Pain And Sweat

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Have you ever found yourself at a road junction, sitting in traffic that isn’t moving, and there is a car on your left that wants to come onto the road and you have an opportunity to let them in because it’s not like you are in a mighty hurry? It’s not like you are rushing to KNH to donate a kidney to a child having his last gasp. You are not in a hurry. You are just going to the office to reply to another dull email that you won’t even dare use a smiley in. Another lackluster email that ends with ‘Kind Regards’.

Yet you refuse to let the car to your left join your lane. You inch forward and block them, then the traffic refuses to move. So you sit there, in your car – which, by the way, doesn’t have tint – stewing in your selfishness and you can feel them stare at you. Of course you refuse to turn and look at your nemesis – obstinately, you stare ahead. But the same way serial killers always go back to the scene of their crime in Crime and Investigation, you soon succumb to your ill manners and turn to look at your handiwork.

The motorist turns out to be this ageing woman in thick spectacles driving some sad, old Datsun. I mean, who even drives a Datsun anymore? Datsuns are like the polio of cars. Yet you blocked her. Maybe she works at a mission in Kijabe running an orphanage and she came to the city to beg for funds to build a new kitchen. Funds she didn’t even get. So on top of not getting funds she doesn’t get to join the road because you with your perm hair refused to allow a poor old woman with no kitchen to join a road.

This is not even how you were raised by your mother. You were raised to do better, to say please and thank you, to clear the table after meals and to stand up and let older people sit in matatus. Today you failed your mother and you failed the children of Kijabe. It’s a sad day.

Has that ever happened to you, though? When you do something you absolutely didn’t have to do?

Now that is the exact feeling I got on Saturday, 8kms into the Ndakaini Marathon. I thought to myself; I didn’t have to sign up for the 21kms marathon. I could easily have signed up for the 10kms like most people who go down with their selfie sticks, but my ambition got the better of me and now I was there on this wretched hill, feeling like my hips were about to separate from my body in protest. I felt like those people, normal people, who go to driving school and opt for a category C drivers’ licence to be able to drive lorries and things yet they know they will never have to drive a tractor in their lives.

You probably know this: Ndakaini Half-Marathon is bruising and vindictive. It’s meant to break your soul (and your lower back). It’s the marathon you do before you do the Stanchart marathon. If you are going to be bruised and battered, it is always better to do so in a group. So I went down with a bunch of chaps; Joy – 10kms, Wendy – 21kms, Flora -10kms, Paul – 21kms, (Thanks for lunch in your EABL tent, boss) and Paul’s brother (he got lost, Paul, did you guys find him?).

Right from the start line Paul took off and we never saw him. Paul runs like a ‘racist’. So I found myself with Wendy throughout the run. Wendy is a 6’0’’ former basketball player who played at club level. Seasoned runner too. Fit, yes, but you couldn’t tell from how she breathes while running. She’s one of those people who breathe loudly while running. Like really loudly. This guttural wounded sound that comes from her appendix. I thought she would die. You can’t even think when you run next to her.

The saving grace with Ndakaini Marathon is that it’s makes up for its brutality by being scenically astonishing. It’s green rolling hills constantly rising into the sky and then plunging down into the valleys. It’s the heady smell of freshness in the air. The high, reaching, anorexic eucalyptus trees. The sound of banana leaves flapping in the breeze like elephant ears. It’s the bluest of sky and the clearest of stream water gurgling at the bottom of the hill. It’s the quaint, smoking, stone chimneys in humble homesteads. It’s the colours. My goodness, the green colours of Ndakaini come alive. I think all the shades of green you can ever imagine can be found in Ndakaini. Greens that make you green with envy. It’s the green that remind you of your biology lesson. You remember chlorophyll.

Kikuyu-land is so picturesque it almost shows the unfair hand of God.

“My shags is so ugly compared to this,” Wendy said as we trotted down a weathered road. She’s from a small place called Nyakach in Nyanza. You might not know it: population 375 (24 who are in Nairobi, 5 in Boston) consists of mainly stones. It’s claim to fame? Omieri, the famous python?

At the 10kms mark you are in such pain but thankfully all you have to do is to focus on the beauty around you. And there is lots to see. There will be the boda boda guys trumpeting down the path in their bikes written ‘Sisqo’ but playing Ben Githae’s ‘Maya nimo mabataro makwa’. You will hear someone cutting a tree with a chainsaw. There will be a goat bleating. A tractor trumpeting. You will run past a small cluster of kiosks playing ‘Free Up’ by Busy Signal from a busted stereo. On the top of a hill you will find a group of women standing together carrying kiondos, and as you pass by them you will catch a “….mwana…” and you know they are probably saying, “With that forehead, that boy isn’t from here.” You will run past those unimpressive village dogs – mongrels, to be precise – and you will discover that they all look the same; a mongrel in Kitui is the same as a mongrel in Turkana, same as a mongrel in Kutus.

You will pass a drunk man who raises his thumb up in encouragement and says, “Don’t give up!” (he should give up alcohol though) and when you raise your thumb up he flashes you an almost beatific smile that reveals the only three blackish teeth left in his mouth, teeth that probably won’t see Christmas. People cheer you on. A very old cucu at a watering point hands you a sponge soaked in water and says something in Kikuyu as you run past. You say “Dhankyoo mono!” And giggle like a girl.

You will notice that there are a hell of a lot of men wearing hats in Kikuyu-land. Kuyus should tell us what this fascination with hats is. I think they know something we don’t. You would imagine that people with scathing sun would wear more hats than people from fairly even-weathered areas like Ndakaini. But no. Do Kaos wear lots of hats, say, more than Kikuyus?

You will also notice that most kids in Kikuyu-land – even in the impoverished areas – have shoes. If you wander to the bowels of Nyanza you will notice two things; that, one, kids there are barefoot and, two, their clothes are brown or a variation of brown. I mean it could be a green shirt, but it will look greenish brown because brown is the official colour of poverty.

Then you will see children of Ndakaini in sweaters, handwoven sweaters in all the luminous colours. Children in orange, pink, yellow, green, some with matching wool woven head gear. I’m convinced it’s a Kikuyu thing, this sweater maneno. Tamms and Kim have those kikuyu sweaters woven by Cucu. You can live in the city but you won’t escape the Kikuyu sweater. I think Kuyu mothers look at their kids and just want to dress their children in all the warmest clothes they can lay their hands on. I think Kuyu kids are forced to wear those gaudy sweaters for so long that when they grow up they revolt and wear leather jackets. Yeah, mom, how do you like me in leather now?

I have a theory around those sweaters.

I think they arose as a way of spotting your child, like how in planes they have those luminous inflatable jackets that we  hope to never have to use. If say your child wandered out of the boma and you looked everywhere and couldn’t find them; you went to kina Nduta’s where he usually went to play and he wasn’t there. Kumbe this child wandered into that labyrinth of a tea plantation. What do you do? You stand on top of the opposite hill and look out into the tea plantation, and since he’s wearing a bright sweater that contrasts with the green tea you will spot him immediately and shout, “Maina reke ngwire ngibucia maitho uguo ngukore mucie kana ngutandike uiguwe wega!” That translates to something loose like, “Maina, if I blink and your ratchet ass is not home, I will beat you like a dog.” Haha. OK not exactly, but you get the point.

Back to the marathon. At some point I get so bushed and my thighs are in flames and I realise that I have become extremely bitter about my 21kms decision but then I passed around a hump and heard a small voice say, “Sasaaaa!” and I turned and there were these two adorable kids seated on a hump. A small boy of 5 with his sister of maybe 4, both wearing those sweaters and hats to match. They sat close to each other, with their legs spread before them, a tableau of sibling love. I raised my hand and waved, and they raised and furiously waved these small hands and smiled excitedly. Beautiful honest smiles, their innocence rising above my pain. Those small beautiful moments made the marathon worthwhile. I marveled at the purity of those kids, untouched by politics. If you told them “That guy who passed is a Luo,” they will just give me a blank look. Like, what is a Luo? And you wish they all grow up and stay like that, with that blank innocent stare. But they won’t, a politician or a parent will whisper in their ears and say, “Chege, always remember that you are different from that guy: he doesn’t cut his foreskin, so you can never marry his sister. Now wear your orange sweater and go play.”

Be warned though; Ndakaini has these hills that are not real. Long steep, windy hills that even a mountain goat would struggle with. You happen upon one of those hills, look up and you want to cry. At one of these hills I finally turned to Wendy and asked her, “Wendy, do you normally breathe this hard during migwatos?” I forgot to mention that Wendy is a dyed-in-the-wool feminist. She’s one of those severe women who I suspect finds a lot of pleasure in intimidating men intellectually. (She has three master’s degrees, one of them in Gender Studies.) Plus she’s a head taller than most men. Two heads when she wears high heels. So she turns and gives me this steady but withering look, hoping perhaps that I will balk and whimper. Unlucky for her, I earn a living asking personal questions, so intimidating looks are dead snakes to me. I never blink. I can hold your stare a whole day if it comes down to it.

“Seriously, Biko?” she said eventually, “You want to ask me about my sex life right here, on this hill in Ndakaini?”  I said “Yes.” She laughed and lengad that story.

We passed behind a string of classrooms, student chatter spilling out the window. Two girls who were also doing the 21kms whom we had passed down the road zoomed past us, sitting on a motorbike. “Cheaters!” I shouted after them. Wendy laughed. They waved. Outside a boma we were accosted by the sweet smell of burning wood, that lovely smell of shags. Our shags might be different but they all smell the same. Shags in Elteret (Eldoret) smell like shags in Maua. Actually Wendy noted how our lives are so alike, yet, we go out of our way to find such small useless things that differentiate us.

Light in Ndakaini is soft and pale. It streams through long pine-like trees, coming down already filtered and soft like powder. Wonder light. There is a point where you run alongside Ndakaini dam, picturesque and surreal in its beauty, but at this time you are in such anguish and so resentful at the goddamn dam and all the Nairobians who are back at home getting their hair done in salons, or at garages with WiFi or having inane conversations on Whatsapp while you are here killing yourselves conserving the goddamn dam so that the people in Nairobi can continue having water to wash their bloody cars.

As we walked up a steep hill Wendy told me about the insane loneliness of living in Geneva and London, in blistering winter, pursuing another lofty education (she attended London School of Economics) while feeling the stone hard guilt inside her that she “abandoned” her kids back in Nairobi for another academic feather in her hat. She talked about all these decisions that women juggle with, these tough decisions that men will never have to make as fathers pursuing their career dreams. Successful women, I concluded, truly, have to work thrice as hard as men, especially if they are mothers and wives. And Wendy didn’t have to harass me with bullish feminist behavior for me to see her point.

As we started running down the hill, a bunch of small giggly village girls, Tamm’s age, ran alongside us. I stuck my left hand behind and one of them grabbed it and held it and her hands felt peculiarly boyish and cold, like touching the tail of a Snow Leopard, and I had to turn and confirm if she was indeed a girl. We ran like this, holding hands together, her friends giggling, for a few meters before we let go.

The organisers of Ndakaini marathon should have more watering points. We ran into stops that had those blue sponge thingies that had run out of water. Guys, we are trying to save the Aberdares here, and we can’t save it if we die of dehydration. Work with us.

We turned a corner where a hill full of tea rose to our right. I noticed this boy standing on a slight break in the tea plants, on raised ridge. He must have been 10 years old, rocking this tattered old t-shirt and red trousers tucked into his gumboots and hands thrust in his pockets. I was immediately struck by him, standing there against the backdrop of the green of tea. A sexy boy. I told Wendy, “Look at that boy, that’s a fantastic picture!” She stared up at him and noticed what I had noticed immediately. She said, “That boy has style.” He did.

There was something extremely charismatic about that boy. It’s the way he stood with the ease of someone who had found himself. He had an effortless gait about him, like he already knew who he was. And although he had these dirty clothes on, these unremarkable clothes, you failed to notice them because his personality made them irrelevant. “Style isn’t what you wear, it’s how you wear what you wear.” Wendy said. I nodded like a madman.

I saw a lot of things at Ndakaini. I saw goats and postcard scenery and sparkling natural streams with water that you could bottle and sell at a supermarket without adding a thing to it. I saw people with little to no teeth in their mouths and children with great beautiful souls and mothers who looked like they were born to work hard and I saw such splendid beauty at Ndakaini.

But the only thing that stuck in my mind was that self-assured boy in his tattered clothes. How he stood, one leg on that stump, hands in pockets, chin high. You could wear the best clothes to mask the greatest insecurity but people will always see through you. That boy dressed well from the inside first and so it didn’t matter what he wore on the outside.

As we passed him, him with a proud stare, he looked at us pass down the road, his mouth slightly agape, his hair dirty and matted, and I had half a mind to raise my hand and wave at him, but then I didn’t want him to un-pocket his hand to wave back at me because that would have ruined his beautiful profile. That boy was already a man but he didn’t know it yet.

Stanchart Marathon. You are next – 21kms again. Why? You ask. Because running a marathon must be like giving birth, you always forget how painful it was and so you keep going back.

 

Image Credit: Wikimedia

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232 Comments
  1. I wanted to hear how you would brag that you crossed the finishing line. Like did they have to take you to hospital afterwards? You passed out didn’t you? Thats why you haven’t described the finish line manenos! You were all dazed and shaky while the rest did the Kemboi dance. Right Biko? I kinda know that’s true. Bloggers can’t run much. And the way you describe Ndakaini I will have to go for the next marathon. With a canon camera and a nduthi guy to drive behind me just in case I am left behind and I am awfully in need of a glorious finish in order to come up with a story. I will sell the pictures to Matheka Mutua and Safaricom people and then use the money to pay for spa treatment for a whole month. Then write about that too! Good read as usual.

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  2. hhahahhahaah niice..this statement though population 375 (24 who are in Nairobi, 5 in Boston) consists of mainly stones. It’s claim to fame? Omieri, the famous python? rib cracking!!!

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  3. Incredible writ Biko. I am enthused by complexity of your mind’s attention to detail and clarity of description. Keep writing Chocolate Man.

  4. Biko i always go to ndakaini for the crowds and the scenery! i have never actualy ran…hahaha….every year i promise my self i will walk for the 5km or 10km…..next year i will definitely look for you!!

  5. Nice job capturing the feeling around that marathon. Few disappointments such as very far off parking spaces. had to walk 5km before starting 21kms, no mileage markers (how did you know you are at 10km), few water points and no medals.That terrain needs a champion. Tukutane next year.
    Stanchart here we come.

  6. “Chege, always remember that you are different from that guy: he doesn’t cut his foreskin, so you can never marry his sister. Now wear your orange sweater and go play.” Hahahahaha. Mimi Kwisha. This is soooo funny. *FAINTS WITH LAUGHTER*
    This piece is spot on. The humor is on another level all together. Too lit. I hope to participate in one of these marathons soon.

  7. Beautiful piece Biko,We grew up with those sweaters(How comes you didnt notice children with a woven kofia we used to call munyeni),
    Maybe its because of the cold that is characteristic of the highlands…and Yes,i have a leather jacket..
    Hilarious piece.

  8. When I go up, I’ll tell my children to be ‘racists’ meanwhile I’ll watch you guys on telly! HTP (horr ye pest…luhya for all the best)

  9. “Maina reke ngwire ngibucia maitho uguo ngukore mucie kana ngutandike uiguwe wega !” That translates to something loose like, “Maina, if I blink and your ratchet ass is not home, I will beat you like a dog.” lmaoestestestest!!!

    1. reminds me of the days when crying was a sin….. even after receiving a proper beating.
      crying after a beating was bad, not crying was equally bad ahhhh Good times

  10. Kuyu lands are beautiful, you walk through them, you run through them, you fly above them and that is when you realize that even God is unfair. How He put too much artistic work to bring out splendor in some areas while places like Pap_Onditi He never took His time, He just threw stones at the place.
    We should all run marathons, it changes your life and it changes other people’s lives.

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  11. you are very observant and your description now makes me want to go to Ndakaini especially to see all shades of green.
    Nice read.

  12. The very old cucu offering the sponge soaked in water was telling runners or rather she told me,
    “ndamurathima murikie wega” – “I bless you to complete the race well”.
    And her sponge worked wonders.
    A funny guy sped past everyone encouraging them that there was a beer point ahead so we should rush before it was closed for the day.

  13. You guys had fun. Looking forward to the next one.
    On the car manenos, the only people I don’t feel good allowing in are matatu. Those guys have attitude that they have actually repricated on those Mats. You actually see a Mat and you see a kichwa ngumu guy.
    www.ogetoevans.com

  14. Nice one biko, i would love to meet Wendy because she’s an LSE alumni, if you are in a position to make it happen i would be very grateful

  15. I love your sense of humor. I wonder if I went to the marathon I’d notice all those things that you describe ama it’s the imagination that counts. Maybe I’ll find out when /if I enlist for the next marathon. Is it true that nyakach has a population of 375 people?

  16. Good caption of event, Good read…. Stan-chart we forget the pain and go unto it until we become the racist from Eltret.

  17. Your mind must be a flurry of giggles, strange thoughts and smiles with every encounter… I should bug it and take a listen… It must be the most interesting channel…

  18. Always awestuck by the beauty of central Kenya. I totally feel you Biko, especially as i come from Isiolo, a land of no rivers or swamps and dams! Great description.

  19. I don’t mind liars and pretentious individuals as long there are interesting and funny lakini huyu Biko is real and observant vinoma. Big up boss.

  20. That’s it after a whole weekend of cord and jubilee campaigns am convinced. My vote goes to chocolate man. Biko for president.
    But seriously, how do you ask about someone’s sex life just like that in the middle of a marathon hahaha

  21. Nice read, well aren’t all your write ups.. I need to find a new statement to appreciate
    your writing. ‘Nice read’, doesn’t cut it. Reading this story almost felt like
    I ran the Marathon and could nearly smell the fresh air as you described it.
    My soul has ran many marathons.. I will put this in my bucket list to physically run one, when my l
    legs can still stand it.
    Well done Biko, I can rightfully take my car for washing knowing you saved water for it.

  22. CHIEF I STRONGLY DISAGREE WITH THIS-She’s from a small place called Nyakach in Nyanza.
    You might not know it: population 375 (24 who are in Nairobi, 5 in Boston) consists of mainly stones.
    It’s claim to fame? Omieri, the famous python?

  23. Honestly Biko, I don’t understand what you have against women, and against feminists. You keep referring to Wendy’s body (which is strong) and her feminism (which does not necessarily have to be associated with her body or sex for that matter. At one point, you state, “Wendy didn’t have to harass me with bullish feminist behavior for me to see her point.” The only think I can think of (from your description of her) which alludes to your statement is perhaps that she gave you a look when you questioned her about her bedroom activities, the question in itself was inappropriate and would be uncomfortable for anyone. The ‘look’ she gave you (with her eyes) does not equal ‘bullish feminist behavior. I’m always sadly surprised that you never treat women like simple human beings- in the overwhelming majority of your blogs, women and girls are eaither sexualized (even your own damn daughter, unless she reads, she will not become a respectable lady) or they are bullish feminists. I challenge you to write about women in a normal way. Then I might fully enjoy your wonderful and brilliant prose

      1. Hey Jetolo,

        Before you get your manly-feelings hurt- please do tell me- at what point what Wendy being a bullish feminist?
        Why did Biko have to use such negative imagery to convey her?

        1. Biko was referring to “bullish feminist behaviour that most self proclaimed feminists subscribe to,Of which Wendy did not.. Feminism should not be this militant bravado that is portrayed by this 21st century woman. Like Wendy you can get your point across without being bullish.

          1. What bullish behavior? This is my question? Why is poinitng out Biko’s own bullying to a woman who seems like she was being too nice to his inappropriate comments- how is that bullish? And look at how all these men came out with their forks and torches bullying me for my perfectly valid criticism? Y’all just proved my point: a woman can do nothing right unless they are suffering under a man’s arm, unless we are somehow subservient or ‘humble’ even when we deserve to be angry.

        2. some ladies just have that aura about them, they wear it like perfume. like that sexy boy Biko describes, he was in tatters but still had that macho spark about him. don’t you ever have a predisposed opinion about something? my thoughts are Biko inadvertently sound feminist… or maybe the three masters degree must have sold it! I know I would.

      2. There’s alternatives to ‘calm your tits’ that I saw on buzz feed; like, ‘hakuna your tatas’ and ‘de-stress your breasts’ ‘adjust your bust before it combusts’. As a feminist, I approve these

    1. Thank you for pointing this out. It’s almost as if a woman can only be just a woman if she conforms to certain ideals. The women that are different are portrayed in a manner that either excludes them as women or demeans them in comparison to other women.

    2. Ha ha ha. Feminists will bring down the economy, will be the start of WW3, and of course will insult me after this comment. Calm down primadonna, get out of your feminist trailer sometime and have fun

  24. CHIEF I STRONGLY DISAGREE—–if you wander to the bowels of Nyanza you will notice two things;
    that, one, kids there are barefoot and, two,
    their clothes are brown or a variation of brown.
    I mean it could be a green shirt, but it will look greenish brown because brown is the official colour of poverty.

  25. Lol… You’re way of describing some things is funny. N soo innate for you. I liked it.
    First time I’ve heard of someone from your random groups having done a Masters in Gender. I thought I was alone out here

  26. Beautiful piece as always.
    You thought Wendy would die yet one can’t even think when running next to her.
    “You could wear the best clothes to mask the greatest insecurity but people will
    always see through you”…this rings so true.

  27. “Style isn’t what you wear, it’s how you wear what you wear.” Wendy said.I love this woman already feminist and all. Awesome piece

  28. This piece reminds me of Rangwe in Gem. I bet you need to go there for the sunrises and sunsets.You might have already but any of us needs that beauty every now and then, just to remind themselves how beautiful Kenya is .

  29. My greatest take-away: “But the only thing that stuck in my mind was that self-assured boy in his tattered clothes. How he stood, one leg on that stump, hands in pockets, chin high. You could wear the best clothes to mask the greatest insecurity but people will always see through you. That boy dressed well from the inside first and so it didn’t matter what he wore on the outside.” That right there is powerful

  30. “Maina reke ngwire ngibucia maitho uguo ngukore mucie kana ngutandike uiguwe wega!”
    Hilarious. Beautiful writing. All the best at the stanchart marathon..

  31. Because running a marathon must be like giving birth, you always forget how painful it was and so you keep going back.
    haha Biko I’ll try running a marathon before I give birth.

  32. So I have been stuck in Esiopia for a while and you know how they switch off he network plus their internet like we are 1703 BC. This was a good way to bounce back I am just wondering whether Mr. Chocolate Man has written about the Kale Chaggets?

  33. “You could wear the best clothes to mask the greatest insecurity but people will always see through you.” As always beautiful read am now looking forward to the Stanchart 21 Km run.

  34. “Stanchart Marathon. You are next – 21kms again. Why? You ask. Because running a marathon must be like giving birth, you always forget how painful it was and so you keep going back.” I should Join you Biko…..

  35. I should run a 21km marathon, even though I’m sure I would half-walk, half ride at the back of the motorbike. Tis the thought that counts, the “At least you tried.”
    My shags is just as cute as Kutus, Kerugoya..na siringi.
    Another road trip through Kenya is long overdue, our country is a beaute!
    https://www.instagram.com/travelogues_africangirl/

  36. Biko, youbknowbus Kuyus better than we know ourselves. That thing about outgrowing our shiny, patterned, bright sweaters into leather jackets? Spot on. The thing about hats, too? Spot on. It ain’t nuthin, really, its just a thing. A kyuk man has property and hats. And daughters to buy him hats and khakis and leather jackets.

  37. Shades of green at Ndakaini. And a forehead too. I saw.

    Ndeka was the place to be. So that people can have more water to clean their cars.

    Good writing, Biko.

  38. Biko I was at the Ndakaini marathon too and man those hills are a killer! I wouldn’t have described the scenic run any better. But i’m a 10km girl. See you at Stanchart!

  39. I think he writes very beautifully about women of all ages and tells it as it is. Its feminists with their chip on the shoulder I fail to understand.

    Funny how women want equally – an impossibility if you ask me. let’s aim for equity, yet ask for affirmative action when it suits them.

  40. True Ndakaini scenery is out of this world. The parking for non VIPs was very far though.
    Looking forward to Stanchart 21KM

  41. The fact that you know KUTUS….. oh my waaarrddd!!! “Mommy, we are on Biko Zulu’s blog!!!!” The number of times I have had to tell people where Kutus is… Thank you Biko. *why am I excited though.*

  42. Biko: had the same feeling as you, kept questioning myself why I had to do 21k. I saw that cucu with the sponge, and the two siblings. Let’s me
    et at Stanchart

  43. we have to consciously see beyond the ordinary.All around us are extraordinary events and sights beyond the routine.Biko choose to soak in the sights and sounds of Ndakaini
    i remember a girl that seemed mentally challenged sitting on a mat next to the off road branching at namonye on bondo-usenge road.she seemed so at peace,not in pain or disturbed but definitely in want.i wonder if she is still there.that was back in 2011.

  44. That wool woven head gear is called a boshori. our mothers ensured that we wore one at some point in life. All of us. Even ehen it was hot and I still see kids wearing them even in the blazing sun. And is it just me or does Biko have a special place for Kuyus in his heart. Maybe he is permamnenetly amused by our behaviour which is always the source of many jokes and he just can’t get enough.

    1. And those woven sweaters stick with some of us. I wore one today and colleague asks me kwani I visited my grandma and she gave me as a presnt hehe!

  45. The read left me with a visual of the entire Ndakaini event. The kids in bright sweaters,the hills, the self-assured boy….Always looking forward to reading your posts.

    1. You see this Biko? People have noticed. Your tribal bigotry shit.Really,I might be a little bit bitter but you reckon there’s something to my bitterness.

  46. Now Biko, a good frienddoes not disappear after a marathon and leave his buddy (Paul) hunting for his bro. 🙂
    And yes kuyu mothers love multi-coloured sweaters (was the 1st present my kids got from my late mum when I presented them to my family. And oh…..Maina must watch out not to ‘potea’ in the plantations again!

  47. Such a great read! I had like 10 of those handwoven sweaters when I was growing up. One in almost every colour and in our shags we would rather have eaten githeri all weak instead of making chapos and buy shoes instead.

    http://www.treatsonabudget.co.ke/

  48. Biko.. I registered for the Stanchart Marathon- 10km. I won’t go with a selfie stick but well, I just might. Quick question, do I get to feel my back break at the 5km-point as well? Because am dying to go die of fatigue and then give such a story, of maybe the Kidero grass that never grew. Or the “crowded” streets with people cheering on, or laughing at people like me who will crawl to the finish line with weak feet.

  49. Because running a marathon must be like giving birth, you always
    forget how painful it was and so you keep going back…yeah you
    would know 🙂

  50. Nice read. Though Biko Nyakach is my home area too & i can assure you its a beautiful place!!Not the way you describe it my friend..We have beautiful hills,dams & the likes..maybe the last time you were there you didn’t take your time to connect.

    1. Exactly my sentiments. This guy has a self loathing tendency. He comes from nyanza but follow all posts he’s done about Nyanza it’s poverty and HIV.

  51. Datsun is like the polio of cars…
    LMAO
    For a moment I felt like I was in Ndakaina, right behind Wendy… Biko you should author a set book for our famous 844. You brought Marjorie Oludhe to life. Nice piece

  52. nice work. this time I read and comment for something special. Ndakaini is my shags and am thrilled that you were not just there, but you also wrote about the experience. I was that boy 14-18 years ago.

  53. a good read, you never disappoint Mr. I could see how you were struggling to keep up with wendy’s pace…..your three strides equals to one of hers..

  54. “Maina reke ngwire ngibucia maitho uguo ngukore mucie kana ngutandike uiguwe wega !”haha read this how my mum would say it. this one induced nostalgia though i’m not even from Central

  55. Am such an addict of chocolate man’s blogs. Just can’t get enough of them…especially when I come across such as “Maina reke ngwire ngibucia maitho uguo ngukore mucie kana ngutandike uiguwe wega !” That translates to something loose like, “Maina, if I blink and your ratchet ass is not home, I will beat you like a dog.” Haha.

  56. Reading this and the memory of how i ran 10km as an amateur keeps coming back and the price i had to pay for it by staying in bed Sunday and Monday.It was my first time and the place is beautiful looking forward to next year. Kudos man good piece

  57. Biko, kindly write about how you touched the tail of a snow leopard in your next piece. I am a snow leopard researcher and the data would form an important part of my journal paper. I’ll even credit you as a co-author.

  58. That boy dressed well from the inside first and so it didn’t matter what he wore on the outside.Total inspiration right there

  59. That boy ‘man’, I see him…how did you move from the ‘bad driving at junction to the marathon’a great read as always

  60. carol oundo The story is very interesting how Kuyu kids are forced to wear those guady sweaters for so long that when they grow up they revolt and wear leather jackets

  61. you read that and you automatically want to do the 21 km race.
    but no, you read that and you want to go visit Nyakach and apologise on Biko’s behalf

  62. ‘Stanchart Marathon. You are next – 21kms again. Why? You ask. Because running a marathon must be like giving birth, you always forget how painful it was and so you keep going back.’

    Will be there as a first timer! 10Kms for start ups!

  63. Really made my Monday… “didn’t know we had ratchet ass in Kuyo” Lol
    I love your writing… Beautifully done n with lotsa humour! cool

  64. “Because running a marathon must be like giving birth, you always forget how painful it was and so you keep going back.”

    Hahahahaa Biko you never disappoint!

  65. You could wear the best clothes to mask the greatest insecurity but people will always see through you.
    great read as always…

  66. You should have an option to star a post, to refer to any time I want to re-read a brilliant post with such diction.
    Love this.

  67. But why are you always hell bentto give Nyanza a poor review as opposed to the magical Central?I understand that’s where you got your wife but really, Nyanza is not that bad. People have shoes. Of course there’s poverty but that’s everywhere(visit Nyeri)
    It’s just annoying that you have to play poverty porn on Nyanza every time.

    1. chillax max,read more of his work and you’ll realise he has written great pieces about
      Nyanza.Read his travel blogs and you’ll get his love of his home and his background. Nobody
      is force feeding you this blog – try and write one about Nyanza in your view and let us comment.
      Low blow bringing his wife into it. I know it’s childish but ‘meza wembe’ comes to mind…..

  68. That part about nyakach though! You’ve killed my shags… I will hunt you down and make you write something about those rocks and the 24 of us in Nairobi. Good read though.

  69. Biko just marry me and we will laugh till death. I have read 5 and people are looking at me like a mad woman. Thanks for the humor.

  70. Just read this today. Man you are good at what you do. And just wondering how you capture the wrath of our mums so perfectly..? Chege ngibucia ritho
    . ….

  71. Just read this today. Man you are good at what you do. And just wondering how you capture the wrath of our mums so perfectly..? Chege ngibucia ritho
    . ….