Nairobi

Kenya

My race number for the Nairobi Marathon
My race number for the Nairobi Marathon

I ran ten kilometers in the Nairobi Marathon, hakuna shida (no problem). It’s not far but I’m really tired! As I was waiting for the ten kilometer group to start I saw the wheelchair group fly by, and then the full marathon group — the forty-two kilometer guys are serious runners, holy shit. And the wheelchair guys were going so fast, and with such vigor, that I wondered if any of them ever fall. It would have to be catastrophic! I don’t even remember seeing them wearing helmets.

I had a lot of fun, so I’m actually looking forward to more runs in Kenya. I felt a real camaraderie when I arrived in the city center in a matatu (minibus used for public transit) in the morning. Because the police had closed all the roads I had to walk from the business district to Nyayo Stadium where the race was starting. Lots of people were walking, and random people were slapping high fives when they saw that you were obviously running in the marathon. As we were waiting at the venue I saw kids, old ladies with hunchbacks, and people in way worse shape than me running ten kilometers, and that’s ridiculous. I’ll have to do twenty-one in the next marathon, but never forty-two. Out of the sixty or so ILRI people who ran, two went for the full marathon. They both finished, but one of them was a bit out of this world when he crossed the finish line (if you know what I mean). forty-two kilometers is too far!

We had ILRI people taking lots of photos, so I’ll post those when I get copies later this week.

Kenya

It will be two years ago tomorrow that I moved to Kenya with Sara. After a few months living in Tala we were evacuated due to the post-election violence after Kenya’s 2007 Presidential election, but I came back soon after. In that period I’ve taught computer classes as a VSO volunteer, traveled all over East Africa, learned Swahili, forgotten English, and gotten a non-volunteer job in Nairobi. Who knows where the hell I’ll be in two more years!

Tomorrow is also the annual Nairobi Marathon, in which I’ll be running ten kilometers. I’ve never been a runner, per se, but I’ve always been into sports. I want to do the run more for fun than anything else (besides, ten kilometers isn’t really that far — a whole marathon is forty-two). For the past two months or so I have been training (if you can call it that) with some buddies at work. We run at lunch time, anywhere from five to ten kilometers, through dirt roads, corn fields, etc. It’s a great way to get out of the office if nothing else. Not to mention the countryside is very beautiful, especially when you’re running in the rain. Also, I don’t feel so guilty when I go out and eat a pastry at the coffee shop afterwords.

Adios, muchachos!

Food, Kenya

It’s been my observation over the last two years that you don’t go to a restaurant if you want to eat a tasty chapati. Much like the most delicious burritos in Southern California are found in “hole in the wall” Mexican food joints, the tastiest chapatis are found in vibanda (makeshift restaurants made from aluminum panels) all over Kenya. It’s a well-established fact: if you want a nice, hot, fresh chapati like you’ve never tasted before, it has to be cooked over a wood fire on a pan of questionable cleanliness by a lady on the side of the road.

Kibanda on the side of the road in Nairobi, Kenya
Kibanda on the side of the road in Nairobi, Kenya

I live in Westlands, an uppity suburb of Nairobi where there is a lot of work being done to make new housing and business complexes for upperclass Kenyans and expatriates. These shacks pop up to meet the demand of the day laborers who do work on the construction projects around the neighborhood. There was no food in the house this morning (and today was a public holiday, Kenyatta Day), so I walked over to the junction up the road and had a chapati and a cup of chai. People driving by must think I’m crazy, but everyone there knows me already — I buy milk every day from one dude, four chapati on Saturday mornings from one laday, and sometimes I even go there for lunch (greens, beans, etc, all for twenty shillings or so). The guys even shout Niaje?! (what’s up) when I walk by.

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