Another… ‘Early Morning Run in… Juba’

Let's sing...

On a dark desert highway, hot wind in my hair

Warm smell of cow poo, rising up through the air

Ahead in the distance... back in Juba…

0645 hrs. Southern Sudan. Folks, we have the youngest guest runner to-date. Let me introduce 32-year-old ‘Otto’. “Otto, good morning, what detergent are you using, by the way, those shorts have shrunk?” Otto self consciously tries to make his tiny Ron Hill’s appear bigger. We exchange greetings. Otto looks lean, he looks fit, he has a spring in his step and that certain boyish enthusiasm. This might well be a little slicker than usual.

When you run in a small group, or pairs, it can mirror life; you’re either the hammer or the nail. I wonder… damn, why didn’t I ask Fred, the chubby Swedish fellow…

Walk through the double set of stern-looking security gates at Acacia Village. TIJ. This is Juba. Otto is the compound manager. We turn immediately right and head north, along ‘Sandy Lane’. Already 28C, later a high of 42C. Run early, or not at all. Otto had suggested we run up Jebel Lodge. He said we could easily do it in an hour. Great idea I said, but let’s do my regular 35 mins circuit today, around the ‘hood’. Do the mountain another year…

Yes, back in Juba working a task with an old partner, ‘Ops’. I actually wanted 2 guest runners this morning, ‘Ops’ actually wanted more sleep this morning. We’re based 8 km west of downtown. An ordinary poor district of Juba. This area surely has more heart. More soul.

We’re in Gudele II. There are no street names. I’m naming this first one ‘Sandy Lane’. A rough dirt track. The houses either side are a mixture of brick and traditional. Traditional meaning mud and wood. There’s rubbish everywhere, mostly plastic.

There’s a virtual menagerie around us. Ducks. Chickens. Sheep. Goats. Dogs. Even cows with substantial curly horns being led by youths. Poo everywhere. Plenty to take in. All senses engaged.

“Otto, that’s a strange nickname?” “What’s the story?” Otto tells me a tale from his childhood where some idiot takes out plenty of Europeans queuing at a chairlift. Bodies, poles and skis everywhere. ‘Otto’ is shamed, blamed and named, it stuck. The full name apparently, ‘Otto, you little bugger’.

A luack, ahead left at 10 o clock. A fenced off cattle area, about 40 of the substantial curly horned variety waking up. Luacks dot the neighbourhood. Some kids stand on the fence poles gazing in. We turn right into ‘Sandy Square’, heading east. The sun rising majestically.

Plenty of kids in simple uniforms walking to school. A few vehicles too, mostly motorbike taxis – boda boda’s. “Kerwadja”, “Kerwadja”. The word follows us everywhere. Repeat it back, makes things worse. “Kerwadja”, particularly enchanting when the toddlers say it. A wall of sound… “White man, white man.”

Swing left and head north again. We’re on ‘Sandy Drive’. The sight of 2 white fellows, one of whom looks questionable, prancing through their district must be amusing. Apart from poo, there’s the more pleasant whiff of charcoal as morning chop is prepared, also the occasional scent of sweetened chicory type coffee. I need my morning Joe…

Some children run and hide behind their mothers. For most, it’s “Kerwadja.” A few say “good morning”, no matter the time of day. Repeat everything and have fun with the kids, feels pretty interactive this morning.

 “I’m enjoying this run Otto, does Swedish Fred jog?” “What, never?” Forget for a moment about weaving Abba lyrics into the post… problem… at 12 o clock, ahead…

… stray dogs. Running in the evening can be preferable when the pesky hounds have been zapped by the daily furnace, hotter here at that time than the devils waiting room. We’re quickly making an impression from River Dance. Michael Flatley’s feet haven’t moved this fast. A couple of locals laugh and come to our rescue. They pick-up and toss baked poo to see the mutts off. I thank them… however, stop short of shaking mitts. Mutts and mitts, let’s push on…

Reminds me, Ops and I need to visit upcountry, but options are limited. Many roads/areas are unsafe. Fortunately, yesterday I found a reliable helicopter charter company. The words of my oil & gas safety mentor, Randy Splash, echoed as I inspected the cockpit and rotors. “Safety. Safety. Safety.” Randy, this machine has everything; it’s in great shape. Randy, I know you’re focusing on one of those hoses, fret not, being replaced as I type. More importantly, need to manage these fellows down on price...

Otto is like the Skippy the bush kangaroo, very springy, very chatty. He tells me he’s been in Juba 9 months and had been in the Territorial Army with 4 Para, as he went through university. The pace is good, I’m the nail this morning…

As we get deeper into the hood, the mix of houses turn more traditional. The kids don’t relent. I don’t want them to. Makes for a happy run. This is a poor area; no power, no water, few facilities. However, there feels a real sense of community. We enjoy a fantastic reception. This area most definitely has more heart and soul.

Has anything changed in South Sudan since the previous visit last Oct? Well… the peace process rumbles on. The country is now completely bankrupt. The currency has been devalued more than once. Most business has folded. Little outside investment. Civilians being attacked and killed when supposedly under the protection of the UN. Prices increase daily… but, hold the front page… the 2 main protagonists, who began all this in Dec 2013, are kissing and making up… what can possibly go wrong…

So. Really. Any hope? Strangely, I think there is. I feel more positive this time than 5 months ago. Maybe, it’s these simple folk here in Gudele II. Perhaps, no further to fall. Maybe, leaders can put egos aside. Maybe, they can filter out bad advice from their ‘loyal’ courtiers. Maybe, cease vested interests. Maybe, forget splitting the country into tribal thiefdoms, sorry… I mean chiefdoms… to control territory and resources. Perhaps, work together for the greater good. Simples. Maybe…

Finally, we’re heading at a good pace south along ‘Desert Highway’. Ahead in the distance, is there a shimmering light? Yes, all around us. “Kerwadja… Kerwadja….”

Here’s a young family from ‘Desert Highway’, the future…

Thank you to everyone in our adopted neighbourhood. Last Oct when downtown we often felt as welcome as a Jehovah’s Witness at the front door on a Friday evening. You know the drill; you’ve a second glass of something chilled, feet up… “you answer the door, I went last time…” 30 secs later… “Darling…,” a face appears around the living room door, “we’ve a ‘Code Red’…”

We’re pushing on now, heading up towards Mundri Road. The twin masts of the leading telecom provider is where we’ll warm down, jogging steadily to the finish. The poles stand out along with the bright pink coloured walls. The Zain tagline wraps this post nicely, Louis takes us out…

“I see skies of blue and clouds of white. The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night. And I think to myself what... “

Enjoyed this 28 mins run (35 mins previously), thanks, Otto… great fun. Good luck to you & the team at Acacia Village. Stay safe. However, if my optimism is misplaced, then please remember what my old Drill Sergeant used to say when all else fails, “keep low and move fast,” he’d bellow. You might recall my old drill Sergeant’s wisdom from an earlier post, he said to always expect the unexpected. I miss him, he was killed by a low flying teradactyl a few years back, in Basingstoke town centre…

We opened with The Eagles? When I worked oil and gas, there's a cycle of investment in any project. The final part was the exit strategy. In Africa we called this the ‘Hotel California Syndrome’, in that; ‘you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave…’ Exiting, for any number of reasons from Africa, can be difficult…

I’m exiting, for a weekend at least. Heading from Juba to Germany. What a contrast. An ‘Early Morning Run in… Nuremberg’, could well be on the cards… and soon…

Wrap up warm, see you in Bavaria…

P.S. Back to the UK for Easter in a couple of weeks. Reminds me, I must drag my tight-fisted Scottish neighbour up a nearby Jebel…

‘Early Morning Run in… Abidjan'

"Something, or something awful or something wonderful was certain to happen on every day in this part of Africa.” Hemingway with the quote. Road trip time. Let’s hope for the 'something wonderful' bit. We're in Côte d'Ivoire folks.

Word around the campfire is Abidjan’s a unique destination, relative to most of West Africa. I arrived last evening on Air Côte d’Ivoire. Small African airlines can sometimes give one the heebie-jeebies, no complaints though; the plane landed the right way up with both wings intact, avec des bagages. Great flight.

Abidjan is a vast city. At 3.8 million souls, the third-largest French-speaking city in the world. For pub quiz enthusiasts, Abidjan is the economic capital; for 5 points, the actual capital city?

Côte d'Ivoire was once known as the ‘teeth coast’ due to trade in Ivory. Later as the Ivory Coast in English, and since 1985 - Côte d'Ivoire. Population 22 million.

Before we run, let's pop back to ‘Dodge’ and a recent car accident. A matter of time I guess. I drive in Africa whenever possible. What happened? Well, it's 1900 hrs. Dusk 'O' clock. Rush hour traffic. I'm actually near the spot where I narrowly missed damaging a burly policeman's stick with my head (previous post). This time I sideswipe a battered old yellow taxi.

Samuel jumps out; he seems reasonable. About nine others, two holding babies, also alight from the said taxi, which doesn't look a complete stranger to minor accidents. They start remonstrating with, er, me. If we're taking sides here, I'm in a minority of one.

The crowd swells. Entertainment. I'm surrounded by more people than a fellow handing out free 20 dollar bills. This could be tougher than a night out in Wigan.

Samuel says, not unreasonably, "look what you've done to my taxi." I wanted to say something funny to lighten the mood. I didn't. "My fault", I said. "Let me take a photo of the damage'", I said. "Let me get this repaired", I said. "Let's exchange numbers", I said. "Pay d man now", the crowd said.

Samuel studies me. I'm bending down on one knee, using my phone as a torch, assessing the damage like I know what I'm doing. I don't. The only thing that could make this situation funnier? The police turning up.

On cue, enter stage right. "Your vehicle sah." Great.

The situation could have developed in many ways. Thankfully a happy ending, as always. The well-rounded police lady was okay. Samuel was good. The crowd enjoyed the entertainment, with me squirming mostly. Samuel would me ring next morning, and we'd negotiate something. Note to self, keep well away from Congo Cross, bad karma.

Abidjan.

Reveille 0545 hrs. Early 'O' clock. No messing about this morning. No snooze cycles. I did have the Hokey Cokey as my wake-up call; it was taking me 30 minutes to get out of bed… no longer.

If I could pick the perfect time to run in Africa? 0600 hrs. Day of the week? Sunday. Circumstances? First time run in a brand new city. I have all those today. Two quick glasses of water. Skim BBC for the latest Africa news. What does the Yahoo weather app say? First light 0632 hrs. 24C, humidity 100%. Perfect. View Google maps. I have a rough idea where we’re heading.

Down the fire escape from the 4th floor. Security is surprised to see me; he opens the orange grilled gates. A seriously tough looking dog is barking, straining against his metal chain from the nearby railings. They say most Africans are scared of big bad dogs. Me as well. Rover looks like he'd bite my leg off and then the other one, just for fun.

Time for the two most positive words in the English language, as I'm always reminding my two young acorns; those words... 'let's go...' or this morning... 'allons-y'.

We head east across to Ave Marchand. Still gloomy. Find the road we want. Turn north on Boulevard de la Republique. Hotel Tiana on my left. A large group of armed paramilitary nearby changing shifts. In fact, security is omnipresent. They wear their distinctive red berets French style. Meaning plopped on their heads with the ribbons showing at the back.

Over to the right is Rue Jesse Owens. I lift the pace and attempt to 'sprint'. A classic box circuit of right turns to get back on the same Boulevard. No more 'sprints'. Past the gendarmes again.

Another level of security is at each junction and outside the main buildings. I quickly become accustomed to the ubiquitous yellow shirts. We're in Plateau District. A high profile area. Advisories are in place following the recent hotel attacks in Mali and Burkina Faso. Both countries border Côte d'Ivoire.

However, I can’t imagine any self-respecting terrorist bothering with my hotel. Budget all the way. Moreover, we have Rover. The French government is also taking this escalation seriously, increasing their threat level for Côte d'Ivoire & Senegal. Now officially raised from 'Run to Hide', leaving only two levels - 'Surrender', and 'Collaborate'... only kidding mes amis Francais...

Boulevard de la Republique ahead, and the national stadium. Named after the first President following independence, Felix Houphouet-Boigny. He ruled for 33 years. His successor suffered a coup, which then started a period of instability. Armed rebellion followed in 2002, and again following elections in 2010. Since 2011 things have stabilised, the country is firmly back on the upward curve. I understand enough French to comprehend the early Sunday editions; the trial of Mr Gbagbo, the former President, in The Hague for alleged crimes against humanity.

Let's leave politics. ‘Les Elephants’, as the national football team is known, is a potent force and current African champions. Far more useful to know the country's best footballer. When language skills let me down, I say Yaya Toure. As I line up a snap of the stadium, security jogs over speaking rapid French and waving his arms. No problem, I smile... Yaya Toure. I also have Didier Drogba on the bench, if required. Here’s the stadium.

The tree-lined boulevard streets seem mostly deserted. Any other day would be manic. Quiet, save for a few folks and a sprinkling of orange taxis. I keep mainly zig-zagging north. I want to find St. Paul's Cathedral. It looks splendid and somewhat unusual. Certainly unique. 

Time to drop off the higher ground towards Boulevard de Gaulle. The sun is rising majestically across the other side of the shimmering lagoon. I enjoy one of those feel-good moments. I feel lucky to be here, to see this sunrise, to be alive, and fortunate to be fit and healthy. 

Moving south-east now. 28 mins in, thoughts turn to heading back. I duck under a flyover; I know Divas... a flyover... I look up at the skyline. I've read this place was stunning in the 60s & 70s. Some said the Manhattan of W. Africa. Realistically these days, more of a poor mans Nairobi, but it certainly has something. Might appear shabby to some, but by West African standards? I like it.

A last look around at the sunrise and begin a steady ascent of the hill. I drift left past the Novotel picking out a couple of potential restaurants. Everything is so peaceful and quiet. I have crossed a few fellow joggers, not too many. Two of whom held their hands in front of them and made an exaggerated clap using their arms. Must be a local thing, unless there're sharks in the lagoon.

I can see the hotel, time for a robust finish? 50 mins this morning. I've enjoyed taking you round. Time for a breakfast of champions, eggs and plenty of coffee. Heck, a pain au chocolat as well. Let’s go crazy.

As I'm taking a final photo of the hotel, plainclothes security wanders over, a little agitated. ‘Monsieur, photos interdites.’ You know how this finishes, ‘Yaya Toure mon ami’.

The capital city? It's Yamoussoukro.

Postscript: Next week I’ll be regaling my Freetown divas with tales of my latest travels in West Africa. The genuinely wondrous things I've seen. Divas, remember the plumbed washing machine in Monrovia?

The bus stops, real buses with electronic destinations in the upper windows, pavements, credit cards, all in Dakar; oh, and 600 megawatts of power every day?

In Accra, the smooth paved roads everywhere, street lights, traffic signs, proper hotels, restaurants, cash machines, and the pizza oven in Coco Lounge?

Now Côte d'Ivoire? Well, sit down divas, brace yourselves. Flyovers, I’ll say that again… flyovers. Traffic and pedestrian lights. A modern airport with electric hand dryers, I’ll say that again… electric hand dryers, an airline, and aircon at the airport?

Conakry? OK, I’ll give you that one. Nothing.

2015 Christmas Greetings to One and All...

A Christmas special to bring 2015 to a close. I departed Sierra Leone early Dec to spend some time in London on business. I’m often asked about the challenges of running a small company in Africa. Are you making a living? Are you busy? Not quite as active as a one-armed painter and decorator, but surviving... my car illustrates my success...

Can’t beat a hatchback in London...

My Christmas idea was to jog around the landmarks, with a guest runner, to best capture London at Christmas. Handy Andy was keen, perhaps with Francesca. Evil Eva also showed interest. However, plans were scuppered by a calf injury the first night in London. Needed a new theme. Got it... rent a Boris Bike and peddle around the sights? Position bike in the photos, someone holds it perhaps? Great idea, later...

First up, I need accommodation. Let’s try Airbnb. All the rave I’m told. Check the website. Yep, find what I’m looking for. The host describes himself as gay, a veggie, and politically left wing. I have an inkling this fellow has never served in the British Army. I can’t remember too many veggies. Hang on, his profile also mentions he likes to take guests for a beer to show them the local area. This is the place. A few beers in the Punch & Judy, in nearby Covent Garden, and I’ll be telling Gordon my best veggie story… want to hear it...

… a bitterly cold windswept day in the Brecon Beacons. 0600 hrs. A young officer stands in-line. The gruff Staff Sergeant slops a ladel of something resembling breakfast into each expectant mess tin. He works like a metronome. Kippers Sir? Eggs Benedict? Sausages? The young officer politely informs the Staff Sergeant he’s a vegetarian. Slop. Well, pick the f*#@*#g beans out, came the sharp response. Move along… next… kippers? That’s the Army. Same ‘jokes’ over and over, you still laugh.

Sorry, where was I? Ah yes… Gordon… the Airbnb… A good positive experience. Comfortable bed too. I always have a little trouble sleeping in London. My sister advised I read my own blog, she said it'd help. Family...

I rent the Boris Bike. A fantastic 2-hour ride entails. Here are some snaps with some local help…

Mr Khan, originally from Pakistan. A VIP driver outside The Dorchester...

Thanks to Gemma outside The Ritz, from the East End...

Boris at Buckingham Palace with loads of Santa's...

Thanks to Donny, from Santiago...

Boris at the London Eye...

Thanks to all my helpers. Back to Sierra Leone.

Do you remember the Freetown Christmas hampers from last year? Turns out some ’white guy’ who departed Sierra Leone recently, gave the Chairman a thousand dollars. This would help sort his life out, you’d think? When you apply any sort of logic? Did he set a little aside for a guilty pleasure? Did he invest in a small business opportunity? Did he share some of his good fortunes? 

The Chairman you might remember is an amputee who ‘works' a Freetown beach. I’ve mentioned these fellows before, some featured in the Christmas Hamper donation last December. I attended a meeting recently, near the Chairmans 'patch'. Want to know what happened to his windfall?

Well, he did indeed cover all bases. The Chairman married two more lucky brides. He organised a party for his crew. As for business? He invested, in what many might say is a recreational drug, beginning with M. Then he probably just wasted the rest. However, the Chairman looked happy, maybe a little tired. Any wonder? I’ve long since stopped judging. However, he glanced at me and said he might be dead tomorrow. An explanation not sought. I left smiling, gave him a little something, maybe shaking my head, as always… 

Another recent ‘event' from Freetown to finish off, a special request from Baby Diva...

It's late November in Freetown. A Friday evening. 2230 hrs. I hop on an Okada (a motorbike taxi). Spur of the moment thing. Madness. I decide to head to the Chinese casino for a few hands of blackjack. My rider says he's 7 years experience and no accidents. The bike has most of the things it needs, including mirrors. Due diligence & background checks complete. What can possibly go wrong? Let's go... I'm feeling lucky...

There's something strangely romantic zipping around Freetown on a motorbike late at night, especially along the coast road. Wind whistling through your hair in the absence of a helmet. I inform Emmanuel I'll pay double on top of the double he's charging me. Just ride safely. 

We arrive. The warm, comforting glow of the multi-coloured Chinese lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. High tide. The sound of the waves. Christmas decorations, last years, the two dwarves on the door. Everything as it should be. I ask the rider if he wants the return ride. 45 mins later, I've folded quicker than an Italian tank unit. Hometime. The two undersized doormen look up at me in hope. Guys, it's loss... we low five. Outside now, Emmanuel seems less confident. 

He says there are police checkpoints along the beach road. We'll take a different route. If stopped, tell the police the bike is mine he says. He rides for me. The roly-poly police lady is okay. She tells me the rider should bring his license over. I walk over and pass this information, he opens up the throttle, does a U-turn and speeds off.

Great. Midnight, I'm 5 km from my apartment. I start walking. Pitch black. 20 mins later, a new Okada comes alongside. I tell him of my abandonment. This time I don't bother with due diligence. Only one question. Do you have any problems with checkpoints? No, came the reply. Good. What can possibly go wrong? Let's go...

We approach the police checkpoint near Congo Cross. The rider slows, makes eye contact with the Police. Much better. I'm relaxed. Oh no, he opens up full throttle. We crash straight through the checkpoint. A burly policeman swings a large cane stick. It barely misses my left shoulder and takes the wing mirror clean off. The rider is laughing in a hunched position. He turns, no problem with checkpoints he says. We speed off. He bemoans the loss of his mirror. I'm contemplating what could have happened... told you I was feeling lucky... 

Emmanuel asks to be my regular Okada rider. I tell him I'll think about it… 

Well, all done with the blog for 2015. Here in the north of England, it’s Christmas Eve and nearly time to play Santa. The stages of life are closely linked to Santa. You believe in him, you are him, and finally, like my tight-fisted Scottish neighbour, Taggart, you look like him… 

Wherever you are, and in closing, may I wish everyone a Happy Christmas and a peaceful New Year. See you in 2016...

‘Early Morning Run in… Nairobi’

Jambo! Karibu!

"Life is simple. You are born, you do your thing, and you die. It's easy. Anyone can do it." Joan K., a young Kenyan businesswoman.

I'm here in Muthaiga, an upmarket suburb of Nairobi. Feels good to be out of Juba. Reveille 0630 hrs. Press the Uber app. 15 mins later? Watch the taxi arrive on Google maps. Already know from my smartphone; the make, colour, number plate, drivers name, mobile number, even a photo. Please meet Samuel... the plan - take a taxi to the start point...

Uber recently opened for business in Nairobi. I've never used it before. Signed up yesterday. Let's give it a go. Will it work in Africa?

While waiting we warm up with excellent Kenyan coffee and some gentle stretching. ‘Ops’ has a couple of cigarettes. She looks good…

Ops, how are you feeling? Ready? Like a startled gazelle came the reply. Kids, never ever smoke...

0645 hrs. Chilly. Sun slowly rising. We drive downtown. We ask Samuel plenty of questions en route. Uber? His opinion? The type of conversation you'd never dare have with a black cab driver in London...

"Excuse me, do you have a view on Uber?" Frank’s eye line adjusts slowly upwards into his rearview mirror…

“Uber? Bleeding disgrace, that's what it is, should never be allowed. Even the French have the right idea. Uber? Cowboys, unqualified, unlicensed... that’s what they are, don't get me started mate. Know what I mean. Uber.... now I'm all for progress, not like some of em… by the way, what's that idiot Boris doing about it; sod all, that's what he's doing, don't get me started... Sorry governor, where did you say you were going...” 

Post-Juba (previous outing), I'm staying with close friends who some readers will know. The Dingles from Nairobi. One of whom is my guest runner this morning. I give you, 'Our Man in Port Loko'. 'Ops' for short. Last seen bouncing enthusiastically on a trampoline in South Sudan...

We arrived back a few days ago. By KQ. Kenya Airways. Those old jokes about Kenya Scareways are wide of the mark (apart from their pricing). A bit like BA being called, Bloody Awful. Er, um…simply not true. Mind you a KQ yarn/true story which did the rounds several years back is worth another airing.

"What is all the fuss about?" Watseka Sambu asked a hastily convened news conference at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. 

"A technical hitch like this could have happened anywhere in the world. You people are not patriots. You just want to cause trouble." 

Sambu, a spokesman for Kenya Airways, was speaking after the cancellation of a through flight from Kisumu, via Jomo Kenyatta, to Berlin. 

"The forty-two passengers had boarded the plane ready for take-off when the pilot noticed one of the tyres was flat. Kenya Airways did not possess a spare tyre, and unfortunately, the airport nitrogen canister was empty. A passenger suggested taking the tyre to a petrol station for re-inflation, but unluckily the jack had gone missing, so we couldn't get the wheel off. Our engineers tried heroically to reinflate the tyre with a bicycle pump but had no luck, and the pilot even blew into the valve with his mouth, but he passed out."

"When I announced that the flight had to be abandoned, one of the passengers, Mr Mutu, suddenly struck me about the face with a life-jacket whistle and said we were a national disgrace. I told him he was ridiculous, and there was to be another flight in a fortnight.” 

Right, enough jokes. KQ are my favourite African airline. Let’s get back to Uber…

Samuel tells us he was one of the first drivers hired. He enjoys working with Uber. He was one upbeat, happy fellow. His one minor gripe was success meant too many new drivers were being recruited. Too many drivers, less work…

He drops us at the Intercon Hotel downtown. No cash to pay, straight to my credit card. Receipt straight to my smartphone. Distance covered, route, duration and fare. 750 Kenyan Shillings. Just over $7.

What about heart and soul? Meaning those painful, but often comedic taxi ‘negotiations’ all over Africa, in particular, Cairo. Lagos anyone? Bandido taxi drivers in large cities in Africa could become a thing of the past. Strangely, I’ll miss them. I actually purchased a taxi once in West Africa, a story for another time.

Samuel gets out of his pride and joy and waves us off. I adore Kenya. I’ve made hand gestures before at taxis, but today everything feels like a feel-good moment. I wave back at Samuel. Let’s run…

0715 hrs. Right 'Ops', the plan for this morning? Perhaps do a couple laps of Uhuru Park, the hills for cardio, the monuments, the old boating lake, bandstand, back through downtown, go past Parliament and the historic buildings; oh, and I need some snaps for the blog. Finish at The Stanley for breakfast. Ops looks at me, and ex TLM folk will know this look, 'whatever'.

I’m thinking about this as we climb to the top of the park. Uhuru in Swahili means freedom. I imagine those early settlers coming to Africa a few generations ago.

“Look here Carruthers, the Foreign and Colonial Service is sending you to Africa for a few years. You’re an excellent fellow, the right material to represent King and country. What do you say?

“I’m not sure sir; Africa?”

“Good, that’s settled then. You are made of the right stuff Carruthers.”

“Where in Africa, sir?”

“Well, the most popular location is definitely Kenya. Indian Ocean, Rift Valley, a fantastic climate. Ruddy great elephants everywhere. Great hunting, if you like that sort of thing. We don’t need anyone there. Can’t get the buggers to come home.”

“There’s the Cape down south. Absolutely spectacular. Good for your health. The sea. Wonderful climate” We’re fine for people there. Can’t get the buggers to come home.”

“Many like the east as well. Abyssinia. Great climate, spectacular hills. We have everyone we need there. Can’t get the buggers to come home.”

"Then there are the Arabs in the north. Troublesome fellows. The Mediterranean. Many of our chaps absolutely adore Cairo. Can’t get the buggers to come home.”

"I understand sir. Is there anywhere left?"

"Yes, there is Carruthers. You’re going to West Africa. Most chaps don’t like it. Can’t get the buggers to go there.”

"Why sir?"

"Well, you see Carruthers, quite primitive. The place is ridden with disease. Fever. Many don’t come back. A lot of our chaps go crazy out there. Rains non-stop for half the year. Wild animals. Huge forests. Even headshrinkers according to some. You’ll be fine Carruthers.”

“Headshrinkers sir?”

“Don’t fret Carruthers. Send us a telegram, and I’ll send you a new bowler hat size 1 and a half, on a passing steamer if necessary. Let’s focus on the positives, shall we? Get packed up now, there’s a good fellow…"

Divas… Kenya. You know what’s coming… yep... I could live there. 

We’re running well this morning. Over 5,000 ft above sea level fires up the heart and lungs. Ops starts telling me about a recent family mafia wedding in Toronto, I encourage her for details. Maybe it’s the altitude, she’s never short of a word or 50 usually.

Here are a couple of smartphone snaps of the sights… see you at The Stanley Hotel…

The Stanley Hotel. Breakfast here we come...

Thank you Ops, you're the 4th best guest runner to-date. Hey, let's have every course this morning, we deserve it. Then another Uber back to Muthaiga... 

Let me close out in Swahili, "Gari langu linaloangama limejaa na mikunga." A saying useful in all languages. 

Now it's back to West Africa. Sayonara... or, perhaps more appropriately Kwaheri, see you in London for the end of year wrap up...