Run No. 215 - 23rd June 2007
“Don’t judge a book by its cover”, so the old saying goes. Sound advice you may say in this zippy modern world of ours where advertisers & consumers pay more attention to flashy glossy marketing and packaging than to the actual product itself, be it books, people or anything else. So, in the case of books, how do you judge if a book is worth buying or not? Good question I think given how expensive books are in Kenya. Another question by the way; why is it that books are so expensive in third world countries like ours? Considering all the foreign goodwill that the 3rd World enjoys, you would have thought that some bright spark in Washington D.C. or London would have already come up with the idea to flood us corrupt masses with cheap subsidised books to enlighten us. Sorry, sorry, that’s probably naďve, I digress and anyway some of us may not be ready for the ideas of those liberated lads & lasses in Frankfurt and Helsinki.
The opening sentence of a book, literary agents will advice, should be so utterly irresistible, so unquestionably curious, and so absolutely tantalizing that potential buyers of your book upon reading it will head straight for the cash till. Consider the following opening; “In her hut in Poto-Poto, the poor quarter of Brazzaville, the feticheuse, smiling at us, knelt on the floor, drew out a handful of cowrie shells from the cloth bag at her waist, and cast them across the raffia mat.” What do you think? Satisfies the three criteria? Intrigued? I know I was when I read the above in Congo Journey by Redmond O’Hanlon, and I bought it! What’s he ranting on about? You must be asking by now, I thought this was the Hash column. You see the dilemma I was having, was whether to tear myself away from a comfortable divan and the book to attend what I knew was going to be a sweaty Saturday afternoon Hash at Nguu Tatu.
Nguu Tatu in case some of you liberated souls are wondering, means three hills and is the highest point in the entire North Coast of Mombasa. Holding the Hash here means having to climb at least one if not more of the damn things. Being of strong will and prowess I managed to drag myself to Turkey Bayse Pub the starting point of the Hash. Turkey Bayse? Who came up with that name and why?? Sixteen, I say again, sixteen Hashers mingled outside the Pub completely insensitive to this great conundrum of its name, while Mzee Mouth this week’s hare gave lame excuses for not actually setting the trail. So instead of a Hash we had a Bash with the walkers setting off in one direction and the runners in another. The runners’ numbers had swelled with the addition of the virgins, Felix, Daniel, Umair, Steve, and Judy. Off we went down a street of smart bungalows including a nyumba-la-gorofa still under construction and optimistically called ‘Ocean View’ leading to a field where the locals were playing football. The virgins leading the runners (must be copying Sir Richard Branson), Daniel is far ahead. Mzee Mouth indicates a turn off from the path and we are in the bundus. A plain of short grasses and scrubby bushes stretches away; the track to follow is actually where the rainwater has once flowed and so undulates all over with small craters where one can easily sprain or even break an ankle! The virgins lagging now, with Judy about to collapse. Here are some handy tips; if you are going to run, don’t eat just prior to running, give it at least 3-4 hours, and please bring along a big bottle of water. Up a small hill now the old dogs having overtaken the virgins. Past a little village of huts, Horny Sunset and Wonderland Alice providing great entertainment for the totos who give the warning cry “Mzungu, Mzungu!!”
Mzee Mouth leading still and has to call a halt near the top for the rest of the pack to catch up. Time to catch your breath and admire the view of the Bamburi Cement factory and further out the coastline. In the near distance a huge green hill looms with a great big communications aerial. “You are NOT going to make us climb that are you?” the virgins gasp. Not today but we do a numbers dance instead which gets them giggling. Off again following a wide path and the 65+ year old Mzee leads. The thing you got to remember if you running downhill and feeling fine, is that pretty soon you are going to have run uphill and your lungs are going to burst. In the Bash, what goes down, must go up! Half way done of the 8 km and we spot the walkers. On On goes the cry. Mohamed and Ahmed seem to be enjoying themselves, must be the mavo they are chewing. The last stretch is the on murram road leading to Husseni Dairy HQ and it goes up and down with great big MACK trucks passing by. Downs Downs were had at Turkey Bayse. Hongera to Black Dik who could not attend as he was clinching position 61 out of a 1000 runners at the Lewa Marathon.