The story of Annabel and running into a big bill

The story of Annabel and running into a big bill

Today I get out of my usual running stories and narrate a different kind of run.  This is the story of Annabel, a marathoner in my marathoners’ team.  She is one of the runners who has benefited from my free run lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I take any first time runner out for a run on these days.  It is the closest you get to run with the president, so to speak.

I get such students enrolled to the programme on and off.  It is difficult to get a regular one.  They either finally graduate to ‘real’ runners and abandon the student classes, or they just give up on the routine and drop out.  I however remain strong, steadfast and encouraged, whichever the outcome.  I would have done my part by being available to offer free hours on the road.

Ann turned out to be one of the drop outs.  She ran with me a few non-consistent Tuesdays over a lunch hour and once over an evening and she gave up.  She told me that running was probably not for her.  Gyming and hiking was more of her style.  She however remained in the marathoners team and kept running her mouth on various marathon discussions on the marathoners forum on WhatsApp or email.  She has hardly been on the run route this year.  She however continues to tell me how she shall be back ‘soon’.

I knew that Ann had left the city and headed for a work assignment out of town.  It must have been to Kisumu.  I usually try to keep tabs with the students, whether regular or not, and it was therefore last week that I got to hear from Ann after some time.  After a few marathon niceties the conversation moved from run to love, for the first time ever.
“I need some advice about…. Eh… I do not know how you shall take it,” she started on the other end of the line.
“Go ahead, the coach can take it.”
“I need some advice on love issues, yes, love.  I met someone!”

I do marathons and related subjects, but el oh vee ee is a new one for me, at least in advisory terms.
“I met an online boyfie, and I do not know what to do,” she said after some pause, for thought on what to say on an open line.

Of course, I had to get to the nitty gritty to even make sense of what was going on.  Which I did.  Ann told me that she has been on an online dating site and she had ‘finally’ met some guy that they blended with.  After a few exchanges of ‘likes’, they both decided to put keyboard to typing and sent messages to each other and were now an item.  
“He sent me a picture,” she said, “He is cute, I tell you!  But he has a daughter, but ni sawa tu.”
“A typical African man,” I said.
“Huta amini,” I heard excitement on the other end of the line, “Ni mzungu!  Ni mtu wa Yu Kei”
“Oh,” I absorbed the new news.

I learnt that they had now exchanged many pictures and she was starting to get to know the type of man she was getting involved in.
“You won’t believe,” she said, amidst apparent excitement, “He is even an engineer like you!”
“How long have you known each other for?”
“Imagine we met just last week, but it seems like we have known each other forever!,” she exclaimed in apparent excitement.


It was hardly three days later that Ann called me just around five on a Tuesday.  This would usually be the time to go for a students’ run in usual circumstances.
“Do you need run lessons while you are in Kisumu?,” I answered.
“Hapana, nina news.  Phillip anakuja Afrika next week!”
“What do you mean, ‘anakuja’!  You people are hardly one week into meeting each other!?”

She would narrate to me, in full excitement and some uncertainty, as to how Phillip the engineer had got an urgent mission to Africa to purchase some art pieces.  She told me that the engineer had a side hustle of dealing in art pieces – buying and selling to a ready market in the UK.  However, he was heading to South Africa to get these art items from an exhibition there, then was planning to pass by Kenya immediately after.  Phillip was coming to see her.  She was on top of the world.

This was quite an interesting twist to the love story.  A guy you meet online comes to see you hardly one week later!  How else can things turn out to be?  Good things happen to even those who do not expect.  The plan was therefore for Phillip to travel to South Africa then pass by the motherland before jetting back to the UK.

“What are his flight details to es aaa,” I asked, hoping this is something lovers would easily share.
“He did not say, he just said he is traveling with the daughter, Maggy.  That was all.”
“When is he expected in Kenya?”
“Imagine he did not say,” Ann responded, some apprehension quite evident in her voice, “He just shared a photo of Maggy and him on the plane.  The both looked so happy.  I already miss them.”
“He is traveling already?”
“Yes, I can see him and Maggy in the plane even as we speak.  I hope she will like me when we meet.”
“Maybe just send him a message so that he can confirm when he shall be coming to Kenya.  You can then plan on when to take some leave to see him and Maggy.”

This coming-to-Kenya event was really happening.  I had hoped that this whole thing was still not real, since I have my own reservation about virtual love.  I am a traditional person who believes in real physical and tangible love.  Something you see, touch and feel.  The new generation have virtual love – something you type, read and view.  

Phillip would later ask Annabel to recommend some hotels in Kenya for his stay and where they would finally meet.  She responded, recommending some coastal establishments.  I believe she picked on White Sands, Pride Inn and some other.  I was not keen anyway, telling her to pick whatever she picked since it would be for their own enjoyment – the man, the wife and the child.  I however advised her to still get that arrival date, since that would help her to also plan on how she was to get some time off her work at Kisumu and travel to the coast.
“Get that arrival date soon, before it is too late for you to get time off duty,” I had emphasized.

She told me that she had sent an email to that effect and a reminder a day later, but she was yet to get the response on dates.  She was also still waiting for that phone call from Phillip after she had given out her number, in exchange to what Phillip had given her, which for sure was a +44 prefix.  Phil was so far strictly an email person.  No WhatsApp, no SMS, no phone calls.


Two days ago, which is like a day since Phillip set foot in SA, Ann sent me a message on WhatsApp.  She attached a long message.  It was a message from Phillip.  He was saying that he had settled well in the S of A and was already shipping his precious art pieces back to the U of K.  The engineer was already salivating at the huge profit these pieces were bound to fetch.  He however mentioned that the daughter had woken up with some stomach upset and had gone for a medical checkup, but Phillip was confident that Maggy probably had just eaten something strange and would be alright in a few moments.  Ann called me about five minutes later on, after taking just enough time for me to absorb the contents of the forwarded email.
“Sasa imagine Maggy ni mgonjwa tena!?,” she sounded worried.
“Leo huna salamu!,” I brought her back to reality.
“We wacha hizo, coach,” she brushed me aside, “Tunaongea mambo ya Phillip na wewe unalete mambo ya salamu!”
“Sawa, lakini date ya kuja Kenya ulipewa?,” I asked, remembering this very discussion since three days ago.
“Hakuwa amejibu.”
She did not just want to say “Hajajibu”, choosing instead to give Phillip the benefit of the doubt.


It was later the same two days ago, while I was still in the office, ready to leave work for the day when my phone kept ringing and ringing.  I had decided to ignore any phone calls to give me time to just walk home, enjoy the walk home, and not take any new joys or troubles from anybody.  I finally answered.  It was Ann.  She was emotional and shouting.  She was losing it, if not having already lost it.
“Maggy ako admitted!”
“What?”
“Maggy ako admitted hosi!”
“But how, why, when, what?,” I blubbered back.
“I am confused, I do not know what to do!,” she said, obviously agitated.  She sounded like she was even crying.
“Why?”
“Hebu nisaidie na hiyo email nime forward kwako,” she disconnected.

Hey, today the coach has become Mr. Love.  The things I do for the marathoners!  Anyway, I checked my email messages, forgetting my walk home for a moment.  There was an email from Phillip alright, addressed to Phillip’s email.  I had noted that the email messages tended to be self-addressed.  I guessed maybe it was to protect the recipient’s privacy, but it was a unique way of communicating.  I am used to the old school way of just writing to someone’s email address as it is, not those BCC BS.  It was a mail of worry from Phillip.

“My darling wife,” he started, “I have some bad news.  Maggy’s condition has got worse all of a sudden and she is now admitted to the ICU of St. Elizabeth Hospital South Africa.  I have had to pay a deposit of $3,700 from a bill of $4,330.  That is the cash I had.  The hospital however insists on getting the balance before they can commence emergency treatment that shall save her life.”

There was a photo attached of some girl that looked like the one I had seen in Phillip and Maggy’s photos.  She was lying in some bed that looked like an ICU type hospital bed, with a teddy bear somewhere on the bed sheet.  It looked desperate.  I could now imagine why Ann was that emotional and had almost bursting my ear drums on the phone.  I was taken aback myself.  This seemed like a desperate medical situation.

“Honey, my soon to be wife,” the email continued, “Please I need your help now more than never before….”
“Oh, for crying out loud!,” I said to myself while in the office.  I already had the jitters….

“…. I had already spent all my cash on the art pieces that I had bought and shipped to UK by DHL and my credit card does not seem to work over here in this country.  I have even called my UK bank and they tell me that the card cannot be used here in SA and some other 16 African countries.  I am really stuck honey, my soon to be wife.  I really need your help…”
“Oh, for crying out loud!,” I cried out loud a second time!

“… Please help our daughter get her medical attention.  This is a real life and death emergency.  Please, please my darling wife to be, send me that $630 balance so that our daughter can survive.  It is about our daughter.  I shall pay you back, even double when I finally come to Kenya next week.  The life of the young girl, our daughter, is at stake at this moment.  Do you really love me?  Do you love Maggy?  Do you love us?  We hope you do.  Maggy is looking up to you to save her.  Just look at the attached picture to see how bad the situation is.  You can send it by Western Union to this address.  I have called everywhere….”

I could not even read any more.  I was glad that I was a sober third party in this.  Otherwise I would for sure have done anything myself if I was faced with this situation.  I could have sold my land to save that girl that I saw in that ICU bed.  I could have sold my own kidney to save Maggy!

I was sure that Annabel was not in any listening and reasoning position at the moment.  I therefore just sent her a short message service text….
“Ann, if you send that 65k it shall be the last time you ever see that money.  Goodnight”

So, why did this misfortune befall a good marathoner friend?  Did she even get my SMS before sending the 65k or she already did?  Did it really have to do with love?  Is this love?  Was Maggy really dying in an SA hospital and I had advised against saving her life?  Will I be responsible for what shall befall an innocent ten-year old girl?  Did I mess up Annabel’s real chance of getting the love of her life?  How will Ann survive all these when the real reality, whatever it is, finally dawns – whether I was wrong or right,?  Will she even remain in the marathoners team or I have now heard the last of her?  Is she even going to keep her job in Kisumu and she will call it all quits in the name of love?  Were there any telltale signs in this whole virtual romance that could have made Ann think twice?  

But how did Phillip even manage all these photos which I saw with my own eyes, including those photos inside an airplane with Maggy!  How about that photo of Maggy in ICU that I also surely saw?  I walked home asking myself all these many questions and more.  

Of course when I reached home I did a few email message trace-backs and photo properties investigations, after which many of my own questions on this saga were answered fully or partially.  I am however not a party to the heartbreak.  What matters are the questions and answers that Ann shall face and whether she shall have the willpower to survive the ordeal.  I shall not be surprised when Phillip finally comes to Kenya next week as promised.  Surely, I am lying!  Phillip shall never come to Kenya.  Why do I smell some West African country in all this drama?

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, July 15, 2022

NLLV – when love is better than run

NLLV – when love is better than run

The second international marathon of 2019, code name NLLV was held a day after the day of love.  The Thursday ‘love day’ was marked by a ‘Friday event’ by the employer, being held on a Thursday.  However, the marathon was not going to be pushed from its traditional Friday slot, despite it being a marathon for love.  I had to endure another day of wait after the day of love, but the duel would be on nonetheless.  The day would come and go.  

On Friday when we were all back from our red attires, there was little doubt that the only way to fully shed the red was to run it out.  That is how the ‘no love lost’ Valentines marathon (NLLV) was crafted.

The rules were simple and three – leave the starting point at 4.35pm, run your pace without looking back and turn back at the one hour mark if you cannot do the distance.  The distance was a 21km road run on the ‘new international’ route that majorly runs on Kanyariri road, from Ndumbo to Nakuru highway, loop round Gitaru market, and back through the same Kanyariri.

Good start

The turnout was encouraging.  I have on previous occasions run twice with only 2 runners.  Having six starters and four joiners was therefore a big deal.  Though we were ‘generated’ i.e. ‘we were at the generator starting point’ by 4.33pm, the run could not start until 4.40pm as we had to wait for a few more runners to make the grand start.  Since there was no looking back, we wanted this start to be as fair and inclusive as possible.

After the now compulsory selfie, groupie shot, the countdown to zero was done and we set off.  The no-turning-back seemed to have been taken seriously, since for the first time I saw everyone just set off speedily toward the exit on the 500m mark, and were soon out onto the tarmac towards Kabete Poly.  Normally, we would form groups of like-paced-runners and keep to them, slowing and fasting up as the group dictated.  On this one - no, no.  All just left and kept going.

I was among the first runners out of the gate.  Paul, a guest runner was on my neck, more of ‘to know the route’, but actually to pace me up.  Edu and Chris were not far behind.  Fay and Fay’s friend, Joy were a duo not far behind.  Joy still owed us the Teq, which she was to have tabled after the first international of 2019, as per the promise that she had made during the sixth international in December.  She had not mentioned anything of this promise.  Nor did she seem to remember the chocolates that she had vowed to unleash next to the Teq bottle.  I thought of reminding her.  I decided otherwise.  That discussion would have to wait.  There was no looking back.  There was no turning back… and there was no talking at the moment.

Construction

Crossing Waiyaki way was adrenaline laden.  The construction machinery, the speeding vehicles on both sides of the road!  The matatus!!  We somehow crossed over and were soon on the loop that leads to Ndumbo, ready for the real run on Kanyariri.  Everyone was on their own by the time we hit Kanyariri.  I could not look back – just obeying the rules, nor could I see anyone ahead either.  Kanyariri is a 7km length that eventually joins the Nakuru highway.  The first k is downhill, followed by 6k of uphill.

The uphill was manageable.  I had twice, before this particular event, run a 3km uphill on this stretch, just to gauge it out.  It was challenging on each of these occasions, but I did learn valuable timing strategies on both missions.  Lessons that would soon become handy.  The strategy was to reduce speed at the start of the hill and just keep going at the reduced speed for the 6k – difficult, but manageable.  Speed it up and you shall not make it – guaranteed.  (I was later to hear this exact experience when some of our team runners got beat at Kanyariri).

I had nothing to do for about 40 minutes, but to hill up on Kanyariri.…  

My mind wonders to the last Friday, when I decided to visit Nyayo house for a passport renewal experience.  I had already been warned.

“You don’t want to go to Nyayo?,” my friend Ken had warned, even as he gave me a copy of his nation ID as a recommender.  This was one of the many requirements.

“Why is that?”

“You shall stay there whole day,” he paused, “And shall still not manage to submit your application.”

By that time I had already too deep in the process, having already paid up the 4550 fee and was now wondering how I would get a refund.

“I was told that people sleep there, and still don’t get anywhere close to processing,” he sympathized, in response to my indifference.

“I have queued for six hours to cast my ballot before,” I consoled myself loudly, “I shall see how worse it can get.”

It was worse.  To start with, the list of requirements was contradictory on all fronts.  The official website did not mention anything about the copy of current passport as a requirement.  This was hurled at us as a requirement while we were at the queue heading to the reception.  I had arrived at eight sharp, assuming that the offices of the national service provider shall open at that time, if we are in luck.  Public service have a bad reputation of opening up late.  We were in luck, since by that time of the morning, a queue was already snaking outside the building, while the offices were surely open and in business.  From my estimation, I was about the hundredth person on the queue… outside the reception block.  When I finally got to the reception block, about one hour later, I was surprised to get into a big hall that was already full of seated people.  I estimated two hundred already seated!!

It was no surprise when I was finally handed a ticket no. 321.  And the waiting continued.  In that time we had been provided with so much conflicting information on requirements that we did not know whom to believe anymore.  The official site and what we were being told now were worlds apart.  They even announced loudly that, “You need the original ID of your recommender.”  This particular misinformation made me lose Uber charges in getting someone from Uthiru to bring the original ID of recommender, only to be told that it is actually not needed.  The whispers on the queue included talk of the need for ID copy, and original for the applicant’s parents.  Where do you get parents who are already with the ancestors?  Why do you need a full reapplication just for a renewal?  When you had submitted all these documents already!!  I was feeling totally frustrated and wondering why I had started the process at all.

At two, I finally got called to a counter where a passion-fruit eating immigration officer, did his eating, processed my papers and handed back my processed papers without as much as a word.  I just followed the cue and went to the photography section, where the processing officer, now evidently tired, was forced to instruct me to sign up the digital screen and leave.

Thereafter I faced a next Nyayo… the Nyayo stadium, where the lock of my post office box got spoilt a week before.  I paid up 650 to have a lock replacement, but that was not the interesting bit…

“Pay at the counter,” someone had said.  The person then clarified, “I shall change the lock for you.”

He turned out to be the technician at the post office.

“There is no one at the counter to receipt the money!?,” I pointed out.

“Oh, Alice haigo?  Lasma naenda kukojoa.”

That did not come out of his mouth!!!  Did I hear what I thought I heard?

Finally, I was with him at the pigeon hole location.  Him doing his repairs.  Me looking on.  Small chat ongoing.

“I was here last week but could not get help,” I told him.

“Ulibata nani?”

“I got some madam, a bit elderly, and quite helpful.  Only that there was no technician to resolve.”

“Ulibata ile mama namna hii..,” he gestured in a manner of facial expression.

Was this guy a real person or was I hallucinating!  One cannot be that badly cultured!!

When he finished the job, “Lede so mocha ya lanj.”

What is befalling public service… what is happening to public service… Am I seeing public service vehicles… I hear a loud hoot.  It is a matatu.  Driving me out of the side of the road in order to drop a passenger where there is no stage.  I regain consciousness.

I am now at the end of Kanyariri road, as I now turn right to run the three hundred or so metres in order to join Gitaru-Wangige road in order to loop round the Gitaru market in readiness for the downhill.

Best run

The downhill was the best part of the run.  About 6k of pure enjoyable downhill where you just let go, and you roll down.  One final kilometer of hill on the 18k mark welcomes you to Ndumbo where you now only have 2k to the finish line.  You can smell the end of the run.  Nothing can stop you now.  You are technically done.  The best parts of the event are now behind you.  It is now just a matter of crossing the Waiyaki way and you kilometer back to the finish line.  I am soon finished.  Just like that.  The run is done.  Slowly by slowly, the team members finish, at their own pace, with their own personal best on this route.

There was no teq on this Friday, just promises that it shall be there ‘next time’.  If anything, there was more of Whatsapping, including one that I had to refute…

From Pato: I am glad that I ran along the legendary coach for some time.  He however left me and finished in 1.35.

From coach: Thanks, but no thank you.  The time was actually 1.45.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Feb. 15, 2019