Running at night part 2 - running with memories

Running at night part 2 - running with memories

Read part 1 here

Lightning does not strike twice, so goes a famous homeland saying, and that is what I was banking on when I re-attempted the Addis campus run.  I even took extra precaution and started the run earlier – at 5.15pm instead of 5.30pm.  I was good to beat the course in good time.

I flagged myself off and started the monotony of the circuit that runs generally on the perimeter of the compound.  I had already known it as a 2km high altitude route, with about half of it being a gently uphill.  I was starting at 2366m above sea level, to a low of 2360m, then finally to a high of 2376m.  With only a 16m height different, the route was not hilly by any definition.  

It was just one of those fairly flat routes.  But let that small difference not cheat you – running at an altitude over 2000m is not comfortable at all.  You just feel something pulling you back.  You apply lots of forward energy to get you going, and you tend to breath heavily.  Your speed is curtailed from start, unless you compensate by additional forward energy.

I would meet few other walkers on the route.  Greetings was the order of the day with every person that I met.

“Salamno!”

“Salamno!,” I replied, as I kept treading the trail.

Some encounters were even conversations, though I tried to keep going at a reduced speed.

“Salamno, you run good.  Very good!”

“Thanks,” I respond as I keep going.

“You extend also to road near gate, you must go to road there.”

“Oh, Ok, I shall try,” I respond while still on the run.  The person I am responding to must now be ten metres behind, walking.

“Be sure go that road,” he shouts to catch my attention, now almost fifteen metres ahead.

“Will do!,” I shout back.

What is this turning into?  A conversation!  Wasn’t it supposed to be a ‘Hi’.

But I am glad that I am even saying Hello.  It can be worse.  It has been worse, as I thought about what happened four months ago…..

When we got to P-10, our dormitory, the sun was still sweet and bright.  There was no way I would miss a run on this evening.  After all, this was a Wednesday – a run day.  While Paul and Eric decided to enjoy their day with the one-month free gym membership, I was on my journey of discovery – exploration of the open roads far from UiS.  

I had mapped my run on Google map and knew how it should turn out, at least on the map.  Unfortunately, I could not have the map while on the run, since I did not have internet connectivity while on the run.  This would not be possible without a local SIM card and data bundles on the SIM.  

Of course, I would have benefitted from the free wifi if I was configured properly on a local SIM, but that was just wishful for now.  I just had the map on computer screen, memory on how it should be, and reliance on good old luck to pull this off.  The map showed the route as being straight enough.  Just a long loop on the tarmac in front of my windows, and that shall be it.  It should be a simple 6km loop – a thirty minutes thing.  Simple!  Do this four times, and I am done.  Simple, I told you.

The time for the run would come.  I would adorn my running kit.  It was five-thirty.  I left and started slowly, past Kiwi supermarket and kept going.  I had now learnt to keep my runs to the side walkways.  And the walkways were available along all the roads, no exception.  

At times, the walkways would get under the roads as a crossing, then get you to the other side.  Other walkways were over the roads.  I would finally get to the main road that I intended.  I was to turn right on this road, which I did, and then kept going on straight ahead.  I soon passed the Clarion hotel on my right and kept following along Madlaveien, the main road to city centre.  

After some underpass that the footpath led me through, I found myself on the other side of the overhead main road.  This was just a road tributary.  The main road that I was running next to started drifting further to my left.  Soon the main road was so far to the left that I could only make it out by the vehicles swishing in the background.  

I kept running and found myself through a residential housing estate.  I was skeptical as to whether I was still on the right path.  This did not seem like a main road, but it was also not blocked in any way.  Wooden-walled houses stood on both side of this deserted tarmac road.  Most of the houses did not have fences.  The few with fences had some short green live fence.

I reduced speed, wondering whether I was still on the right track, but kept going through the estate for another five minutes.  I was quite relieved to finally get out of the residential estate and joined a sideroad next to a main road.  It was even possible that it was the same main road that had disappeared on me.  I was glad to get it, but that did not last.  After about fifty meters, the side road that I was running on seems to just end!  Just like that!  I just noticed it leading to some red strips marked on the tarmac, straight where I was to run.  What is going on here?

Nonetheless, this now red-marked part of the road was still on the side of the road, but not as well defined as the previous side walkways.  The previous sidewalks tended to have a gap, of greenery or otherwise, between them and the main roads.  This was just the road kerb, painted in red strips.  That is where I kept running.  It did not feel right, but I did not see any alternatives for me.  Then another fifty metres ahead and I got to a big roundabout, with large expansive roads all around the big circle.  I turned to the right, just as the road did turn right.  

Then… Then I heard a car hoot behind me, then pass.  I looked at it and did not see anything of concern.  Then another car hooted from behind and I stopped to look at it.  It soon came to a stop just next to my standing position, on this two-lane road.  The passenger on the front seat opened her window, and the driver, on the other side of the car tried to lean over, “No run here. This is highway,” he said.

“So where do I run?”

“Get run path, but no highway.”

I was forced to retreat the one hundred meters back to where the red marks started.  I still did not see the side walkway that would give me a chance to run towards this direction.  Where was it?  Where did I miss it?  I simply could not see how to run towards this direction on the expected footpath since I saw none.  

Not wishing to run myself into some trouble, I decided to just run back to UiS and remap my run from there.  I would also get an opportunity to maybe restudy the route map once more and then re-strategize.  So, I started running back, using the same path that I had taken.  It was a relief to start getting back home – just a reverse of the road that I had already taken.  A simple run back.  I kept running.  

It was now just past six.  The sun was still high and bright.  I kept going.  I met quite a few people on the side path, mostly those on bicycles.  I kept going.  Very few vehicles were on the main road.  I kept going.

“This must be my turn,” I finally told myself, relieved, as I got to the turn.

I turned to my left and kept going.  

I got a “wait a minute” moment, when the road somehow made a turn to the right, hardly two hundred meters after the turn.  My expectation was that once I turned left, I would run generally straight, all the way to Kiwi.  There surely was no right turn anywhere on the road, if I was to retrace my steps rightly.

“Maybe I was too busy running to notice the road profile,” I told myself, “For sure, I had made a turning when I was running to this direction, and that turning must surely be this one.  There was no other turning but this.”

I still kept going, but with lots of doubt in my mind.  The surrounding infrastructure did not seem familiar at all.  Maybe I had not been keen when running through the first time!?  I was running without my specs, but I still wondered why the route seemed different this time round when running back.  

Ten minutes down the road and I would for sure know that I was lost!  This is because this road came to an end and joined another crossroad.  For sure the road to Kiwi had no other junction at all.  It had a roundabout but not a junction.  That was a certainty.  I was lost!

I ran back to the first junction that I took from the main road, and thought that maybe I had turned left too early.  So, I decided to rejoin the highway and continue further down, then take the next left turn, just in case I had taken my first turn too soon.  

I started running down the main road, and soon enough found another left turn.  I took this turn and started another run on this road.  This road would again soon turn slightly to the right, unlike my expectation that it should be continuing straight on.  I kept going, grudgingly, but ten more minutes of run would lead to the same realization that I was lost, again.

So, there I was, lost twice…. but nothing to worry, it was still too bright.  It was hardly six-thirty.  My strategy was to still go back to the highway, rejoin it, and continue with the highway further down and get to the next left turn, just in case I had again turned to my left too soon in the last two attempts.  This third attempt was even more disastrous.  My road just came to an end then turned left into a residential estate!  That was for sure not the turn that I expected to take me back to UiS – no way!  

I therefore ran back to the highway and chanced once more on that first turn that I had taken initially.  Maybe I was just not being observant.  Maybe the road to UiS was just there in plain view, but I was not seeing it.  I once more faced that first turn that I was already lost on anyway, but my mind told me to give it another try.  

I kept running, came to that same turn and ran its full length.  There was no change.  It brought me back exactly where it had brought me the first time – to a cross road which was surely not the road to UiS.  I ran back, now worried.  It was over an hour now.

I had done more than twelve kilometers, yet I was not yet back to my UiS starting point – a starting point that should have just been a 6km circuit.  And now I was surely lost!  Lost in the Arctic circle.  Will I ever be found?  What would my family say?  Will my friends ever know?  These thoughts were now filling my mind.  I was heading towards a panic.

My phone could not load a map to show my position.  I had no idea at all where I was.  I came to a standstill and started looking around, just to see if I could decipher anything familiar.  Nothing came to mind.  I saw a place called Stokka Forum building, and opposite it a church, I guess Lutheran, written Karismakirken.  I was standing next to them now, but I could not recall ever seeing these two when I was coming this direction for the first time.

I now had no choice but to ask someone.  I felt bad about this prospect of asking someone.  I would have preferred to continue looking for the route myself, however long it took.  Nonetheless, there was no use going round and round without any possibility of getting out of this maze.  If anything, I would get more lost.  

I passed besides Stokka and headed towards a compound that looked like a school or sports club of sorts.  There was a big field with children playing.  There was a fence around it.  A footpath ran next to the field.  I saw some gentleman on the footpath heading away from the field, going same direction.  I quickened my walk and soon caught up with him.  I was just about to break the cardinal Norwegian rule of MYOB.  I felt bad about it. 

“Excuse me,” I said when we were walking parallel.

He was taken aback.

“Hello, I was running but I seem lost.  I want to go back to UiS,” I updated him in quick succession.

“Hi,” he hesitated and stopped.

I also stopped.  We did not exchange any handshakes.  We just gauged each other.

“I was running from UiS, and want to go back there.  I seem lost,” I reassured.

“I see,” he continued to gauge me out.  

I looked harmless enough.  Just a Tee-top, a pair of green shorts and the running shoes.  No danger from me here, on this bright daylight.

“Which UiS?”

“University of Stavanger!”

“They are many, which one?”

“The one near Kiwi.  Kiwi supermarket”

“Kiwi are many.  Which Kiwi?”

I was completely lost.  I did not have sense of direction or road names or building names or even localities.

“Main campus… The main University, the big one... Near a tall tower”

He absorbed the new intel.  I could see from his expression that it seemed like bad news awaited.

“You are far,” he finally said, in reflection.  Sympathy forming on his otherwise expressionless face. 

He extracted his phone, “You are here,” he pointed at some place on Google map, “And you are going here,” he pointed at another place.

“Wuuwi!,” I almost shouted.  

I was completely lost!

There was no way I would have got myself out of this quagmire without help.  I immediately realized that I was getting lost further with every attempt that I made in keeping going down the main road.  I immediately knew that my mistake was having missed the correct left turn in the first place.  I had from the onset taken the second left turn, instead of the correct first left turn.  That is why I was now lost… by far.

“You have two ways.  Go back and round, or cross through here, turn left to the main road then turn right on that road.  Keep going until you get to the turn that goes to UiS” he talked, while pointing at the map on the cell.

“Mhh,” I responded, noddingly.

“You sure you will get it?,” he sympathized, visibly.

“Sure.  Provided I get to the roundabout.  Just to that turn and I shall be done.  Thanks a million.”

And as surely as explained, I just crossed through the edge of the playing field, the children and apparent guardians looking at me suspiciously, and got out of that enclosure.  On the other side of the field was the tarmac road where I turned left.  Before long I had seen the main road where I crossed and turned right.  This was the very elusive road that I had already stepped on during my first phase of the run.  

I resumed my running on the sidewalk and it did not take me long to start seeing all the familiar landmarks.  Everything that I expected to see was back – visible in plain daylight!  There it was, the DNB arena.  I remember marveling at its size on my first leg of the run.  ‘Stavanger Ishall’ was next to it, then the building marked DLL.  Even the elusive Clarion was there!  In plain view!!

What a welcome relief to be back to familiar territory!  That final underpass at the roundabout marked my final left-turn that would then take me straight back to UiS on a 2km stretch of road.  I was so charged up, full of adrenalin, when I reached UiS that I had to take an additional dose of another quick 2km circuit around the uni, to finally stop my run with a time of 02.04.48.  The analogue showed 20.87km, while the mobile phone app showed 21.99km.  The app provided a route map of the run.  A map that I would treasure forever as the half marathon that was not meant to be… the lost half… the accidental half...

“Very funny,” I said to myself as I shook my head back to the reality of the moment.  I realized that I was still running the trail round the Addis Ababa campus.  The route was fairly deserted, just these two regular walkers that I overtook severally during the run.  Just the ache of the run at high altitude.  I was now doing the seventh and last loop.  It was dark, just as dark as my Tuesday run.  For a second time, nature had beaten me and forced the dark onto my running path, despite my early start.

I was glad to finally fight the dark path to the finishing line, with my gadgets recording differently:

Endomondo gave me 15.40km in 1.15.09

Runkeeper recorded the run as 16.01km in 1.15.08

The marathoners guide 101 dictates that I pick the maximum time in the shortest distance, so, Endomondo it is.

WWB, the Coach, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, Dec. 5, 2019

Running at night - dare you?

Running at night - dare you?

“Am I imagining that I imagine a light hitting my face?,” I asked myself, as I stepped carefully, with heavy steps, on the dim trail.

It happened again, a beam tore through my approaching form, just for a moment, then it went dead again.  This caused my second temporary blindness as the rods in my eyes had to readjust from high intensity light to darkness.  I kept going.  I would soon pass by a sentry, hardly visible, apart from his form that could be made out from the side of the now dark and almost invisible trail.

“Salamno,” I say in his direction as I pass by.

“Salamno!”

I am soon gone and face the left turn on the ninety degrees corner of the farmland.  My only worry now is a stumble, which may affect the run completion.  A fall would be worse, as it would spell the end of my run for the day.  I just kept stepping on by faith that all is well.  From the corner, I would run about half a k, to get to the main road that leads in and out of the compound.  I then have to continue making my way through the trail that generally runs around the outer perimeter of the compound.  

This is just my fifth circuit out of the six that I plan to do.  I still have one more of these dark runs to contend with.  However, I am not to blame.  Blame my location.  I surely started the run at 5.30pm, when it was still bright and light.  It just become dark as I started the fourth circuit.  It was hardly 6.10pm when the darkness hit.  I was doing this ‘torch-beam’ circuit hardly ten minutes later on this 2k circuit.  My last sixth would end at 6.38pm.  I had survived over 30-minutes of running in the dark.

Running in the dark has its own share of issues.  To start with, you need to be alert – all senses alert type.  Your eyes are not your only guide.  They are hardly your guide since you cannot see properly.  Your ears are your second most important sense.  You judge your action with what you hear.  Like that apparent movement in the thickets on my left before I met with that beam.  That thicket noise surely meant something.  I was faced with a ‘stop-think-retreat’ or ‘accelerate-think-later’ when I first heard these sounds.  I accelerated, only to get that face load of beam!  

The wild

It was just one day after this Monday run that we were discussing the ‘animals on campus’.  I was all smiles as I saw the presentation on large screen about the other stakeholders that this campus in Ethiopia coexists with.

The list had snakes – that is not strange.  Have vegetation, have trees, have insects, have rodents and that would be the natural predator.  This campus has all these.

“We have rats,” the presenter would say.  

Surely!  That is not something worth talking about when listing animals on campus!  Is a rat even an animal?

“We have jackals, near the field.”

“Did you say jackals?,” I had to reconfirm this.

“Yes, just on the thicket next to the field.”

My experience on that trail next to the field came back to mind.  That must have been it.

We would be provided with the full list of the other animals on campus, those that my Engineering department had to find a place for.  Blue breasted bee-eater, the bird.  A duiker, I had to check that out before I found out what it was.  How about another bird, the Rouget’s rail!  Several tortoises – I had seen these while on previous runs, just grazing next to the trail.  Hooded vultures – no comment on this.  Frogs – this is an animal?  Liars!  White-tailed mongoose.  

A civet – that was another animal that I had not heard of, but there it was projected on the big screen.  Vervet monkey – so that is what that thing is called!?  The list would go on… Green parrot, Honey bees…

“We also have three of the four species of Ibis nesting around the waste water ponds,” the presenter would update us.

I had to look that one up, since that would be quite something.  The real genus for this would therefore be Bostrychia, though my source would indicate five species in this genus.

Back to the run at night, where you must have both your eyes and ears open.  You also need to have your instinct ready and waiting.  The run at night is also likely to be faster since your adrenalin is likely to be elevated ready for ‘anything’.  However, this also means that your stress level may be unnecessarily high during and immediately after the run, hence you need to know how to deal with it.  Just finish your run and get something to relax you, like a warm bath and a cup of your favourite drink – water can still do.  I finished off with a bath and a glass of warm water, even as my Endomondo gave out the stats as: 

DISTANCE - 13.94 km

DURATION - 1h:08m:10s 

Finally, please note that there is a difference between running-in-the-dark and night-running.

WWB, the Coach, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, Dec. 4, 2019

Running with Children, then… Missing Easter

Running with Children, then… Missing Easter

Scheming

It was exactly one week ago today, that the five of us finally visited the Children’s home.  This was after one year of many false starts on this mission.  It started as a ‘wild’ idea during one of those TF monthly teas at ‘sobriety’ corner of the bar.

“This tea is mwaaa!,” Nikki had commented.

“Why are you not saying anything about your favourite?,” Irina had asked.

We all laughed since we understood immediately what was being talked about.

“Ah, that,” Nikki joined in, “Si you just know.  No one touches those sausages.”

All laughed a second time.

“But they are like twenty!,” I wondered, laughingly.

It was then that I had brought in the topic of donating to some charity.  One year ago.  At that time we had discussed all manner of topics – we discussed dis and dat and some more.  We attempted to discuss football, which was showing on TV at that time.  We did not go far, since the gals would soon dismiss us with, “What is this obsession with guys and balls?”

So we left it at that.  

Soon we were discussing soap operas.  Their faces lit up.  All the gals were soon fully immersed in the discussion.  The two guys in the group of six become mere spectators.  How do you even follow a soap character for like six months and still follow the story!?  In football you follow only for 90-minutes and it is done – finished – no second guessing.  You exhale once – you are done with it.  But not for the gals…

“You saw how Alejandro fought with Juan because of Teresa yesterday?,” Irina asked the table.

“Woyi!  Ilikuwa drama,” Roxy confirmed, “Hata singekula supper saa ile kipindi inaendelea”.

“Na vile Teresa anapenda Juan!  Hata hapendi Alejandro.  Aki, Juan ni ka-cute,” Nikki reaffirmed.

“That is what true love is,” Irina said, “Siyo kama hawa African men,” she pointed in our general direction, but to no one in particular.

Talk is talk

We talked about the politics of that time.  About the recent elections and how it has created anxiety, with two elections and two swearing-ins.  We talked about handshakes, and at that point cheered to the power of handshakes.  We talked about clothes and dressing.

“Did you see what Brenda of Accounts was wearing during today’s Friday coffee?,” Roxy raised the issue.

“I did not notice anything ‘funny’!,” which was true.  It held tight with all major emphasis at the right places… but what was the big deal?  Isn’t that what dressing should be all about – draw some attention… all attention!

“Hapana, hiyo nguo ilitesa!,” Irina confirmed “Ma boy-child walikuwa wana umia!  I wish sitazaa dame – Ma dame ni shida tupu!”

I believe that this is the topic and would start the journey to this visit to the Children’s home one year later.  Since at this point of discussion we raised the issue of how we have so many clothes that we never wear.  They are just in the wardrobe or bags, gathering dust, but never used.  We keep waiting for “someday”, some “one day”, when these clothes shall come in handy.  This “someday, one day” never comes and years keep going.  I gave the group my piece of mind that if you have not touched any piece of cloth for a year, then you do not need it.  It is at this point that we agreed to collect all these clothes and donate them to charity.

Soon we would continue discussing this issue of donations, starting with the idea of clothes to more items like shoes, toys, bags…. then food… then money…. then community activity.  We kept adding in the ideas (on paper, sorry on Whatsapp).  It was all talk, and nothing towards practicality.  

Many Fridays later, and we would start firming up this issue by asking members to start bringing in the clothes to a central place for storage.  We started discussing the potential homes that could benefit.  We come up with a budget.  We called for contributions and donations.  It was going to happen.

Time flies

One year later, Saturday, April 13 would come and see our group of five get into a vehicle, cargo in boot, and head to Children’s Garden Home at Kawangware river, some 3km away from our work place.  We did not know what to expect.  We did not know how it would go.  We were doing this for the first time.  We were nervous, unsure, anxious… we even felt inadequate.

“Are you sure that they shall appreciate what we are donating?,” Nikki wondered as we turned into the compound of the home.

“Too late!  Here we are,” I instructed the driver on where to turn, “We have done our best and there is no room for second guessing.”

It is not that I was also that confident.  I had my doubts.  What we had carried with us seemed so little.  We had 10kg each of sugar, rice and beans.  We had with us 20 packets of maize flour.  We had a big carton full of clothes of all ages, plus toys and shoes.  Earlier on, the carton got torn in the process of squeezing in all the material, forcing us to tie it up with sisal string.  Our newest member, Prisca, had even surprised us all by joining us at the start of the journey with a box of biscuits.

I had already alerted the proprietor of the home of our visit on the previous day, and we found him waiting.

“I am Musa,” he stretched out his hand in my direction.  This was after the five of us and the driver, had alighted and formed a semi-circle just next to our car, waiting for ‘what next?’.

“This is the team that I told you about,” we exchanged greetings as I went ahead and introduced myself and the other five.

“Welcome to the Children’s Garden Home and School,” he told the group.

He took us through a tour of the facilities.  The institution houses children from infants to those in post-secondary school.  Their learning facilities have nursery, primary and secondary school classes.  They also have a play field, accommodation facilities and a new building under construction.  They rely on donations and volunteers to run their routines.  Our self-doubt on whether we would make an impact was soon gone.  We knew for sure that we were doing the right thing and our contribution would go a long way.

Watch this

We would soon be seated in their hall for a ‘surprise’ interlude of entertainment.  We watched the young ones undertake various talent show activities.  We heard their songs.  We saw them dance – and dancing they did.  We saw their acrobats.  We even heard a soloist, accompanied by a guitarist.  Both were quite good in what they did.  We saw pure, raw, untapped talent.  Marvelous.  Beautiful.  Inspiring.  

We would soon be introduced as the “important visitors” and asked to address the audience of mainly children.  As the team leader, I would soon be introducing the other four colleagues, since by then our driver had already left.  After each of the team members had said their bit in encouraging the youngsters.  It was my time to wrap it up.

“All of us have our talents.  You need to know it, and exploit it.  Let no one discourage you.  Do what you like and keep doing it.”

The hall was all quiet.  Attentive.

“What is ‘talent’ in Kiswahili?,” I broke the silence.

I passed the mic around….

“Kipaji,” a shrill voice bellowed in the mic.

“Talanta,” another voice said in the mic that was passing around.

“Uwezo,” someone else said.

“Ubunifu,” they kept coming.

“Kipawa,” someone said.

“Ujuzi!”

“What talent do you know of?,” the second question also resulted into some mic movement.  We got all manner of answers.

The obvious ones – sports, singing, playing instruments, acrobatics, drawing.

The ish ish ones – plaiting hair, washing

The where-did-these-come-from responses – banta (marbles), eating!

We felt very fulfilled that day as we left the home at about two, after a three hour stay.  We even got an official acknowledgement receipt for what we had donated.  That was a first.  

“What name do we write on the receipt?,” the proprietor had asked.

“TF group,” we responded almost in unison.

“T-what?”

“True Friends.”

Soon there would be a Whatsapp update on the photos and all the happenings of the day.  Soon there would be suggestion that we need to do this again soon.

Coffee is coffee

The next day would see me travel to our other work campus for a collaborative project with a similar department.  On Monday at eight o’clock I did the introductory meeting and then a break at ten thirty.  One thing that I have now learnt is never to say no to an offer of this….

“We now go coffee?,” Rachel said as we left the conference room with the intention of going back to our work site.

“Sure, let us do this.”

We were soon taking coffee in very small cups… and for a reason...  The coffee is so strong that a bigger cup would surely knock you out.  We sat at the coffee preparation area, where the coffee-girl prepared the coffee from roasted beans that we could see.  Brewed on a live fire just in front of us.  Brewed in traditional clay kettles before our very eyes.  Incense was spreading to our seating area.  Whenever the smoke went down, she would pour something onto the fire and the incense would immediately intensify once more.

On top of the dark black liquid in the small cup, was equally a small piece of leaf.

“What is this leaf?”

“That.. eh, that is ten-adam.  You people don’t have ten-adam?  Very common here in Ethiopia,” Rachel said.

The leaf had good aroma.  I liked it.

Later that day, we got to speak to the head gardener who promised to give us the botanical name of ten-adam.  He kept his promise, since hardly one day later, I got an email forwarded through my hosts to me...

“Tell the president that it is called Ruta chalepensis”

After lunch that day, I was not surprised when despite being full to the brim, I was invited for yet another coffee.  Saying no was out of the question.  I was once again seated at the same coffee place at their clubhouse.

“Buna ke ten-adam,” I told the coffee gal.

She laughed.  Impressed.  She told Rachel something in Amharic.  Rachel would laugh too.

“She says you know Amharic already.”

Twelve is Twelve

Every day at ten to eleven I would get the call for coffee.  I would obey the call for coffee.  You cannot say no to coffee.  It is the most serious sign of disrespect.  Another call would come in daily between three and four.  The routine continued until finally it was a Friday.  My last work day at Abyssinia after my one week project.

“Today at twelve evening we go out,” Rachel prepared me early in the morning, when I just got to the office.

She meant “saa kumi na mbili jioni”.  I understood.  Apart from coffee, you also don’t want to mess with the time.  And I would realize that applies to the calendar date too…..

“President, I was Nairobi last week.  Liked the office you gave me,” the Procurement guy told me during introductions early that Friday.  I had passed by with Rachel as part of information gathering for the project.

“Amese-ginalehu,” I struggled.

“You mean you can do Amharic?,” he wondered loudly, “The ladies are treating you good.”

He looked at Rachel accusingly.

He then gave me some lessons of his own.

“This is Ethiopian calendar,” he reached behind his desk and removed a big A3 size calendar that had one month on each page.  He opened the page written ‘April’ and moved his finger to the date written ‘19’.  

He read the Amharic wordings below that date, then gave his interpretation, “Today is Date 11.”

He then moved his finger to the top page where the year 2019 was written and below it he read and announced, “We are in year 2011”

He then gifted me the calendar, to complement my learning efforts.

“I feel bad working during a holiday,” I complained, “You people do not celebrate Easter?  It is Good Friday in Kenya!”

“Did I not give you the Ethiopian calendar?,” he asked, “Our Easter is next week Friday… And ours is serious.  Not like that joke of a Easter in Kenya!”

“It is true,” Rachel laughed at me, “Here Easter is serious holidays.  All people they celebrate Easter.”

On fire

That evening saw our team of two gents and three ladies head to a cultural centre just near the international airport.

“Welcome to Yod Abyssinia Traditional Restaurant,” the gateman said upon our arrival.

We got into a big hall.  With traditional sitting arrangement.  It was already full, with people seated at their different circular formations on the low back traditional seats.  We would have been misplaced without a reservation.  We would be directed to seat at our reserved corner.  

There was a band of four already on the stage playing instrumentals with a mix of both modern and traditional instruments.  The drums and flute were modern.  The 1-stringed and 8-stringed instruments were traditional.  Soon the stage would light up with different performances, singers and dancers.  It was a good display.  

We would then order.  Three of our team members were ‘on fasting’ ready for Easter.  They could not take meat.  Two of us ordered meat…

“The meat with fire below it,” I said.

All the four laughed out loud, “That they call tibs,” Rachel rescued me from the laughter.

“Ok, Tibs, well done,” I resigned.

“Tirē siga,” I thought I heard Mary say.  But that is what I heard.

The servings arrived.  A big tray lined with injera, firfir and assorted sauces in small dishes was laid before the three who were on Easter cleansing.  Some fish fillet was served their way to crown their non-meat day.

A small fired clay pot was laid before me, more like fried meat simmering on the top plate like structure.  Something that looked like minced meat was put before Mary.  A central tray separated our two meat servings.  On this central tray was laid brown injera and white injera.  Two small dishes contained some spices.  I later learned that the spices were red chili paste, green chili paste and flavoured curry powder.  

I was specifically warned to go easy on the green paste.  It burns.  I burnt.  I would soon feel something hit the middle of my brain when I mistakenly scooped enough green chili in a roll of injera and got it to my mouth.  Washing it down with the yellow drink did nothing.  The pain would soon subside - lesson learnt - take it ‘small’ on the green.

My eyes widened at my neighbour’s central plate.  Before long I was asked to taste.

“Taste some raw meat, very sweet.”

My eyes widened further, “Thanks, but no thank you.  Next time.”

“All answer is always ‘next time’,” Mary would complain.

“I promise.”

They offered us coffee after dinner.  We accepted the coffee, served with incense.  There was also a small basket of pop corn alongside the buna.

Ancestors

The mood remained jovial while the music become a familiar background.  We chatted within our table.  Even laughed at people of dare take firfir with a spoon.  A person I know was named.  I laughed at her.  How dare she?  You can only take that paste by scooping it with injera.  You cannot spoon it!  We also talked about how to take tej the right way.  Even some on the very table could not hold the conical tej flask correctly.  The men seemed to be seasoned in this tradition.  The gals held their flasks like cups!  Breaking tradition!!  Bad gals!!!

“You people drink without honouring ancestors?,” I asked after noticing a second bottle of tej, the honey-based drink, arrive and no one taking any step to spill some on the ground.

“Not tej,” Rachel said, “Other drinks we can give ancestors, but not tej.  Tej too common for ancestors.”

Then when we thought that we had seen it all….

“Wedding party!,” Sally exclaimed!  Excited and pointing behind me.

The music immediately changed as a soloist moved to stage and sang a seemingly familiar song.  Soon all of the people in the big room had joined in the singing and clapping.  The tune continued as we clapped in rhythm.  The wedding party would soon settle on their seats just behind our own circle.  The song ended once the party had settled down.  What an evening of tradition!

In 24-hours’ time I would be getting an offer for a final coffee at mid-night as the 737 was heading for its destination at JKIA.

“Yes,” I responded to the hostess, “Buna ke ten-adam”.


WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Apr. 20, 2019

Running a new 365

Running a new 365

Look back

I start today’s blog by revisiting 2018, my most active marathon year yet.  Though I only have one medal to show for the 365 days of activity, there was much more that I achieved that year than any other single year.  That is the year that I did six, yes, six ‘international halfs’.  Add to that the Ndakaini marathon and the Nairobi International full, then you can see why it was the most active of years.  Those are 189km of competitive run distance – real feet on real roads.  The annual average is usually 63, in 2 or 3 competitive runs.

It was therefore a very deserved break when I did hang my running shoes after the last international on Dec. 21 and took my 2-week annual break, where I remained sedentary for all of these days.  It was a great relief.  I could now manage to wake up without being on the edge or feeling tired.  I am usually on hyperactivity mode most of the year.  I find myself oscillating from run-tired-rest then the next run awaits.  It is usually an exciting long-period-of-time to be on edge.  I like it!  However, the break is equally exciting and I find myself having a December that has mixed fortunes.  In 2017 I was at my rural home accepting a sister’s bride price…. In 2018 I was at my rural home attending a funeral of my cousin’s wife.  

Greenery

Staying at my shags is the most exciting part of my end year break.  The place is quiet, with an amazing greenery.  You can see the full horizon coloured in nature, with hardly any disturbance of the natural environment.  The air has natural aura.  It still rains even in December, upon which you can smell the sweet earth, permeating the evening air.  It tends to rain in the evening.  The sun will usually not go down on such a day… the rain would have taken care of the sundowner.  Then the dusk would creep in slowly, whereupon you notice the darkness just sneak in, and soon it is pitch dark.  

The night power source is likely to be a kerosene lamp, however, we have now seen the advent of solar systems and we have installed one in our boma.  The rural electrification scheme is still a dream of a few since each beneficiary has to part with $150, which is no small fee still.  On this day that we have had the evening rain, you can forget the solar power.  It shall support the lights, which is the main concern anyway, but it shall be on ‘beep beep’ by eight, and then momentarily go off.  That is the evening to switch back to kerosene.  

On days when there is no rain and no cloud cover, you can rely on the solar to power all systems, light and sockets until the next day.  On such days, when there is no rain, the crickets cricket through the night.  They tweet their melody from early morning through the night.  The fireflies take over the evening and soon control the night.  They twinkle around undisturbed.  The night is otherwise pitch dark and you cannot see further than the fireflies.  It is claimed that the night people aka night marathoners, use them to light up the way, I don’t believe this.  On such nights, you make your way from house to house in your typical homestead by pure intuition and imagination on how the route should be.  Occasionally, you do stumble on something or even someone.  

With my village life concluded, I finally have to walk back the 6km distance to the main highway to enable me get a vehicle back to the city.  I am forced to cut short the good ambience of the village.  As I walk back, I see all manner of crops growing on both sides of the small path.  The path is covered by thicket fences on both side.  It is the conclusion of the short rains, hence the maize has ripened and some land is being prepared for the next season.  Cassava and sweet potatoes dominate the rest of the otherwise maize fields.  Everything else is greened with grass, shrubs and trees.  Every fifty or so meters you see a homestead appear by the roadside.  There is bound to be someone in the homestead.  You are bound to say Hi.  It is the tradition to say Hi, regardless of whether you know the occupants or not.  Tradition has already taught us that we are all sons and daughters of the soil.  Were’s creation, they call us.  All the sixteen sub-tribes of the Luhya have a linkage to Were Khakaba.  No one came from any other creator but Were.  You are therefore obligated to acknowledge and greet any villager – all villagers.  I leave the village with nostalgia that shall last until it is quenched during a next visit.

Switch One

Back to the city, the end of the once peaceful village life comes to an end.  My full days spent under the mango tree have ended.  The dinner under the moonlight with my folks become a thing of the past.  The salutation, where elders call you, “My father”, simply because you were named after your grandfather is gone.  This salutation is gone for sure.  The city folks just shout at you with a “Hey there,” if you a lucky.  You are soon back to civilization as defined by the city dwellers.  You are soon back to the period of tiredness.  You are soon back to routine.  

In the village there is no routine.  One day you are waking up early, around six, since you have to set off while the sun is still hidden, to visit some distant relations.  Another day you are sleeping until late, not caring about breaking the fast in any hurry.  On those days they usually send one of the children in the compound, usually a grandchild, to wake you up from your house, if you are lucky.  If you are unlucky, the elders shall just shout you out of sleep in their coarse bass and chatter.

“Hey, our father, are you still alive?,” you shall imagine you heard while still in the depth of sleep.  You actually heard right.  That is likely to be about eleven.  On such a day you shall take breakfast at noon, lunch at three, dinner at seven and top it up with before-bed tea.  Tea is not a meal.  It is not counted.  It does not count.  It is taken through the day – from starter to stopper.  There is no routine, anything goes, apart from the three ‘routine’ meals every day, which remain compulsory.

Switch Two

Back to the city, we have our routine marathon runs – three times a week – as strict as a doctor’s prescription.  You miss out and you have to start the dose afresh.  It is in our system and we have to live with it.  On many of these Monday, Wednesday and Friday runs, I get to go for the lunch hour run with a colleague from the marathoners group.  That is how the B-and-B team came about, of course, leading to that very team breaking a record for the worst time ever posted in the international halfs, but that is a story already told.  Nonetheless, the record remains.  Had it been at the village, we would not be contemplating any runs.  The mention of a run evokes negative emotions.  It is by default associated with the night ones.

Back to the city, I can remember one of these lunch hour run, with the B-team.  We were going on the 8km ‘the river’ route.  We usually do run and walk, depending on how the runners feel on the particular day (and also the solar level).  On this particular day, it was quite sunny and hot.  We had as a result only run to the 4km turn-back point, then decided to walk back the hill, and continue walking back to our starting point.

“I am too tired today,” Beryl said, “It is you who forced me to come for this run.”

“That is not true,” I said.

“Why now?”

“This run was already planned in the big scheme of things,” I stated, “It would have happened whether you like it or not.  There is nothing you could have done to prevent this run from happening.”

This is big

We discussed this big-scheme-of-things, which some call fate or destiny, with different points of view and did not have an agreement by the time we finished the 1hr 10min run-with-walk.  We have discussed this topic many other times, usually with no agreement, and it thus brings me to the New Year message…

Let your destiny in 2019 be guided by your decision to do your runs.  Commit to these runs since it is part of a healthy lifestyle.  If you decide to do your weekly runs, then go ahead and do them.  If you decide to join our monthly international halfs, then by all means do that.  If you want to join us for the Kilimanjaro marathon in March, just be there.  In the ‘big scheme of things’, there is nothing you can do to prevent what you want to do from happening – it is unstoppable and beyond your control.  Plan for it.  Show up for it.  Surrender to it.  Give in.  Flow with it.

Happy New Year 2019.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, Jan. 6, 2019