Nairobi International Marathon 2012

Nairobi International Marathon 2012

The event
The Nairobi International Marathon, 2012 edition takes place on Sunday, October 28, 2012 at Nairobi's Nyayo stadium from 7.00am.

Registrations are open at the organizer's website - nairobimarathon

Registration fees remain KShs.1,000.00 for single participation in any of the run categories.  Registration points are all Stanchart banks countrywide and major supermarkets in Nairobi.

The first edition of this run was held in 2003.  As we participate in the magical 10th edition, you need to consider your preparedness.  The various runs need different training regimes.  Whether seasoned or first timer - training is a must.  The duration and intensity of the training varies though, depending on the run category and whether you have done a similar run before.

Run categories
The various run categories in the 2012 edition are:
a) 42km full marathon - to start at 7.00am (6.30am assembly)
b) 21km half marathon - to start at 7.30am (7.00am assembly)
c) 10km run - to start at 8.50am (7.30am assembly)
d) 4km family fun run - to start at 9.20am (8.00am assembly)

I participated in my first run at this event in 2007, doing the 21km run in my debut.  I followed it with three consecutive 42km runs.  Last year, at the height of terrorism threat in Nairobi, I was persuaded to skip the run altogether.  Even the sponsor pulled out in the last minute.  However, this did not stop me from participating in the 21km run, albeit without the participation of my team.

This year am keen to do another 21km.  I have not trained much, with a series of events in the year conspiring to keep me out of the running routes.  Nonetheless, I have a 8-week window of opportunity to train, participate and post good time in this year's event.

Training schedule
The 8-week training schedule (21km run) is shown below:
(Note week 1 starts Sunday, Sep. 2, 2012, while week 8 starts Sunday, Oct. 21, 2012)
Week 1 - Monday, Wednesday, Friday runs (45min to 1hr each run)
Week 2 - Monday, Wednesday, Friday runs (45min to 1hr each run)
Week 3 - Monday, Wednesday, Friday, weekend runs (45min to 1hr each run, weekend run 1hr30min)
Week 4 - Monday, Wednesday, Friday, weekend runs (45min to 1hr each run, weekend run 1hr30min)
Week 5 - Monday, Wednesday, Friday, weekend runs (45min to 1hr each run, weekend run 1hr30min)
Week 6 - Monday, Wednesday, Friday, weekend runs (45min to 1hr each run, weekend run 1hr30min)
Week 7 - Monday, Wednesday, Friday runs (45min to 1hr each run)
Week 8 - week of rest, 3 walks, each 30 minutes (Monday, Wednesday, Friday)
Week 9 - Sunday, October 28, 2012 - run day

Important note - carry along some water, and take at least 500ml for any run over 1hr.  Consume about 250ml extra for any additional half hour or part thereof.

The same schedule can be adopted for a 10km run, with a little flexibility.  A 42km event needs a much longer preparation.  However, if you are participating in this, just to 'finish the run', then the above schedule can help you out.  Ensure that you do one 2hr30min to 3hr run at least in Week 5 or 6.  However, expect to finish the run, with some difficulty, about 5hrs later.

Ten reasons
Why bother with this (or any other run):
- running, a form of physical exercise is good for your health
- these runs, and the preps enables you to take a break out of your busy schedule, hence helpful in giving you a balance in work and play
- the runs help you see and experience the outdoors (and there are many things at the outdoors - read my previous experiences from earlier posts)
- on the event day, you get to see one of the largest crowds gathered for a good cause
- the Nairobi International marathon is for a good cause.  The proceeds help those who can not afford expensive eye surgeries at various hospitals in Kenya (Kapsabet, Kapenguria, Iten, Kikuyu, Kwale, Sabatia, Tenwek).  For this initiative, KShs.17M was raised during the 2011 event
- the sense of achievement after the run is just too great to miss
- legs (and usually the whole body) aches for a few days after the event.  This is good for the body - a one off strain/stress to improve its immunity
- it gives you an opportunity to meet friends
- there are good photography moments
- you get an excuse to run alongside the greatest runners in Kenya and the world

Registrations close Sunday, October 21, 2012, with online registrations closing on October 24.

See you all on Sunday, October 28, 2012 at the 21km starting line.

The last run with my father

The last run with my father

The phone call
I had somehow known that one of these phone calls that I really dread would finally just bear bad news.  To preserve my eight hours of sleep, I have always made it a tradition not to touch the phone from ten in the night, until seven the next day.  Everybody close to me knows this.  My reasoning is that I need my undisturbed sleep, usually.  Occasionally, when I spend those late nights in a party, I still need the late night to enjoy, not to answer phone calls.

The phone vibrated at about four-thirty in the morning.  This particular one disturbed my sleep and I awakened.  By the time I got to the phone on the bedside table, it was already off.  The caller ID confirmed that it was my elder brother.  He knows that I do not receive late night calls – he had never called me this early ever.  My mind was already in a spin.  I kind of knew what awaited me when the day breaks.

I thought of calling back, but coincidentally did not have credit.  I therefore decided to wait until six, when I would get out of the house and visit the early-riser shopkeepers to buy airtime.  I could not sleep though, so I switched on the telly and watched the early morning news on CNN then flipped to AlJazeera on another channel.  Another flip landed me on BBC world.  None of our local stations was back.  They were still on break during which they feed into these international channels.

I dragged myself out of the house a few minutes to six and made my way to the shops, just across the main street.  It takes about a minute from my house to the shops, since I see the main street while seated on my verandah.  The morning was still cold and a bit dark.  However, the matatus on the road were already making their characteristic loud beeps and deafening music.  The touts were already shouting each other down, beckoning passengers to their vehicles.

Back to the house, just before I could load the airtime, the phone rang once more, messing up my progression of keying in the 14-digit recharge PIN.
“Yes,” I started
“Barack, is that Barack?  Is that you my brother, this is Pauline,” the caller was low and a bit breathless.
“Yes, it’s me”
“Dad is gone.  I said Dad is gone”

I just sat there, not sure whether I even disconnected the phone or she did.  I just sat by the reading table, the recharge scratch card on my left, the phone on the right…. and did nothing.  I do not know what went through my mind.  Come to think of it, I probably blacked out.  I came back to reality at about 6.30am, when the news sank in and I walked to the bathroom sink to wash my face.


Find it out
There is no proper signage at Kakamega’s PGH, though they are trying to do a facelift.  Together with three siblings, we were at the hospital to clear medical bills and finalize preparations for the send-off.  From the main hospital, we were directed to go ‘down there, after the gate’.

We kept going, managed to get through the hospital’s back gate and were then faced with two compounds - one whose gate was closed, the other whose gate was partially open.  There was no sign of life on either.  With one of my bros having been left behind at the main hospital, instinct directed the three of us to turn left into the compound with the partially open gate, just across a dilapidated once-tarmac road.

We walked into the compound not knowing what to expect.  There was an L-shaped block, with the open room on our left empty, some five meters away, while the nearer block had its windows facing us.  While wondering where to go next, or even where we were, we heard some sound like the movement of wheels on the ground coming from our backs.  This was coming from the direction of the gate that we came in through.  We all looked back, almost in rhythm, only to see two people pushing a trolley towards the compound.  Without a doubt, there was a still body on the trolley, partly covered, with the head part partially visible, being wheeled towards the empty room to our left.  The two did not seem to notice us, since they just passed by us continuing their small talk.
“This is it!,” we said almost in unison.

We proceeded to the block on our right and went through a door, to face a long empty corridor with doors on both sides.  There was no one, no sound nor any signs on the doors.  From afar, we could make out the voices of the two gents and their trolley on the left of our earshot.
“Now, where do we go?,” asked Pam
“Kwani hi hosi ya gava haina watu?,” retorted my bro.
“Let us find out,” I said.


The search
And therefore, methodically, we started trying out doors on either side of the corridor, one at a time, each of us targeting a separate door.  We would knock, try the handle and then try to open.  The first four doors on our entrance side were all locked.  The fifth one gave way, beckoning us to all convene at the particular door.  However, there was nobody in the room, though it was evidently an office, with two chairs and an old worn out table.  On the table was a black book, which was evidently old and in need of replacement.  We stood partly in the room, partly out, for about five minutes, but no one came by.  The place remained quiet, almost eerie.

We all matched out and decided to wait for someone to come over.  However, my sis’s patience ran out soon after, as she disappeared hardly two minutes later, back to the block to look for someone - anyone.
“Wemukuja, twende,” she summoned us five minutes later.

We went to the office we had already identified, to find a guy in white overall, a cap and gloved hands.  He extended his hand in our direction, in a manner of greeting.
“Jambo,” we answered from afar, ignoring his outstretched hand.
“Mwatakaje?”
“Tumekuja kuona Mzee”
“Anaitwaje?”
“David... David Wanjawa”

He fingered the wornout book, “Alikuja lini?”
“Eh, ilikuwa, eh….,” we started almost in unison, as we searched out mental diaries…
“Ilikuwa Thursday morning, tarehe tano.  Julai tarehe tano”

He continued using his right finger as a guide as he did the permutation of date and name, until finally, “Oh, ndio huyu,” he pointed at some hand written entry.
“Ndio huyo,” we responded, in confirmation, after gazing through the entry.
He then picked a small piece of paper, out of the many such sized papers that had previously been some pre-printed stationery, now cut into small pieces, with only one side usable.  He scribbled some things, did some loud arithmetic, then pointed the paper in our direction, “Pay this bill, then come back.”

This directive forced us back to the main hospital.  After paying the bill, getting some paperwork and a notification certificate, we went back to the morgue with the receipts, only for the attendant to say that, “there is no viewing on Thursdays”.  As we retreated in anger, he added, “and better be here tomorrow in good time, since we also close early, by two”


Fight it out
Even good plans can go bad, and that is how our perfectly planned Friday started out.  We travelled to KK early, in my brothers salon car, reaching there by nine – favoured mainly by the weather which enabled us make the 60km journey in just under an hour.  Had it rained, we would not have left our home before mid-day, so there is no need to even try talking about a ‘what if’, as far as the rains are concerned.  In fact, we wasted a lot of driving time on the Sabatia-Butere stretch of the earth road, which is still under construction - and the rains had pounded this part the previous night.
“Yani hi barabara itajengwa miaka ngapi?  This is the third year and it is still being dug out!”
It is on this stretch that we also met with the hired matatu, that was to have left home with us, one hour prior.  The timing of the day was starting out on the wrong timing.

At KK, we went straight to the place where we had hired the hearse, only to be told that ‘it is not available until later’.  How can a ten o’clock appointment be ‘later’?  We tried the contact number provided by the person who had taken the 8k deposit the previous day, but he was unreachable.  With tempers almost flaring, we were provided with the number of the manager to the company, who promised to come to KK in person and sort the mess.  During the phone conversation, he had said that he was even unaware that we had hired one of his vehicles, nor paid a deposit.  When he finally arrived, one hour later, the manager, with lots of apology, informed us that the ‘young man’ had booked the vehicle to two parties on the same day, hoping for double profit - some for his own keeping.  He concluded by promising us another hearse at two o’clock.

We just hanged around the vicinity of the depressing morgue, watching one sad party after another come in vehicles, mourn briefly, then depart with caskets.  In the midst of the depression, my attention was drawn to some commotion at the morgue gate, “Huwesi chukua mtoto wangu.  Si ulimufukusa?  Si muliachana miaka saba imepita?  Huwesi kabisa.”

A story was developing, where two different parties came to claim the body of a deceased woman.  The mother of the deceased and the children of the deceased on one side and the estranged husband, whom they had separated, on the other side.

In my depression I forgot to notice the hearse with the husband's party speed off, with the mother of the deceased and her lot in hot pursuit – but you cannot chase after a running vehicle on bare foot, can you?  Before our very eyes we witnessed a body being stolen – but what to do!


A Dream
My dad was interred on Sunday, July 15, 2012 in a ceremony attended by a huge multitude - one that I had never ever seen in such an event.  I however remained in a state of denial, since I was unable to come to terms with the going ons.  It was like a dream…..

I sat with the elders on Tuesday, and they told me what to write.  They made sure that I wrote what they had said, as affirmed by my reading back to them what I had written:

“Life history,” I started, as the elders and my brothers sat listening attentively,

“Kuzaliwa:
Mzee David Wanjawa Wamkaya alizaliwa mwaka wa 1926.  Babake alikuwa marehemu Wamkaya Nyajeri na mamake aliitwa Shisia Wamkaya.  Shisia aliaga dunia pindi Mzee Wanjawa alipozaliwa.  Alilelewa na mama mwenza.  Ndugu zake wengine, watoto wa Wamkaya ni marehemu Daniel Otiende, Abucheri, marehemu Achayo, Pitalis Nyajeri, Amos Nyajeri, Jekonia Amkaya, Martin Okoth na Gershom Dianga.  

Masomo:
Alisomea shule ya msingi ya Luanda Primary School kuanzia mwaka wa 1936.  Baadaye akaenda Magadi kwa mda mfupi, kisha akarudi shule ya Maliera Primary School kufanya mtihani wa Intermediate.

Kazi:
Baada ya shule, alienda Nairobi kutafuta kazi.    mwaka wa 1945 january, alianza kazi katika shirika la Reli.  Aliacha kazi hiyo ya Reli na kupata kazi nyingine kwenye kiwanda cha Magadi Soda kwanzia mwaka wa 1948 hadi 1949 Desemba.

Alirudi Nairobi mwaka wa 1950 na kujiunga na Shirika la Reli kwa mda mfupi kisha akajiunga na kikosi cha Kenya Prisons kama askari huko Industrial Area.  Alifanya kazi katika kikosi cha Kenya Prisons katika miji tofauti kama vile Nairobi, Manyani, Kajiado, Kodiaga, Kibos, Kiambu, Langata, Kamiti, Naivasha na Kapsabet.  Alistaafu kutoka Kenya Prisons mwaka wa 1983 na kurudi nyumbani kwake Kisa.  Alipostaafu, alikuwa mkulima hodari ambaye alitambuliwa katika taarafa kwa uhodari wake.  Alihusika na miradi mbali mbali ya wizara ya kilimo kama vile ufuguji wa samaki katika vikundi vya humu mashinani.

Baada ya kustaafu, Mzee Wanjawa alishiriki kwenye siasa za mashinani kama mwakilishi wa vyama mbalimbali kama vile KANU, NARC, LDP na mwishowe ODM katika tarafa ya Khwisero

Familia:
Mzee Wanjawa alikuwa na wake watatu.  Alimwoa Dorca Olwal Wanjawa mwaka wa 1948.  Walibarikiwa na watoto saba – Pauline, marehemu Christopher, marehemu Ruth, Sylvia, Caleb, Pamela na Lucy.  Mke wake wa pili ni Teresa aliyeolewa mwaka wa 1961.  Walipata watoto watano, nao ni Moses, Dauglas, Daniel, Peris na Damaris.  Mke wake wa tatu ni marehemu Leocadia Atieno, aliyemwoa mwaka wa 1965.  Alipata watoto wawili, wakiwa ni William na Barack
Mzee Wanjawa amewaacha watoto kumi na wawili (12) – wasichana sita and wavulana sita.  Pia alikuwa na wajukuu 54 and vitukuu 30.

Ugonjwa:
Mzee alianza kulalamikia maumivu and kufura kwa miguu na kuanza kupata matibabu.  Baadaye, akalalamikia maumivu ya kifua na tumbo.  Alipelekwa hospitali tofauti, ikiwemo St. Marys Mumias, New Nyanza PGH (Russia), Aga Khan Kisumu, Yala Hospital na Kakamega PGH.  Alitibiwa na kupata madawa aliyokuwa akitumia kwa muda.  Ugonjwa ulimzidi mwezi wa sita mwaka huu wa 2012, ambapo alilalamikia maumivu ya mwili.  Alipojaribu kula alikuwa akitapika.  Hali hii iliifanya familia kumpeleka Kakamega PGH tarehe 27-Juni-2012 ambapo aliaga dunia Ijumaa tarehe 6-Julai-2012.”

“That is it.  That is the end,” I reported.

“Can you re-read paragraph 1, there is something wrong with that paragraph,” one of my father’s brothers retorted.
So I read it, “Mzee was born in 1926,” I started.
“Stop right there,” he responded, “That is what I wanted to get right.  According to me, my brother was born in 1924”
“No, my brother,” another interrupted, “I have known it to be 1926 and I stand corrected”
“Am older than you, so how can you be sure of the year?  I tell you, it is 1924”
“I shall not be part of the proceedings, if the date is not 1926,” another stated
“But how do you people even know which year it was?  Did you even have calendars those day,” my elder brother asked the five elders.
They looked at each other and…

Sunshine in the Rain
The grandchildren of Mzee David did not want to hear anything on the age debate, they went ahead and printed black T-shirts that read, “Wanjawa 88”

One day after the burial, amidst heavy rains and, coincidentally, bright sunshine, my Mzee confirmed to us that he was surely gone – leaving us with tears that flow like the rain but a bright future like the shinning sun.

2011 Nairobi International Marathon – good weather, half run

2011 Nairobi International Marathon – good weather, half run

It started on FB
On FB I had let the secret out thus, “The most secure marathon ever, has just ended. The 2011 Nairobi International Marathon ended at Nyayo National stadium a few hours ago.  Security was tight, towards paranoia. A chopper hovered overhead during the first three critical hours.  Mens 42km run was won in 2.10.54, while the ladies event was won in 2.30.17.  The half marathon run was won in 1.01.31 and 1.12.10 in the mens and womens events respectively.  I managed 1.32.45 in the half marathon, being a break from the 42k that I had done three years in a row prior to this. Good weather throughout the morning - cloudy, no sun, no cold - just perfect.  Water was available at all water stations... but there were no distance markers (again).”

That generally summarized the run of the day.

Early morning
When I arrived at the venue at 6.30am, the warm-ups for the 42km full marathon were ongoing.  This year, I had made a conscious decision to do a half-marathon.  I had not practiced much.  I believe that my body was just tired.  I did not do any distance more 21km during my year’s training.  I was therefore glad, albeit reluctantly, to take a rest.  I say reluctantly, since the 21k distance, that I should do in about 90minutes seemed short, compared to the longer run that was now in my system.  When doing a 42k, the 21k mark is ‘just the beginning’ of the run.  My body was kind of tuned to this state of mind.

All the runs started on time.  At exactly 7.00am the 42km full marathon for gents and ladies started at the main Uhuru highway road section, between the Nyayo stadium and Nakumatt supermarket.  Security was unusually tight.  Unlike last year, athletes had to display their run numbers to be allowed entry into the stadium compound!  Even to access the washrooms in that compound.  There was an increase in the number of uniformed security personnel and official vehicles at the venue.  This however did not dampen the usual pomp and fanfare that goes on during this event.  The runners were as excited as never before.  A police helicopter hovered overhead, from around 6.50am.  With every pass, the athletes waved at it and cheered.  An armed sharpshooter sat on the open side door of the chopper, aiming something that looked like a rifle barrel to the sea of humanities beneath.  It kept circling the venue, each of its circuits taking about ten minutes.  Even this did not stop the runners from making a joke out of it.

Chopper
“The enemy’s strategy would be to take out the sharpshooter,” an athlete amongst the crowd of those doing warm-ups said.
“Chances are that the enemy would be taken out first,” another responded, amidst hearty laughter.
The usual jostling towards the starting line started just after the 42km run was gunned-off (that is what happened, a gun was fired to start the run – there was no flag).  By the 7.30am starting time, the 21km crowd had virtually pushed out the human shield cordoning their advance.  I started my timer at the sound of the gun.  Later on, I compared the lead car’s large LCD display time and it was exactly like my own.  I had managed to sync my timer to the official one.  The rest of the job was now to put my body to the test.

The weather was very favorable this Sunday morning.  It was cloudy but not cold, nor was it windy.  Just cool and urging us on.  I started slowly and maintained a steady pace by 30minutes, just at the Parliament road section.  Our route was unchanged since last year.  Just a 10km tour of the city via Uhuru highway, with detours on Harambee avenue, Kenyatta avenue and Haile Sellasie avenue, to head back to the Nyayo stadium starting point.  After this, a 10km circuit of the other site of Nyayo stadium on Mombasa road to culminate into a final 1km to the stadium.

Distance marker
I wanted to test my timing at the 10km mark, which should have been about 45minutes, if I was to beat the 1.30.00 that was my target this year.  I had only done one 21k before, that was in 2007.  That was my very first competitive run, happening just two months since I joined the team.  I did this one in 1.43.02.  I was hoping to shave 13min from this last run.  I was on the lookout for the 10km mark, but by the time I was doing the extreme turn on Mombasa road, there was no 10km mark yet.  My timer was on 1.05.00.  Could I be doing a 10km in over an hour?

Finally, I saw the notice ‘2km more – 21km and 42km runners’.  This sign was just before the flyover next to the Nyayo stadium roundabout.  This sobered my mind that was wondering on various issues as I did the run.  So the organizers, for yet another year, forgot to install the distance markers, which they had promised on the runners guide that they shall position every 5km.

Gold
I was not as tired as previous years when I finished the run at the running track in the stadium.  I stopped my timer at 1.32.45.  I was ushered outside the stadium to the ‘watering’ tent, where I took four 250ml bottles of water and just down them one after another.  By the time I reached the next tent, marked ‘Finishers medals – 21km’, I was completely quenched and feeling quite normal.  I had the lower part of the runners number, which I had handwritten, with my name and contacts, torn out.  In exchange I was given a ‘golden’ medal with inscription – ‘Standard Chartered Nairobi Marathon 21km finisher’.  On the reverse side – ‘Standard Chartered bank 100 years in Kenya 2011’.  I was not expecting a certificate.  These are now processed by an online system about one week after the run.

As we celebrated the good run with three other colleagues, a far cry from the over forty that makes the team each year, we could not help but wonder what the insecurity fuss was all about.  After all, marathoners mean no harm and no one can surely mean them harm.

WWB – Nairobi, October 30, 2011

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

The Highland Run - part 1

The Highland Run - part 1

I just sat there, wondering how it would feel. To finally seat on this chair, I had previously made four other false attempts. The first one was to the Coptic hospital, where they had no idea what I was talking about. The second was to Aga Khan satellite hospital at Prestige Ngong road, there they said that they did not offer that service. The third attempt was at the main facility of the same hospital, where they said that they did not work over the weekend. The fourth was at the very same hospital, where I had to skip my appointment after realizing that I did not have adequate cash for this process. And finally, here I was, on attempt number five.

When I came in, they had given me a form which they inscribed no. 12 on it, then asked me to sit and wait at no. 6. This back side of the hospital building looked miserable. Sickly looking people sat in queues next to various doors. Few children were running around, making noise oblivious of the otherwise quiet, almost eerie atmosphere. Occasionally, a uniformed personnel, obviously hospital staff, would pass by with some files, drop them in one of the rooms, then walk out. Thereafter, they would call some name from behind the many consulting rooms.

"Do they allow MPESA payment?," a question startled my thoughts.
I looked besides me to see a lady busy on her phone's keypad while gazing at me for advise.
"Good afternoon to you too," I answered.
Realizing I had answered the wrong one, "Sorry, am not sure. But I read somewhere at the reception that they only accept cash."
"Auch, I really fear needles," she told me.
I gazed at Room no. 6, with the conspicuous sign "Vaccinations", then responded, "You are not alone"
We continued small talk before I finally heard, "Number 12!"
Why do hospital call human beings using numbers? Isn't that against some article on the new constitution? "The bill of rights", to be specific?

I moved into the room and sat facing the nurse across the table. She looked at the form that I had handed to her when I sat and then asked, "What can I do for you"
I thought of how ambiguous the question was and was about to give an interesting answer, but I responded with the right one, "Am here for a Yellow fever vaccination, which has been forced on by my forthcoming travel"
"So you have not come here on your own volition?"
"Definitely. I should have been doing my lunch hour run back at Uthiru"
"You do not believe that vaccination is necessary?"
"Sure not. Am well and I would not like foreign germs being introduced in my system."
She laughed for a moment, scribbled something on the form, then asked me to take the form back to the Cashier at reception, then come back.
"Meanwhile, I shall start working on your card."

After paying KShs.2,620 and getting a receipt, I went back to the Vaccination centre. The lady I had earlier spoken to had left. I sat waiting for my turn to see the doc, even as I heard some children crying inside the room. As I waited, a nurse shouted somewhere, "Hi, congratulations, I can see that you have a baby!"
"Yes, thank you."
"How was it?"
How should someone answer such? Before the answer, I was called into Room 6.

"Sit on the bed, it is time"
That was fast, I thought.
I was not even ready for this.
"This is how it shall go. I will introduce this vaccine," she said while showing me some vial, which I did not want to look at, though I saw some words such as Stamaril G on the pack.
"This shall be through an injection on the hand near the left shoulder," she continued, even as she now started breaking the package to expose the needle - which I surely did not look at.
"Okay, here goes. Let me just trace the right place and have this done"
I was still looking sideways waiting for a sharp pinch on the arm, when she told me, "It is done, you can now sit at the desk and await your card."
I had to go through all that painlessness to get a yellow card for Yellow fever? Matters were made easier when I realized that it was a yellow booklet of eight or so pages, one of which now had the Yellow fever vaccination date, batch number, medical practitioner name and hospital name inscribed.

In part 2, the story continues on

The beach run – part 3

The beach run – part 3

The head of delegation informed the members that the hotel food was ‘already too monotonous’ and that he was aware of that. To save us from this, he declared that Saturday dinner would be taken at a location away from the hotel. He did not divulge the location, leaving it to the category of ‘surprise’. This is a declaration he made during the customary lunch time roundtable – a second such lunch at this location so far.

The afternoon seminar session became the longest ever. We had vowed to exit the ultimate session by six o’clock. However, by that time we were half way through the business of the afternoon. We had the option of formulating a new session for the next morning, or extending the current session. After a vote that was narrowly won, it was decided that the session be extended so that we can have a free tomorrow.

Exhausted
The folks left the seminar room at 7.40pm completely exhausted. In fact they did not even wait for a discussion on that evening’s program. I was left with the task of clearing the room of our materials, which included an overhead projector, a laptop computer, some stationery and the power extension socket outlet, which I had to return to the hotel management.

Slowly, the quorum gathered at the hotel lobby from 8.30pm. By nine o’clock the chartered hotel mini bus was parked outside the main hotel entrance, ready to transport the group. The mood in the bus was now jovial. All were happy to have cleared the business that had necessitated the retreat. The day-out was quite a welcome relief. All started to agree that the hotel food needed a break, even as the bus made a right turn into the busy Malindi road.

Five minutes into the journey, someone drew our attention to the right side of the road and showed us the flashing lights that were Karolina Inn. Momentarily I recalled how a team of planners that I associate with back in Narobi had taken a project in Mombasa, to do a digital map for Mtwapa. I had done their systems, software and databases and was therefore in the know of their now frequent coast trips. I had wondered why they had been devoid of details whenever they were late to come back to Nairobi. They were quite shy of revealing the going ons at Mtwapa. They would just say, “It was good. We did the business but needed two extra days to finalize.” It was during a spur of the moment outburst in their city centre office that they had mentioned ‘that Karolina place’, but changed topic when they discovered that a stranger was in the house, and started talking about the ‘that District Planning Officer’s place’ and how they met and discussed business.

Karolina
Here I was, facing Karolina with lights flashing and the music booming. I played a joke on the driver by telling him to stop briefly so that we can appreciate the place. The joke-loving driver stepped on the brakes and said, “Sawa bana, sasa utajua Mombasa raha!” He then released his braking and we continued with our journey. The same colleague who drew our attention to the place now went ahead and told his story, but devoid of any details. He said there was a time he was convinced to step into the place for a drink. He hardly stepped in before he was ushered in with a yellow-yellow who was almost in her birthday suit. When he was finally shown his seat, the y-y was already seated on him! When we pressed him for details, amid loud laughter, he just brushed off the topic and told our team of eleven, “It was an experience that am not repeating soon, but you people are welcome to find out for yourselves.”

The two members who were not from Nairobi responded almost immediately. The driver was the first one, “Niliwambieni Mombasa raha.”
The manager from our hotel, who accompanied us added, “That was quite normal. They have now gone a notch higher, lakini after the third drink, you shall not notice anything strange.”

We were still on that topic when the bus slowed down and then turned into a compound on the same left side of the road before coming to a stop.
“Shukeni. Tumefika,” declared our head of delegation.
“What, here! Already!!,” was the reaction of many. The drive had not been long. In fact we were only about fifteen minutes away from our usual abode. We had expected a long drive. Nonetheless, hunger was setting in and so the disembark was a good relief.

Big
At the entrance of the joint, now filled with fairly loud music, we met a group of about five. The seemed like the hotel security. Our host, the hotel manager, went in and had a brief discussion with the team. After his discussions, he came back out and told us, “Tuko sawa, tuingieni.”
One of the security personnel asked the men to pass through his frisking hands. Just ahead, the ladies were asked to go straight in where a female security personnel, in full uniform was waiting for them. This particular lady was big! She looked like the no nonsense type. One who would easily rough you up with the slightest or no provocation. I did not envy the colleagues going through her security check. Since we did not have any weapons, our checking in and entry was smooth. We even managed to get in without paying the mandatory 100/= per head, thanks to cooperation between hotels as ensured by our host.

Loud
When we moved in, the music got louder and quite inviting to dance. The dance floor, a depressed part, just after the main entrance was still empty, though the flashing lights were doing their thing on the emptiness. Scattered around the establishment were a few revelers – countable – most having a drink, few having a meal, one or two just walking about or idling aimlessly. There was a fountain that was combined with a swimming pool construct, on the middle part of the sitting arrangement. We found ourselves at the extreme end of the pool, just next to the perimeter wall. Our table had been booked and therefore set in advance of our arrival.

As we settled on the table, we wondered why there was so much hype about this place, yet it was just an ordinary place? The host just told us, “It is just a good place to eat and drink. They usually have some shows later on.”

Reflections
The next night when we went to sober up with a few drinks on the next compound to our hotel, we tried to reflect on the night before. This Sunday night sobering meeting was just for the three members of my committee and two other invited colleagues.
“Did yesterday really happen or am I dreaming?,” the lady in the group asked.
“That was reality, you are not dreaming gal,” we confirmed to her, almost in unison.
I was also in need of assurance that we were not dreaming, nor had stepped onto that insect! (But the insect caused only loss of way, not loss of reality!).

Two ladies hovered around our table, then sat just on the next table behind us. They ordered nothing. They just sat there engaged in small talk. They ensured that they kept glancing at our table of four men and one lady. Out of curiosity, the men folk on the table occasionally glanced in their direction. They were not bothered by the attention, nor were the folks on our table. On the next table, a white man and an African girl were in deep embrace, while sipping a common bottle of some drink. She had a small black tight sleeveless T-shirt that cleaved on her as if it was part of her skin. The front part was cut in V-shape – more like U shape. Exposing most of her frontness. She had a skimpy short pair of shorts. When she passed by our table, presumably to take a call, we were exposed to quite a view. She seemed not to mind.
On the table behind us, the two ladies kept their attention focused on us. We occasionally glanced behind, just in case they pounced – you never know – this coast place was turning out to be quite a challenge to handle the type of surprises that just emerge from the blues.

Reality
My mind could however not fully comprehend yesterday, and in the midst of football game being shown on the big screen elevated just in front of our seating location, I started to flashback….

After our dinner, which was quite sumptuous, we settled down to small talk and some drinks. As per tradition, it started raining, forcing those on the exposed parts of the establishment to move towards our tent. For a moment our sheltered sitting place was jammed by the steadily swelling crowd of revelers. The music had been turned two or three volume levels up. The ten minutes rain, with its characteristic heat, finally ended and the revelers resumed their scattered sitting places. We started seeing a main stage being swept, part of which was over the fountain pool. One side of the pool was just infront of our sitting position, though there was still an exact ‘pool side’ seating place, with the pool wall serving as a base of placing drinks. These seating places had however not been taken, and therefore we could have a view of the pool, stage and the activities.

Explosion
Alas! There was some distance sound that seemed like an explosion, followed by an abrupt stop to the music, then the lights were off.
“Ah, stima tena,” someone in the crowd shouted.
“Sounded like a transformer explosion,” someone else volunteered loudly.
After some moments of confusion, the lights came back and the music resumed.

At about eleven-thirty, we had the first official announcement, “Welcome to Saturday night show at Club Labamba. Tonight’s show shall be the bomb! We have lined up various activities including acrobatics, stage dance and the final show – the show! Feel comfortable and enjoy. Only one usual request…”
What would that be, I wondered.
“Please do not take any photos!”

The acrobats stepped onto the stage and showed their talents. They made various formations as they danced to fast paced benga beats. With every awe there was applause from the now jammed establishment. I saw them perch one of their members some three human beings up! The men-only troop danced their way out of stage even as the gathering asked for more. There was also a traditional dance by some girls. Thereafter, we saw a ballet-like performance between a gentleman and a lady, as they danced ‘lady’ by Kenny Rogers. But Kenya Power, being no respecter to even such a performance, ensured that the power went off for a few seconds. This forced the performance, that was about two minutes done, to be repeated from scratch. This repeat spoilt some surprises, but the elegance and dress, especially of ‘lady’ was something to be watched over and over again.

“Finally, ladies and gentlemen, the show!,” the announcer said.
And to keep all reminded, “And remember not to take any photographs, please!”

Sleep
I was jolted back to reality when our madam said that it was mid-night and she was not going to deprive herself of sleep anymore. I was voted to escort her to the hotel compound, which was just next door. I took the break and escorted her upto the hotel reception, a five minute walk.
I came back and found the two ladies behind our table still there. One was dressed in a short tight flowered dress and long black boots. The other was in a T-shirt and tight blue jeans. They kept their focus on our table, now with four men, even as we pretended to ignore them.

I took out my camera and took a photo of the three gents – just to have something to remind them of their escapades some day when we are back to the city.
“Wewe! Umesahau kwamba ulipewa warning usipige pige hizi picha zako!,” was the reaction I got from the guys.
“That was jana! And that final show, was it a reality?”
“I thought you see better with specs! And you had them!!”

Flash
The camera flash brought a flash of memory….

The final show started with four ladies dancing to some music as they moved towards the embankment of the pool, just in front of us. When they finally settled to their dance, I noticed that they had a loose blouse, the loosed ends tied into a note in the front. They had a wrap, whose ends were equally tied onto a note on their right waist. The wrap was too short. With their dark complexion, I needed to adjust my specs to confirm if there was anything beneath the wrap or this was it! As I started to comprehend, four gents, with swimming shorts and no tops joined the ladies from the opposite end. They did their dance, before finally doing a ‘bend over’ number. This song is supposed to imitate intimate action – and the four couples ‘did not disappoint’ in demonstrating ‘action’. Did I see some lady with legs raised, exposing her very small undergarment! Or there was none!! This part still confuses me.

At mid-night, after the show, the music was open to all. The dance floor was filled to capacity. The music was hot and varied. The DJ surely ‘rogad’ us, with his mix from all parts of Kenya and beyond. Our faint-hearted-four left soon after the final show. The die-hard-five remained to teach the Coasterians a few dance moves, especially the Western Kenya dance that requires an oiled shoulder, flexible waist and loose feet. And the dancehall had quite some ‘vituko’. From jungus that can’t dance – unless you call random motion of hands, legs and body in no particular pattern as dance. To ladies who were bumping us on the dance floor – was this a signal or what!

Interrupted
“Hebu turudi kwetu tukalale,” one of us declared, interrupting my busy mind. It was now 1am.

As we left the establishment, one of my colleagues confessed, “You know, when I went to the washroom, just a few moments ago, I found one of the two ladies on the washroom corridors. She approached me and asked whether she could come with me to my place.”
“Eh, wacha, urongo!”
“True, she said that she charges 2k for all services!”
“And….”
“And that is why we are getting out of here - fast!”

Back to business
One week later, we are presenting the draft report to the committee. We can not help but have the last laugh as we reminiscent what happened after the events of the Saturday night show. First, as we getting back into the bus ready to travel back to the hotel around 3am, when one of us asks to be shown the washroom. He is shown the tyre of the mini-bus… and that is the tyre that he washes! But precedence has already been set by someone else in the same bus!!

Secondly, in the bus, we all agree that the constitution recognizes Kiswahili as an official language. It is for this reason that we now decide to translate our policies, late in the hours of the night, into Kiswahili – just to obey the constitution. The group comes up with the following translations:
Liquidity policy – Sera ya maji
Savings policy – Sera ya uwekaji
Investment policy – Sera ya mali yetu
Dividend and Capitalization policy – Sera ya ugawaji and herufi kubwa
HR policy – Sera ya watu and nguvu zao
ICT policy – Sera ya tarakilishi
Procurement policy – Sera ya biashara
“How about ‘Loan policy’,” I asked aloud.
“Si unajua tu, kuwa lonely. Kwa hivyo, hiyo ni ‘Sera ya upweke’”

But wait till you hear the sentences that the 'policymakers' formulated from such innocent words like 'fanya' and its conjugations.

WWB, Nairobi, August 15, 2011