven, she said a casual, “we are about through, give us another ten minutes.”

I gave them thirty and we finally congregated at Rachel’s white Mazda at seven-thirty.

We drove through the roads and ended up at a place that was very familiar.  I knew it even before we disembarked.  This was Yod Abyssinia Cultural Restaurant.  I had been there before, twice or even thrice.  It never disappoints.

The place was however not as full as I have seen it before, when you can hardly get a seat.  This time round the four of us identified a seating area at one end of the wall, almost facing the main stage.  There was already a performance on stage.  There were five instrumentalists.  Three harpist, a drummer and a flutist.  They were seated.  A soloist was standing in front of them, on the well-lit stage.  He sang.  They played.  Their music was of the Arabic inclination.  It was soft and went well with the atmosphere.  Occasionally some four ladies and four gentlemen, either singly or in groups would dance in front of the soloist.

We ordered drinks or rather, the hosts ordered the drinks and they were brought to the table.  There was a 700ml bottle of that sweet yellow drink, tej.  They set it on the table.  They also set some sodas on the table.  Some wine glasses were passed around, with none to me.  

A small conical flask of about 300ml volume was setup in front of my sitting position.

“Tej for president Obama,” Rachel announced.

“But... but... but...,” I tongue-tied about, not sure of what to say.

“Not worry, we also help you, not worry.”

Another two conicals were brought and set forth on the table.

It did not take long before another colleague, Mary, joined in, following almost momentarily by her colleague George.  The table of six was now fully loaded.  The drinks continued.  The music continued.  The crowds continued to get in, and get out, but mostly get in.  The place kept getting swollen.  The music started getting louder.  We soon went for a buffet dinner by just walking behind our seating area, picking plates and filling up.  

I did not see much of anything familiar, though there were many different small pots with many different things.  However, injera which is now a constant part of our menu, was there – brown, white and even a brown-white mixed version.  The rest were just veggies, spices, other stuff, other things, some more other food items, and finally.... some raw mincemeat.  I picked some injera, some veggies and was back to my seat.  George ordered some tibs to be brought to our table on that charcoal heated claypot.  Our dinner could not have been complete without coffee.

At some point the soloist at the stage tried to rendition the ‘jambo bwana’ song, making a complete mess out of it.  Rose and I, and even Rachel who was becoming Kenyanized, tried to join in and correct the soloist, but he would hear nothing of it.  Surely, who sings ‘Ethiopia nchi nzuri’ to a ‘Kenya nchi nzuri’ song?  Just talking about how the real lyrics should be, nothing else.

Then the dancers started taking break from the stage and started joining the revelers at their table locations for some jig.  Two or three such sessions of the dancers come up to our table to call us out of our seats for dances involving vigorous shoulder an upper body movement.  This did spice up the evening before we finally called it a night.  It was just a few minutes to midnight as we stood to leave.  Just when we thought we were going home....

Part 3

We got into two cars.  Rachel’s car had Sharon, Mary and I.  George’s car had Rose in it.  We drove and drove and drove.  Twenty minutes or so later and we were not getting anywhere back to the hostel blocks where I thought we should be getting to in such a timeframe.  What was going on here?  Where the hech are we going?

“We arrive, get out of car,” Rachel finally announced, as she started looking for some parking space.

George was just behind us, also looking for a parking space.  I do not know Addis, especially in this dead of the night.  I therefore did not know where we were.  I just followed the crowd.

We got into an elevator at the adjacent building, with an operator minding the elevator doors.  He closed them after we were in, pressed a button and were wheeled up to some floor, I guess the sixth.  The door opened to let in a gush of loud club music.  We had just entered a boom-twaf world, the door at the entrance reading ‘Midtown Ultra Lounge’.  We squeezed through a body-packed club floor as we looked out at where we could find a standing space.  Seating was already out of the question.  

We moved to the very extreme end of the room, just next to Buddha, who was seated in his bronze majesty, eyes gazing straight and down at us.  We looked back at Buddha, said nothing and took a table.  He looked straight at us, kept sitting in medication, and also said nothing.  

The six of us stood round the circular table in the semi-dark room.  We could just make out the height of the table.  Talking was out of the question with the volume of music that had engulfed the hall.  We just nodded along as we gestured.  Bottled water was served at the middle of the table, just before our troubles started...

The waiter soon brought to our table some small glasses on a rack.  Each small glass was about 10ml or maybe my gaze was starting to fade?

“We are doing shots,” someone struggled to shout on the table.  It was hardly audible.

We gestured in the matter of ‘What’?

George pointed at the glasses in the middle of the table and gestured in a manner of ‘take and drink’.

Everyone took a small glass, apart from Mary.  She waved a no.  She could have been useless saying the word ‘no’, with all the music going on.

Soon there was an happy birthday song going on in the hall as it got louder with a cake being brought to the next table.  The cake and candle flares took the attention of the room for a second and they DJ loudly wished some random name a happy birthday, some girl’s name.  

We did not even have time to admire the cake before the DJ put an end to the birthday event and continued the real hits.  People danced around their tables.  In fact, it is the standing and the dancing that kept us sober.  Any seating and being docile for even a minute could have reminded the legs that they were already being flooded with alcohol laden blood and for sure the legs would have already given way by now.

It was not long before George called for another gesture at the small glasses in the middle of our table.  That was not to be the last.  They just kept coming.  I just lost count and let what happens happen.  Who even came up with the deceit that taking a drink in one gulp is a good idea?  Get it from me, it is a bad idea ab initio.  The drink ‘shots’ the centre of your brain and you almost lose consciousness for a minute.  You stay drunk, only for them, that is George and group, to ‘shot’ you again.... and again.... and again....

It was at three when Mary called the three on the table ‘out of order’ to directed them to the lift.  By then we had each thrown a bunch of notes onto the middle of the table.  The amount, a thousand Birr per person, having been communicated through gestures since talking was not possible with all that music.  

Two of our members had already disappeared into thin air.  First it was Sharon who had slipped out quietly when ‘the drinks finally caught her’, hardly one-hour after our arrival, leaving the five of us to test our endurance.  Later on, even George, the shot-man had had enough and disappeared.  Only four people were left standing when the time came to do the counting past three.  Mary directed the three of us to the exit and to the lift area.  The lift operator was still there.  He opened the lift door, let us in, and closed the door.  He pushed a button and the vehicle moved down.

When we got to the parking yard, Rachel went straight to the back seat.

“I not drive in this state,” she declared resignedly.

“President, now you see why I no drink?,” Mary looked in my direction as she got onto the driver’s seat, while I opened the co-driver’s seat and took a seat.  Rose joined Rachel in the back.  The only reason I was still walking was because of the three hours of standing and dancing.  Otherwise, I should have collapsed by now.

We started driving around.  The roads were deserted.  In fact, we did not encounter even one single vehicle either going in our direction or opposite.  We drove around for about fifteen minutes then dropped Rachel at her place.  We lit her body full headlights as we waited for her to get in.  The lights were on her as she knocked the gate for over five-minutes to wake up the watchman.  Her gate was finally opened, and we bid her goodnight, more of good morning.

Mary directed the Mazda smoothly to the hostel blocks.  It was just past 3.30am when we got out of the car and headed to our hostel.  I affixed the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the external of the door, on the handle.  I was not letting the cleaners disturb my sleep, and when I talk about disturb, I mean disturb.  The cleaners ambush the room just before eight!  Who knocks a hostel door before eight?  Surely!!  

And the cleaners usually just knock once, and if there is no answer then they proceed and use their master key to open and get in.  I have been found in bed on several occasions, when I just realize there is someone in the room in the name of cleaning.  The sign would put a break to that disturbance.  Breakfast was not happening for on this Saturday morning, nor was the planned electric train ride arranged by Sharon going to take place.  This one I had just cancelled by SMS at this late night, thanks to the same Sharon for having given me an Ethiopian line to use while there.

Part 4

I was taking a bathroom break around ten on Saturday, when I saw a number of missed calls on WhatsApp, from my phone that was on silent.  They were all from Rose, and there were messages too – “You need to checkout urgently.  They say that the rooms are reserved for incoming guests”

I was meant to be going back to bed, not checking out!  Anyway, rules are rules, and so I hurriedly threw my clothes randomly into the two bags and was soon out of the room in less than five minutes.  I headed to the hostel reception where I found Rose waiting.  The receptionist was glad that I was there.

“Your room be booked for guest he arrive soon,” he said, relief all over his face.

My body was still tired and in need of sleep.

I still had another ten hours before the vehicle to pick me for the airport for the trip back was due.  I therefore still had plenty hours of nothing ahead.  A temporary room is all I needed to enable me take a rest, compile my reports and wait for the evening.  I did that in the new hostel room.  After many hours that went so fast, I finally walked to the restaurant to partake of the last injera before the airport transfer vehicle came for me at 2000hrs as scheduled.  

We left at 2015hours for the short 15-minutes drive to the Bole International airport.  The airport turned out to be busier on this than I had expected.  It took me almost two hours to get my boarding pass.  There was still more waiting minutes ahead before the boarding call came at 2245hrs for the 2315hrs flight back home.......

And now here I was back to the present, one week later, on this Friday, finishing the 17k run in the hot Nairobi sun.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Friday, Oct. 14, 2022

The Highland Run - part 3

The Highland Run - part 3


How it came about
When I arrived at the airport at nine, I went to the entrance where all travelers were going through.  Before the entrance, someone demanded to see the travel ticket.  I showed him a printed page, which he scrutinized, then shooed me on.  Straight ahead, a sentry instructed us to remove all metallic items from our pockets and put them on an open plastic tray, which were available for picking.  Then all hand luggage and tray contents were passed through the scanner.  We were asked to remove laptops from their bags and put them on trays, as they passed through the scanner.

“Beep beep,”  I heard the beep when I attempted to pass through the entrance, even after emptying my all through the conveyor belt to the scanner.
“Step back,” the sentry ordered, “Confirm that you have no metallic object on your pockets”
I rechecked and for sure, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, in my pockets.  Even my passport, flash disks and cash had been part of the contents on the tray through the scanner. 
“Remove your shoes, put them on the conveyor”
I thought that I did not hear right.
“What?,” I asked, more of “Are your serious” tone, than “What did you say” question.
Without even looking at me, he repeated, “Remove your shoes and put them through the conveyor”

With lots or reluctance and disgust, I removed my shoes, put them on the running conveyor to the scanner, and walked on bare socks through the entrance.  This time there was no beep, but my temper had risen a notch.  I reassembled my luggage at the other end of the conveyor, put on my shoes and stepped onto the check-in lounge.  It was about 9.15pm.  There was no one to show us where to go, nor any directional signs.  Travelers just guessed where to go.  I went to a place marked 'Immigration', after wondering aimlessly for about two minutes.
“I am traveling,” I informed the person, with a badge, stationed near the entrance.
“Do you have a boarding pass?”
“Boarding pass?”
“Yes, you need to get one.  Which airline?”
“Kenya Airways,” I responded.
“Queue there,” he pointed to his right.

I joined a queue that was surely headed to counters marked 'KQ'.  There were about eight other travelers ahead.  The queue moved fairly fast, with three counters in operation.  At the counter, I presented the computer generated e-ticket and passport.  The lady handed back the passport without any look and studied the ticket.
“Had you checked in?”
“No, I have just arrived”
She fingered her computer keyboard, then, “You had already been checked in,” she looked back at me, as if searching for answers.
“I was booked through our corporate travel agent.  It is possible that they finalized the process”
The answer was good enough, since she proceeded to give me a ticket and asked me to move on, even as she affixed a tag on my suitcase and let it slide away behind her sitting position.

At 'Immigration' I saw people filling in 'Entry declaration' forms.  I thought about it for a moment, wondering why folks were filling in entry forms on a departure lounge.  To conform, I filled in the blue card, which required details such as name, passport number, county of issue and country of intended travel.  I joined another queue to a counter marked 'Kenyan citizens'.  The other counters were marked 'East African citizens' and 'Other travelers'.  During my turn at the counter, the immigration officer pushed my passport though a scanner, then asked, “Where are you traveling to?”
“But this was written on that blue card you just shoved away under the table?,” I thought of saying.  Instead, “Ethiopia,” I answered.
“Mbio wanatuweza kweli?”
“Huu ni mwaka wetu.  Hawatuwezi kabisa.”
He stamped a page on the passport, handed it back and asked me to move on, through past his counter to the terminal building.

At the terminal various travelers milled around.  I looked for terminal 2, and moved to that direction.  I met Kef, my colleague. 
“You engineers, now where is TJ and colleague?,” she asked.
“I do not know.  I have not seen them.  I believe that they must have checked in”
At the boarding area, one part of the ticket was torn off, and a yellow plastic strip written 'Boarding pass' issued.  Nonetheless, the boarding was not devoid of drama.  The overhead sign read “Nbo – Joburg boarding.”  In reality, it was an Addis boarding time.  It is only after asking the staff at the counter did we understand that the board had jammed.  Just after the issue of passes, we were subjected to the last check.  We repeated the process of emptying our pockets, removing laptops from bags, passing them through the scanner, another beep-beep for me, and...  you guessed right – another episode of removing shoes.  After repacking again, we handed over the boarding pass to a waiting hand that had blocked the passage, as we walked through the narrow carriage that led to down to the tarmac, straight to the KQ plane.

I had expected a big plane.  One of those jumbos.  Even as I took the stairs towards the plane's entrance, I knew that this was a small plane.  From outside it looked like a toy.  In the inside, it was surely small.  Just two seats on each side, with a narrow corridor in between.  My seat, 15D, was just three rows from the very end of the plane.  I was seated isle side.  It was now about 10.15pm, and the travelers were steadily streaming in, and stuffing their hand luggage to the open overhead compartments.  In another five minutes, most of the seats were taken.  At least two were not taken.  It is around this time that TJ called to announce their canceled flight.

When the plane took off at exactly 22.30 as scheduled, I gave this small Embraer 170 plane, that sits seventy, quite some credit.  Despite its small size, it was quite comfortable and smooth.  It even felt smoother than the last Boeing that I took on a local flight.  I had already seen on the ticket that the arrival would be 00.35, at Bole International Airport, Addis Ababa.  A 2.05hr flight.  Once on air, about 30minutes after take off, a light meal was served, followed by a drink.  There was however no video screens on board.  Just a bus-like seating arrangement with nothing much.  It was almost like the Oxygen experience to the coast two months prior.  At cruising speed of 890km/h on altitude 30,000ft (about 10km up there), there was no discernible motion, just some faint far off hum of the engine.  We were virtually at standstill.  Being near the wing, I could observe the continuous red blink of the wing lights, on the right side that I was seated.  The lady seated on the window side seat just went straight to sleep after the meal.  I found myself glancing the KQ inflight magazine, without grasping much.  I was just flipping through, attracted by the pictorials.

It was not long before the captain announced that, “We shall soon start our descent to Bole International airport.  Those on transit to Eritrea, please remain in the plane after landing, since we shall just refuel then depart.  This shall be within 40minutes.  For those disembarking at Addis, have a good time.  Thank you for flying Kenya Airways.”
This was a bit sudden.  It did not seem that long.  Were two hours truly over?  I did not have time to answer that question since momentarily the plane touched down and taxied to the disembarking bay.  Out of the plane, a bus was waiting to transport us to the check-out area and baggage claim.

“Yellow fever,” a lady shouted as we headed to the baggage claim area.  This was after our passports had been stamped in exchange for the entry declaration cards, that we had filled in the plane, during the last ten minutes of our journey.  We raised our Yellow fever certificates for scrutiny, before being allowed to get through to luggage claim, after our hand luggage had been passed through the scanner once more.  Our suitcases were easy to spot, after which we headed straight to the exit.

Someone raised a sign having the name of the host organization, followed below with four names.  This attracted our attention.  We moved to his standing point and introduced ourselves as the guests that he was picking.  The time was now about 1.00am.  He led us to the van then opened the right side sliding door for us to put in our luggage.  I then went and stood on the front left, to wait for him to open the door.  He had already opened the front right door.  I had expected him to get into the van and just open the left door.  Instead, he left the right door ajar, and walked round the vehicle to open the left door.  I was taken aback to realize that the steering wheel was located on the left side.  The joke was on me when I had to move to the right side doors to get into the van.  We were on a left-handed van.  Soon I realized that we were on a 'keep-right' driving system.  Quite a mental challenge from the right-handed vehicles that am used to.  This first late night sleep marked the typical sleeping time for my whole duration in Addis.  Somehow I found myself sleeping past 1.30am each and every day.

Do not disturb
‘Do Not Disturb’, is the notice that I affixed to the external part of my room door.  I did this about mid-night as I prepared to watch the final news headlines on CNN before retiring to bed.  This was necessary because I intend to have the first long sleep in seven days since my arrival.  This would prevent the room cleaners from bumping in at about 8.30am.  Two days ago when I had extended my sleep beyond eight-thirty, the ladies had just knocked on my door, shouted some strange language, and before I knew it they were already in.  They had to give their apologies even as I struggled out of bed to wonder who had invaded my room.  I was not taking any chances this Saturday night.  The Addis weather was a replica of Uthiru weather - relatively warm day times and very cold nights.  The room offered four blankets and the heater though. 

The phone ring startled my deep sleep – and that room phone can ring loud!  I crossed the room in three steps to get to the phone set on the window-side edge of the reading table.  How could I have forgotten about muting the phone!  And who would have thought that someone would bother to call me in this foreign land!
“What!?,” I uttered to the mouthpiece.
“It is ten past nine and we are waiting for you at Gene Forage for a meeting,” came the answer.
“Eh, Why?,” I asked.
The previous day the three gents had had their customary dinner at Zebu club and had agreed to have the first meeting at ten.  This meeting would enable us get into a car to take us for a tour of Addis.
“There was to be the meeting with the Project Manager, to update her on the progress of our work”
“But… but that meeting had not been confirmed!”
“Get get here, you have five minutes.”
I knew that she had paid for the airfare, but messing my first good sleep was surely not polite. Nonetheless, I got out of bed, dressed and headed for the meeting room, laptop in hand. 

I did not take any breakfast.  I was at the meeting room in another two minutes.  The two ladies and two colleagues were already in discussions, which I just joined in.  When the meeting ended just about eleven, our host left even as the remaining Kenyans engaged in discussions.
“Why did you setup a meeting without giving us notice?  We had our own agenda today!”
“It had to happen.  Lexi is in Addis only for today.  She goes back to Nairobi tomorrow.  I had asked mzee to tell you of this meeting,” she informed us, “You mean that he did not?”
“He was concentrating on his own packing as he was leaving for the airport for this mid-night flight back to Nairobi”
“No wonder he forgot.  Nonetheless, am making it worth your while.  I shall buy you people lunch when we go for the outing,” Kef confirmed. 

That is how we landed at the injera place, followed by the tour or Menelik's place and eventually my Sunday evening run.

Beauty
One thing that the Abyssinians are blessed with, without a doubt, is beauty.  They are somehow the same pepite size, well rounded and yellow.  All of them are almost similar and very beautiful.  The Tuesday training run was therefore quite worth it. 

We had discussed what it took to get married to such women.
“It depends region where girl comes from,” Mich, a colleague from Addis Engineering said, then added, “In some place, they arrange cows and you run top of cows end to end!”
“You mean running on top of cows?”
“Yes, they arrange them and you run top.  If you fall or fail, then you wait one year”
The driver who took us to the museum had told me that the dowry was about three hundred herds of cattle.  That was surely beauty at a very high price!!

“You also must buy one kilo gold every year for her,” Mich said.
“And must be pure gold,” Kabe added.
“Every year, you said?,” the Kenyans wondered.
“Yes every year.  During Meskel, our new year, you give her gold.”
I had already been told that another qualification was taking your lady to the US, at least once.  In fact, the local staff SACCO had a 'US-tour' loan product, which was quite popular.

Now I was calculating:
(1) Investment = (Jumping row of 10cows) + 300 herds + (no. of years x (1kg gold)) + US trip
(2) Returns = (-)Investment.
(3) But, Returns > Investments = Profit
The equation was not balancing at postulate no. 3, though it would be made easier if we introduced a forth condition:
(4) Love your enemies
Then, we just declare them your enemies

After a hard day of work, which included an explosion from a baking even that we were repairing, we had had enough for a day.  When one of the locals gave us his story, of how he had worked for the organization for many years and survived many good and bad times.  He had concluded with, “My daughters in Sweden.  Now here.  Want to greet?”
TJ and Ben were starting to say, “Oh, no need...,” when I directed them towards Zebu with, “Of course, we want to greet”
To Zebu club, the four of us matched.  Seated at the low coffee table were two beauties.
“Hi”
“Good evening”
So we did the introductions, then small talk for about ten minutes before finally leaving.
This introduction was almost like an honour.  To us, this was a risky move that could easily backfire.
“Do you think any of our techs could introduce his daughters to our staff”
“Hey, mbuzi awekwe mbele ya fisi!”

WWB, Addis, 15-Oct-2011

The Highland Run - part 2

The Highland Run - part 2

Recognized
“You must be Kenyan,” someone interrupted my walking pace, as I headed to the Engineering block from Research Block 2.  She then extended a hand, even as she blocked by path.
“My husband said that someone overtook him so fast.  He said it must have been a Kenyan”
I shook her hand back.

“True, am from Nairobi.  Here for a short project”
“How long are you here for?”
“I have done two weeks.  I have one more week”
“You know,” she continued, “My husband is quite fit and fast.  He has been running for years”
She paused to gauge me.
“He said that you passed him as if he was at a standstill”
“Oh, thank you.  I just run for fun.  The campus circuit is quite good for a relaxed run”
“It was a pleasure meeting you.  I think Kenyans are now on top of the world in running,” she said.
“Sure,” I agreed, “This is our year.”
“I envy you.  Nice to have met you”
“Bye, see you again later,” I concluded.

This was quite a pleasant surprised at this lunch hour break.  A stranger recognizing your efforts through a story from a third party!  It couldn’t be any better.  I spent the afternoon at Engineering block office feeling on top of the world, even as I planned for the evening run.

Since my arrival on the wee hours of Monday, October 3, I had somehow managed to do my runs on this new land, some one thousand two hundred kilometers out of Nairobi.  On Tuesday, TJ and I decided to check out the routes within the new campus.  We just hit the tarmac and followed our instinct in making a run path from the hostels, to Engineering and back to hostels.  The circuit turned out to be only five minutes, at our very relaxed jogging pace.  This was therefore just under one kilometer.  We did a second circuit.
“You know,” I started, “I will have to do forty-two such circuits if am to prepare for the marathon”
“By then you shall be dizzy, with the locals wondering at your sanity levels,” he responded, even as we kept jogging looking for alternative routes.

We decided to just run through the compound through different paths, to find out if we could elongate our running route.  We stumbled upon dead ends, closed gates and even a football field – all in the quest for a route that was worth our while.  When we were warming down, thirty minutes later, the time being about six-twenty, we were at least happy with this inaugural run, hardly one day after our arrival. 

For TJ, his arrival was actually that very morning.  We were however booked on the same Sunday night flight, but he could not make it.  I remember his call while I was seated in the plane ready for takeoff.
“WB, I do not think we shall make it.  We arrived at the check in when they had already closed”
“How did that happen?,” I asked in shock. 
According to the itinerary that we had got on Friday before the travel, he and our other colleague were to be picked from Zimmerman at 6.45pm, for the nine o'clock check-in.  I was to be picked at eight. 
“The chartered van delayed, while the jam on Thika road was just crazy”
I remembered my own experience.  By eight there was no sign of my own transport.  At 8.15pm, the tour company had called to inform me that there would be a twenty-minute delay on my own pick up, though they assured me that they shall ensure that I check in in good time.
“So that is it?  The two of you are not traveling with us?”
“Yes.  That is it.  We hope to join you on the next available flight.  We may stay overnight at the airport, if the next flight in early morning.  Tell Kef of this development”
“OK.  Bye then.  Let us meet there kesho”

Keep running
The first run did not take a toll on us, at least not on me.  It was quite relaxed.  Generally a day of discovery.  The next run occurred the next day.  We decided to explore the compound some more.  We left our residence and went towards the gate that had marked a dead end the previous day.  Through this gate we found a graveled path, that led to a second gate, about twenty meters away.  After this second gate, we continued on the graveled path to yet another third gate hardly fifty meters away.  Running, stopping to open these gates, then closing them behind us was not fun at all.  However, we were on discovery and the route seemed more like it.

After the third gate, we headed left on the fork, instead of straight on.  Our left path met the perimeter fence some one hundred meters ahead.  Then we just followed the path adjacent to the perimeter wall all the way to join the main tarmac road that leads to the compound, just after the main sentry gate.  Through the familiar tarmac, we ran until we reached the right turn that headed towards Engineering.  At this point, we turned left to yet another graveled running path.  This led through the other extreme perimeter of the compound on the left, and a thicket on the right.
“Eh, look at this field.  Is it not the same one that we ran though yesterday,” TJ asked as he pointed to the visible field on the right side, just across the long grass.
“The high grass prevented us from seeing this running route,” I responded.

Finally, we were back to the familiar tarmac next to Borena cafe, where we crossed through the small sports field behind Borena and back to our starting point next to the swimming pool.
“That wasn't bad”
“It was a 15-minute circuit,” I checked my stopwatch before speaking.  
“Let us do another one,” I encouraged.
So we did three circuits on the same path, finishing at 0.47.02
“Good run,” TJ declared as we warmed down.
“But stubborn gates,” I decried.

During dinner at Zebu club, I met Dan once more.  My other three Kenyan colleagues were also around.
“Take it, here it is,” I said as I handed back his phone. 
During our previous evening's coincidental meeting, we had found ourselves seated on the same table at Zebu.  Four strangers, one table.  We just introduced each other and that is how we got to learn about his craze for smart phone technologies.  He had explained the kind of research that he proposed to do, using the various monitoring sensors on the phone to collect and interpret data.  He had said that such phones, being cheaper, would be cost effective in some operations instead of buying fully fledged measuring and monitoring systems.
“Look here,” he showed our table of four, “This is the map of Addis”
People craned their heads to glimpse the small screen.
“I can use this phone to record movement, and they shall be as accurate as ever.”
That is when I had challenged him to let me jog around with the phone and see if it could trace my path.

He pressed a few controls on this keypadless phone and then beamed.
“Look at this!,” his excitement was evident.
“I can tell you that you ran three times along this path here,” he pointed out as the group gathered over him to view the wonder.
We saw some three red lines that were the definition of our run.  He managed to zoom in and we could surely see the path as exact as we had taken it.
“This phone has a built in GPS.  That is why it can trace your route.  It can also communicate your coordinates to another device.  This ability to communicate its own location is the subject of my research.”

Four circuits
On Thursday I did four circuits of this path, starting at five-thirty and ending at stop watch time 0.49.26.  On Friday, I did another four circuits.  The time recorded was 0.47.57.  TJ made sure that he did not run with me, either by failing to show up altogether or starting the run earlier or later.  He claimed that I was getting too fast for him.  “And the food here lacks energy!,” he complained. 

During the Friday run, I tested an IDEOS phone as provided by Dan.  Since he was engaged for the evening, we had agreed that he would pick the phone immediately after my run around seven, instead of meeting at the cafeteria.  When he picked the phone, he confirmed that it had recorded the four running paths.  He promised to send the information and map, just as he had done with the previous path.  But I had to complain about the IDEOS.
“The phone was a bit scary.  It was interrupting me every four or so minutes with an announcement”
“What announcement?,” he asked.
“At every kilometer, it gave me a warning.  Each announcement was quite unexpected, making me jumpy”
I added, “The lady's last message was something like, 'Mytracks distance is eleven kilometers in fifty-eight minutes twelve point zero eight seconds.  Average speed thirteen point one kilometer per hour'”
“It was possible to shut her up, though I forgot to show you how”

Heavy
The running experience here was different.  There was some heaviness that one felt when running.  Almost like the route is fighting your advance.  This, I later learnt, was due to the high altitude.  That is why athletes train in high altitude so that they are ready to fight with any other 'lighter' altitudes.  The other difference was how fast darkness fell.  By 6.20pm it would be quite dark.  Running would became difficult due to the very low visibility.  Back home, it did not get dark until seven or thereabout.  This was explained by the far distance from the Equator.  Since it was past September 22, the earth has shifted along its axis, making countries in the northern hemisphere have longer dark hours – and winter to follow soon.  “We experience winter in Ethiopia,” one local had quipped when I brought it in the topic of early darkness.

Another differing experience on my runs was running with the wild.  Throughout the run, a dikdik would cross the path, run alongside or run after you.  Sometimes I met the small ones, which were easily scared.  Sometimes I encountered the bigger new, which would be scary.  With every run, I got used to them.  However, running when dark, anytime past six-twenty, was scary.  You could just hear some swished in the bushes.  You would wonder if there was a predator-prey run going on there or they were just dik diks running around.  And the dik dik's are preyed on by lions, leopards and hyenas!  These are not thoughts that should go through your mind when you are running – just keep running.

Daily runs
In the new week, I found myself running every day from Sunday to Saturday, apart from Thursday, when I stumbled upon a farewell party for the DDG.  The Sunday and Monday runs were four circuits each.  The timings were 0.46.34 and 0.47.46.  On Tuesday I did two circuits, as trained one of my new found friends at this campus.    I did not time this run.  It was more fun talking and sharing experiences.  The Wednesday and Friday runs were five circuits each.  Their timings were 0.59.30 and 0.58.21.  I was surely getting almost ready for the October 30 international marathon in Nairobi.  I was feeling good about it.  Four weeks ago, when I learnt of the travel, that was to occur at the peak of the training, I was not quite happy with this trip.  This is because I knew that my training would be affected.  However, the high altitude and good jogging track was still a good practice ground, albeit the occasional stony areas that were hurting the soles.  The running track was also relatively short, which I estimated at 3km, while the smartphone put it at 2.8km.

Sunday run
You may wonder why I was running almost daily.  Well, I was in a strange land with nothing else to do.  How about the Sunday run?  Just after the tour of the city?

After finalizing the commissioning works at the new generator, we got into a Land cruiser and headed to town.  The driver has been specifically assigned to show the four Kenyan the sites of interest in the city.
“Salamno,” I greeted the driver.
He was kind of surprised, “Salamno,” he responded, then asked, “You know Amharic?”
“Ishi!  Ishi!,” I responded, much to his surprise.
After some chit chat, “What does the name of the city mean?, ” I asked.
“Addis means beautiful,” said the driver, as he settled to a comfortable driving pace on the wide road.
“Oh,” all of us responded almost in unison.
“And Ababa means flower”
“Oh,” we found ourselves responding once more.

We went to an open air market, where some of the team bought shoes and clothes.  After than we went for lunch at some joint, which I can not pin point.
“Here you get raw meat,” the driver informed us. 
“Very sweet raw meat,” he added as we disembarked in the compound of the hotel.
The place was not packed.  About five of six other couples were seated, scattered all over.  Let me emphasize that they were couples.  I started to believe that love was brewed in this country.  I had observed it for seven days.  I had seen it and I was seeing it.
“I wish Kenyan men were like this,” Kefy observed, even as the guys were just awestruck with the beauty.
“No wonder WB wants to stay around,” TJ quipped as we now settled on the two tables that we had deliberately pulled together.

They brought a menu written in Amharic.  Each of the four Kenyans looked at it and just laughed.  They could not decipher even a jotter of it.  We left it to the driver to try the interpretation.
“Here, food like... like... teff, you know teff, and another like... eh, firr firr.  You like firr firr.  Eh or ambasha?” he struggled on.
“Drink is taj... eh 7-up, Pepsi, Mirinda, eh beer.  Want taj?  You know it!”
To save him from the tough task, we asked various questions on the type of foods we wanted, just to see if he could confirm them.
“Chips, you know, fries”
“What? Chips, fries? What that? Eh, you mean what?”
“How about meat, cooked meat”
“Ah, yes, yes, meat.  Meat there.  Want raw?”
Initially we thought it was a joke.  We now believed that raw meat was a reality.
“No, fried meat”
“Yes, cook meat, OK, Ishi, Ishi”
“What will we eat it with?,” we asked.
“Eh, injera?”
I just started laughing.  This is the food that I had avoided for the last week, only to go for an outing and find it waiting for me.  The rest of the Kenyans started laughing at me.  They had known that injera was not my favourite.  In fact, I was the only one who had managed a 100% resistance to this fermented pan cake.  The two other Engineering staff had resisted just for two days.  However when the pangs of hunger caught up with them, after many days of long works hours, they gave in and ordered injera.
My misery was made worse, when they finally brought me plain rice, even as the others got their injera and beef stew.
“But where is my beef stew?”
“Sorry, beef stew is only served with injera”

Museum
After lunch we went to Menelik's palace and museum.  At the museum we were prevented from taking any photos.  A guide took up around the almost circular room, hardly ten meters in diameter.  There were saw Menelik's things including swords, robes, bed, books, umbrellas, chairs, headgear, stuff and shoes.  We paid fifty Birr each to gain access.  We paid ten Birr for the entry of our driver.  The guide was quite humble and almost religious in his presentation.  He was quite good, though he would most often start his sentences in English and finish them in Amharic, before realizing that his audience was lost.  He was quite softspoken and convincing.
“We should proud of Africa.  Only Africans build Africa.  Menelik he know this and setup strong nation,” he told us while showing us the artifacts.
“Here you see Manelik's bed.  Where he was rest,” he continued, “See how simple.  He want to be like people.  United with people.  Simple wood bed.  Make of skin.  Nothing special”
We kept moving around.
“The medals won by Ethiopian runners.  Real gold', he pointed so some three gold medals.  One of them had been engraved Standard Chartered marathon. 
He continued, “They pray Lady of Guadalupe bless them win.  If win they give medal.  You see, they win, and give medal to museum.”
After doing the round, we were back to the entrance area.
“Finally, some items for Menelik,” the guide showed us with the stick he was carrying, while pointing at a glass pane, “These are gold shoes”
“Ethiopia has many gold.  When Menelik win war, his people give gold shoes.  But Menelik he is humble.  He say 'No'.  He can not wear gold and not people.  So he not wear gold.  He want to be like people.”
“But this glass has no lock!,” I asked or rather wondered loudly.
“Yes, no one he steal Menelik's shoes”
The Kenyans in the room just laughed.  They knew better.
“Amasagnalahu,” I told the curator, as we left.
“Amharic, you know!  Ishi, Ishi!,” he responded in excitement.

We then walked next to an Orthodox temple, then went behind it to see Menelik's house.  We found there another guide.
“You pay?,” he asked as we descended the steps from the temple towards the house compound.
“Yes, we paid,” we answered even as we showed him the pink tickets.
“Then here I show,” he pointed to a house and led us through the very high door.
“You see Menelik's sit room.  And here, horn, of cow.  For he put raw meat.  Raw meat he put here and here and here,” he said as he shown the various horns protruding out of the wall.
“Look up, the top.  You see top made skin of cow.  All sticks together, skin of cow only”
In another upstairs room, through a side staircase.  He then told us, “Here, Menelik and wife Taitu, they sleep together,” he then pointed through the window, to the grounds below, “And down there, the people, they watch King!”
We just burst out laughing, loudly!  Of course, the two sentences were not related, but he had accidentally related them.

Parting with additional Birr for the guide, despite having already paid, was a pleasant surprise.  But the history lesson was worth it.  After all this history, a Sunday evening run was surely the proper thing to do.  That is why the 0.46.34 four-circuit run happened.

WWB, Addis, 15-Oct-2011