Chapter 1 – Three missed runs

Chapter 1 – Three missed runs

Next - Chapter 2

First miss

This story starts on Friday, July 26, 2019 on the day that we did the seventh monthly IKM international marathon.  That is when it dawned on me that I shall surely miss three international marathons, being the August, September and October monthly runs.  It did not seem like a very serious issue when I casually wrote about it on our marathoners WhatsApp page.  It became serious when I realized that this was a reality and that the countdown was already on.  I would be out of the international circuit in 2-week time.  This was irreversible and I just had to start accepting the reality as it was.

But wait a minute!  Was it not a good realization that I was surely not going to be available for these three runs, by knowing about this with such an advance notice?  I had just clocked another international half-marathon run in 2hr 30min a week before?  I now had 14 days after that last run to either do something about the situation or just accept my reality.

I would miss three marathons, no doubts, but is it even possible to think about doing them in advance in the available time?  Three marathons within fourteen days?  That was a stretch.  That was wishful!  That was not something for the amateurs.  In normal times, we do our marathons monthly, but we still feel its effects 30-days later!  How about three marathons in 2-weeks?  That is a marathon every 4 days!  That is mission impossible!  Bad idea.  Do not try it at home, or on the racing track.

A few days later… I found myself on the 21k route on Wednesday, July 31, just 5-days after our group international run of Friday, July 26 aka ‘the unveiling’.  While the group run saw the B-n-B team finish in 2.31.42, I did this solo run in 1.43.27.  I had pushed myself to the brink and could really feel it after the run.  I had just clocked one international out of the three that I was targeting. 

“At least I did one run.  I shall now only miss two runs,” I told myself while recording my time on the online calendar.

Then I immediately started imagining doing the balance two runs in 10 days – which was just the time that I had left.  That thought was quickly brushed aside as I dragged my tired body and tired legs, to the washrooms to take a shower.  However, time was not standing still.  I was still tired by weekend and even more tired when I resumed duty on Monday.  I was just too tired to imagine another run, with only five days to go.  I skipped the otherwise customary Monday run.

Second miss

On Tuesday, after missing the Monday run, I did take out my running students to the same Kanyariri route, for an 8k circuit run.  That ‘sweet’ Kanyariri hill still gave me memories – good and bad.  Good for the energy that sometimes just kicks in in response to the hill.  And, bad for how the body feels, especially the legs, over the prolonged 4k hill.

It is probably the ‘sweet’ hill that brought me back for a second international 21k marathon the next day, being Wednesday, August 7.  I finished this international half marathon on the usual Uthiru-Ndumbo-Kanyariri-Gitaru circuit in 1.43.25.  That was the exact time that I had done run when I did the same route just seven days ago.  Is it that I had crammed this route or what?  Same route, different days, with different weather conditions, but same exact run time?

“Lightning does not strike a tree twice,” I remember my parents saying, as a way of education and warning against some things that should not be repeated.

“You cannot run the same run time twice,” that is what I borrowed from that saying and had instilled the same to my students of the run over time… but that saying was now coming back to haunt me.

With only two days to go, would I be lucky enough to prove lightning wrong and hit a third marathon?  That was not to be.  As I took the students for the ultimate run on Thursday, on the Wangari Maathai route for another 8k circuit, I could feel that my body was completely drained.  There was no chance of doing a final third marathon.  That was it!  Boots should now be hanged.  Runs should now be done with.  It was time to close the ‘marathon-compensation’ chapter, with two out of three runs squeezed in a two-week period.  Somethings are meant to be, others not.  

On Friday, August 9, I did my own ultimate run over a 10k distance during the lunch hour and called it quits thereafter.  But would I stay quit for long?

Third miss

Things started heading south when I found out that the contact desk of the employer contracted taxi service was already closed for the weekend.  I had all along assumed that that desk operates to late, at least I have observed their staff on that desk as late as eight.  But on this day, no!  I had made no effort or thought that I would miss a guaranteed taxi.  

I had assumed that I would just pass by the taxi helpdesk located at the exit gate and book a taxi for eight.  However, I was facing this disappointment at seven.  A call to our contact person with the taxi company did not help much.  He stated that I could only get something for earlier-than or later-than eight.  I was stuck.  However, I still had an hour to get to plan B.  I walked home and packed the last remaining items ready to start my travel.

“Who has Uber?,” I asked the teenagers, “Try book a cab.”

Few minutes later, and we were moving from app to app.

“Even Taxify is not working!”

“It is no longer Taxify, but Bolt,” I corrected, assuming that that would help matters.

“Yes, it is the Bolt that I tried.  It is not working”

“Give a try at Little!,” I panicked.  

I had all these apps myself, but many things were now happening at the same time.  I had hoped to get a taxi by 8.00pm.  It was now 8.15pm.  I still had 20km to cover in usually heavy unpredictable Nairobi traffic.  I had to be where I had to be by nine.  This was getting worse with every passing minute.

“I keep getting a message to wait”

“Me too,” the second teen affirmed.

“Let us just go,” I told the three who were to escort me, “We will figure out something out there”.  The matriarch was not impressed at all.  She was completely fumed-up, “These last-minute arrangements!?  I hate last minute things!!”

“Let us just go,” I said.  I was preventing my own anxiety from showing.  I would be the worst affected by a delay.  However, ‘mwanamme ni kujichocha’ and you cannot show emotions.  Kama ni mbaya, ni mbaya.

We were now all outside the house, at the parking yard.  All panicked and no taxi hailing app working.

“Hello, is that Pato,” I reaffirmed before continuing, “Are you able to get me a taxi now?  Urgently?”

“Woyi!,” he shouted, which was quite something from a man, “Imagine niko Ronga.  Siwes make!”

My goose was cooked.  I was done.  Finished.  I would never make it.  Trip and journey were now as good as cancelled.

“But, I have this guy,” he started after a moment of silence, “I can send him over.”

“You sure? Now?”

“Yes, just now, I promise”

The four of us continued the wait at the parking lot.  All our taxi apps were still showing driver availability of over ten minutes from current time.  Pacing around become the norm, though it did not seem to help, until a strange vehicle was let into the compound and soon the driver rolled down the window and asked for us.  We got in.  It was now 8.30pm.

“Utafuata Kikuyu bypass,” I offered free advice.

“Sawa, lakini tuta tumia bypass ya 87,” he assured confidently.

We would soon let him take over the route and kept the hope that all factors would play out to our advantage to ensure our successful arrival in time.  And… he did not disappoint.  He surely took the 87 bypass and we were soon taking the many sharp turns on that road before reaching Dagoretti.  From there we faced the minimal road blockage at the Dagoretti market, but were soon past it, to join the main Southern bypass highway.  At the highway we were cruising with no hinderance at all.  We just made it to the first checkpoint at nine.  We made it.  Relief was evident on the five faces.

Next - Chapter 2

The End - Chapter 17

Chapter 2 – Four delayed runs

Chapter 2 – Four delayed runs

Previous - Chapter 1

Delayed run no. 1

After getting into the airport lounge, I quickly got into the wrong queue.  Many minutes later and I would decide to get out of the queue and make enquiry, just to be sure that I was on the right one.  The queues were long and more delay at this place would not be welcome, after an eventful evening.  I approached and asked the ladies in blue uniform where my exact queue for the check-in should be.

“Let me see the ticket,” one of them offered.

I presented it.

“It is surely here.  Let me have your passport.”

“I have to go and get it.  I have been queuing over there,” I motioned to where my two bags were still lying, blocking a long queue to my right.

I went to get my luggage.  Actually, just a case and laptop bag.  The first girl examined my passport.  She specifically opened the visa page, and using a magnifying glass, and some shiny light, started her thorough examination.  She kept tilting that visa page, in all manner of directions.  It took her about two minutes before she finished the task.  Why was she making me feel bad?  As if I was having a fake visa or something!  If only she would have known that I had to take a SACCO loan to pay the $530 for this visa sticker!!  And another $36 for processing it!!!  How dare she examine it for that long?

“It is good.  You can go through and queue,” she finally said and allowed me to pass through her blocking desk.

I joined the new short queue and soon was getting a boarding pass, while my travel case was tagged and checked in.  I remained with my laptop bag.

Getting through immigration was a breeze.  Just the usual, ‘where are you going’ and ‘why are you going’ and the passport was stamped with a ‘JKIA exit’ mark.  I believed that this same immigration office must have already clearing my two other colleagues who were on the same trip.

“Oh, you are also going to Norway,” he has reaffirmed.

I met the other two at the lounge and would soon be on small talk as we waited for the 23.40 departure.  This was however not to be….

Delayed run no. 2

We started seeing a ‘delayed flight’ notification next to our flight number KL566 to Amsterdam.  The new time was now 0140hrs.

“But we have a connecting flight to crying out loud!,” the three Kenyans said almost in unison, the three pairs of eyes gazing the screen, apprehension on each of their faces.  

We were however lucky to only suffer a delayed flight.  Our fourth colleague, Isaac, had missed his flight outright.  He had assumed it was a 4pm flight, when in reality it was a 4am flight.  After all, wasn’t the time on his ticket reading 0400?  Isn’t that 4.00pm?  Anyway, we were glad to just wait our turn, albeit with two-hours of delay.

We surely started boarding at 12.45am.  And… that bird was gigantic!  I have never seen a bigger plane in my life!  With a decker to boost, that 747-400 is just the monster.  It was so big that I started doubting whether it would even take off the ground with that size and weight!  Sitting ten seats per row in Economy class was the standard configuration, though I ended up seating a 3-seater in the whole row, since our seats were just next to the amenities and food prep area, which took the space that would otherwise be taken by the other seven seats.  I ended up enjoying lots of leg room, since there was no seat in front of my position, just the emergency door to the right.  Of course, that position also meant that the display screen and folder tray, normally behind the front seat, were ‘missing’.  We later discovered them hidden somewhere under the seats.

The 8hr 15min flight was smooth.  Hardly any bumps.  The movement of this giant was it tore through the sky was hardly noticeable.  Cruising was mostly at 900km/h.  It was just too smooth to think of any other thing but sleep….

A call for breakfast jolted me back to reality.  My watch was reading 8.00am under Kenya time.  It did not take long for the pilot to announce our forthcoming landing that was expected just within the hour.  And landing we did.  We were soon all screened at the arrival lounge and then let through.  We would soon pass through the Dutch immigration desks.  By that time all the three of us had split having been mingled up with the over 400 passengers from Nairobi and many passengers from many other landings at Schiphol, one of the busiest airports in Europe.

The person on the immigration booth looked at my passport and hesitated.

“Where are you going and for how long”

I told him.

“But this visa is valid for 10 days?,” he exclaimed.

“Where is your invitation?”

I showed him.  I have learned to walk with such at hand, on the backpack.

He looked at it, consulted his colleague, then was back to me.

“When will you be back?”

“November 9,” I told him.  

“Can’t you just read it on that damn letter?,” I thought of telling him.  I did not.

He stamped my entry, slowly, hesitantly, reluctantly.  He handed back my KLM-blue coloured passport, with the same reluctance.

Delayed run no. 3

I snatched the passport from the officer and went off.  I started looking around for the direction to my connecting flight.  The terminal building was massive.  Though labelled, it would take effort and willpower to find your way around.  I did a 360-degree look around.  I managed to locate an information screen.  I checked the flight information display and for sure my connecting flight was not listed.  I went to the desk marked T3/T4 KLM and reported a missed flight.

“I cannot see my flight,” I showed my ticket to the counter staff.

“Oh, that delay, I remember,” the jovial staffer responded, mostly smiling.  

By that time one of my colleagues, Mutua, had already caught up with me at this enquiries area, coming to report a similar missed flight.  He would soon confirm that he had chatted with the third colleague who had also missed his connection.  

We would soon all reconnect, as the group that missed the connecting flight.  In the case of our third colleague, Obonyo, he had already got an alternative flight for 12.30pm.  In our case, the lady at the counter had told us to ‘risk’ the 12.30pm flight just in case someone was to delay in boarding.  The other alternative, which was confirmed, was to fly to Spain, then connect from there.  That would be an early night flight and would have a longer stopover in Spain before re-boarding.

“We shall risk,” we responded, almost in unison.  

“I hope I do not see you here again,” she said smilingly, “In a good way, of course.”

We were each given a 10 Euro voucher, spendable at any eatery at Schiphol, for our delayed transit.  That enabled us buy two 500ml bottles of coke and a packet of crisps.  The cost of items was evidently high.  We hoped this ‘feeling’ was temporary, since we had a three-month future that awaiting us.

The three of us sat at terminal B22, waiting for the 12.30pm boarding.  A new face of KLM would manifest when my colleague attempted to make enquiry about our ability to fly ‘on risk’, just to be sure that we had a chance.

“I am busy,” the lady at the counter told him, without even looking at him.  

The I-am-busy statement was a hard one to forget, and would become a word in our vocabulary as we started life in Europe.

Thereafter, her bespectacled nature made her too serious and unapproachable to get information from her anymore.  The passengers were called to board and they started streaming though the stairway towards to plane that was parked on the tarmac, just on the other side of the glass windows.  By that time Oby who has a confirmed booking had already boarded, leaving the two of us waiting.  After an eventually, of almost ten minutes, the lady attendant came to, and asked, “Yes, what is it?,” while looking in our direction.  We were now the last two people remaining at the waiting area.  Everybody else had boarded.

My colleague explained the missed flight situation and that we were told to wait at this gate and were to confirm the status of available spaces on the 12.30pm flight to see if we could be able to get onboard.  The lady motioned him to wait as she checked her computer screen.  She indicated that only one seat was left and… and that seat goes to… She looked at her computer screen once more… “Mu..tu..a…ur.. eh…i?, Who that be?”

So my colleague Mutua was the one who walked through the metal detector and boarded, while I was the very last person standing at the waiting area, waiting for the painful response that I already knew too well, “The plane is full, get another booking”

I walked back the long corridor of about two hundred metres to KLM enquiries desk.  Coincidentally, the same jovial staffer, who had served me the first time was still on duty, served me when I went back to T3 this second time.

“Sorry for missing,” her bespectacled self said, while checking her computer system, across the glass barrier, beyond my reach. 

She kept typing, “Let me see…,” she went on typing.  

At some point she deleted some typing, then paused and looked up, “You know, my typing is faster than my reading.  Due to this,” she pointed at the specs.  She resumed typing.

“Now this,” she kept typing, loudly, audibly, “This flight here…,” she kept talking and pointing to the screen.  To herself and to me at the same time.

“Oh, wait!?,” she exclaimed!, “I have two options,” she stopped typing and looked up, even adjusting her specs.

“You risk another 2pm flight or you get confirmed seat at 4.30pm.”

The choice was clear – a confirmed 1610hrs flight.  I did not get another voucher though, but was just glad that finally I would be out of Amsterdam, where I had been since eight in the morning.  By this time, being about one-thirty, my two colleagues were almost touching down at the western coast of Norway, at Sola International airport in Stavanger.

My wait would finally be nearly over as I started hanging around gate B32 as indicated on the boarding pass, only to see nothing like a flight to my destination.  If anything, the next flight was to Oslo at 1650.  So where the hech did my connecting flight go to?  That is when I recalled the almost unimportant small talk from the jovial KLM lady as I confirmed this flight, “This gate number on the boarding pass is just temporary, it can change.”

A close examination of the various other flights indicated on the information screen and their different gates indicated that the Sola flight was to be boarded on gate B22.  But it was not to be.  Just when relief was about to engulf me as I started my walk to B22, the infamous ‘delayed flight’ started displaying next to that flight number.  Surely, lightning cannot strike twice!

Delayed run no. 4

The new time would turn up to be 1700, just about an hour after the scheduled time.  I was just glad that the end was near.  Finally, we were called to board.  This was a small 4-seat per row plane, though it was still full to the brim.  It took only one hour and thirty minutes to cross the Atlantic and emerge on the shores of Norway and land at Sola.  Getting out of the plane was fast.  Getting the luggage out of the plane would however take some time, almost twenty minutes.  

Finally, the luggage started rolling out and the passengers picked their own as they recognized them.  The long conveyor kept rotating the bags, initially many, and eventually very few as they kept being taken off.  Finally, the message, “last luggage removed”, was displayed on the information screen.  The conveyor was now almost empty, with only two or three pieces of luggage circling on and on.  Finally, I would come to the realization that my luggage was missing as the conveyor kept circling with the same luggage that did not have mine.  Passengers kept collecting their stuff and leaving, clearing the yard to almost nothingness.  

I was now left alone, with another two passengers, to go and report our missing luggage.  I was second on queue at the reporting desk.  The first person reporting was just taking too long.  I was getting impatient.  And… thank my impatience, since as I looked around restlessly, I did observe one bag put aside, just next to the reporting desk.  This case was not among those that had rolled around that conveyor.  And wait a minute!  It looked like my own travel case!  And, surely that it was my case!  I left the queue just before I was beckoned to make my report.  I walked to the case, reconfirmed that it was mine, took it and left the building.  There was no passport control to stamp the passport.  I just left the terminal building, without hinderance or questions, just like the rest of the travelers.

I found my contact person waiting.  Earlier, I had sent him a message about the delayed flight and hence he had been aware of this delay.  I got into this ride and were soon on the road to wherever we were going.  The roads were practically empty.  I could not count more than ten cars during the journey that took us about fifteen minutes.  We finally came to a compound that was characteristic of a typical university campus.  It was sure was, as it turned out to be labelled ‘Universitetet i Stavanger’.  We reached the campus when it was already raining.  It was just past 7pm now.  The visibility was however still as bright at mid-day.

Our host, Ralph, would soon drop me in the same ride to Kiwi supermarket, to get a few provisions, since the next day would be a Sunday and “All shops are closed on Sunday,” he had already alerted me, “So you can only get your items today or wait till Monday.”

Ralph was polished in English, which was unlike the other Norwegians that we would interact with in the course of our stay.  We later came to know that he was originally from the US and had just settled in here in the last six years.  

“I am still learning Norwegian.  I can read well, but still struggle speaking,” he later confessed.

Next - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Three welcome runs

Chapter 3 – Three welcome runs

Previous - Chapter 2

The first welcome

When I was dropped at Kiwi, I just intended to see what was available and was not intending to make any purchases.  I was still suffering the effects of a first day in a strange land and was totally alone, now that Ralph had even left.  I was worried whether I would even be able to make may way back to campus, since I had just been dropped by car.  I was not even sure if the credit card that I had carried along would work.  My bank had been insistent on the issue of one-time pin.  I was still wondering how the OTP would work, but they had indicated that they would send it on email instead.  This is after I had told them that I would be out of mobile network coverage, hence would not be able to get the OTP by SMS.

Then just out of nowhere, in a strange supermarket…. I stumble upon the guys!  What a pleasant surprise to stumble upon the other two Kenyans at Kiwi, in a mere coincidence of fate.  They were also forced to do some shopping over the ‘closed Sunday’ fear.  With the strength of numbers on my side, I was not a bit relaxed, after all the other two had already walked around UiS and knew the basic routes around.  

I got a packet of milk, a packet of buns and a can of Coffee mate.  That would surely sort me out for the two days.  My bill by conversion was about KShs.1,000/=.  That was high!  However, I was just glad that the credit card worked and that I was able to at least get something.

“%@(*S#@#!,” the lady at the cash register said and looked at me questioningly.

“Sorry, English only,” I responded, due to lack of what-else-to-say.

“You want packet?,” the lady cashier asked.

“Yes.”

A plastic bag was shoved my way.  I had to do my own packing of the shopping into the plastic.

“You want receipt,” the cashier asked.

That was new.  I thought it was an entitlement.

“Yes.”

How else would I remind myself of the cost?  

I later saw a charge of Norwegian Kroner, NOK1,60 for the plastic bag, which is about 16 Kenya shillings.  There was nothing for free – and the way I was glad of their generosity?

We left the store past eight.  By that time it was raining, though it was as bright as midday.  We even had to turn back and shelter at the supermarket, after one trial of going through the rain and finding it so heavy.  We eventually managed to walk in the drizzle.  I resisted taking dinner, if you can call it that.  The so called dinner was to be just coffee and bread.  To me it was too early, too bright.  My clock, now adjusted to GMT+1, was reading 9.00pm.  The outside still looked like midday.  No lights had yet been put on.  Even the streetlights were still off.  Was I losing my mind?  

I finally did make a cup of milk from the shared kitchen just opposite my room.  It was around ten.  It was still bright such that you could see and walk around outside without the need for lighting of any sort.  If anything, it is the cloud cover as a result of the rain, that made for some darkness – distant darkness.  I knew that something was wrong the moment I opened the can of Coffee mate.  

The powder inside the tin was crystal white, just as white as the sugar that I had just put in the milk.  I thought that maybe the coffee had some ‘magic’ of turning brown, and so I scooped a teaspoonful and poured the powder into the milk.  I stirred, then waited for the magic… but nothing changed.  The concoction remained as white as snow.  I scooped and added a second spoon to the cup.  Nothing still happened, even after stirring forever.  It remained milk white.  Which the hech type of coffee is this?  I just took it white because I had to take something.  It was a bad dinner experience for me.

Finally, the day would be over.  We had travelled, we had settled in and were now ready for what happens.  We had already applied for resident cards by booking appointments with the NO police.  Though we were to have gotten these cards within 7-days of arrival, their online booking calendar was full until Aug. 26, about twenty-day away.  Nonetheless, Aug. 26 is when we booked for this requirement, 7-day or no 7-day.

The second welcome

Sunday was a general indoor day, with no open business.  We had already settled into our small cubicles in Paviljong 10.  Our one-story building comprised two wings on either sides of the stairway.  Our single key would each open the main entrance door and also our individual cubicles.  Each cubicle was small by definition, about 2m by 4m in dimension.  It was however tasteful enough.  A cupboard, a table and a bed.  We had shared amenities, with four rooms being assigned a particular kitchen and a particular washroom to share, just within the wing of the particular floor.  

The rules of occupancy required that we each sign a contract, with over 4 pages of clauses.  Other rules were posted in the kitchen, about cleaning and a cleaning schedule.  Most clauses passed unnoticed.  It is only the rent payable that was something to raise an eyebrow - $340 per month for that 2 by 4.  I considered it a high premium for such a room.  However, students’ life is full of many gives and takes.  This was a ‘give’.  We hoped for a ‘take’.  

The Sunday weather continued being rainy.  In fact, the three of us had to abort one walk, already in progress, around campus when the rain started beating down on us.  The rain was however short-lived and we would soon take the same walk for about an hour.  We would learn that such on-off rains would be the order of the day, and that rains would never be a hinderance to normal life.

The third welcome

Life in the artic region started properly on Monday, August 12, when we started by an opening meeting at the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science on the third floor of Kjolv Egelands Hus.  That is where the three of us on postgrad studies met another six Kenyan grad studies on the same exchange programme.  All the nine visitors around the table were CS students.  

We would soon meet our two key contacts in the names of Ralph and Hellen.  I had already met the former when he picked me from the airport.  I had already corresponded to Hellen many times during preparatory stage.  It was now a matter of putting the written name to the physical person.  It was raining the whole morning as we observed it through the windows of this floor.  The free fleece and jacket that was given to each of us was a quite a welcome relief from the already biting cold.  Most of us ended up putting on both of these immediately when handed to us.

This first meeting was a one for setting the ground on our expectations in the next ninety days.  Most issues were the normal norms expected of any studentship, apart from the compulsory TB screening that was set for August 20.  We were also asked to take photos for student IDs.  Finally, we were introduced to the forthcoming Fodder festival, the welcoming party for all new Stavangerians.  The free party would run from same day and last the whole week.  

We would later learn that only the entrance to Fodder gates was free.  Every other thing would cost you, starting from that burger at six dollars and that coke at three dollars.  However, without Kroners, or dollars for that matter, we were still roasted.  Our living costs would be met by an allowance paid to our bank accounts and drawable from bank ATM.  The bank accounts and bank cards for the six grads were ready and issued for use.  The three of us were deemed strong enough to survive another week from our own pockets as we waited for processing of the cards.  Who said that a student’s life was easy?  If he said, then he lied.  If she said, then she still lied.

We got to learn what KeNoMo, the Kenya-Normal-Mobility programme, our sponsoring programme, was all about.  KeNoMo is a venture between UiS and two Kenyan universities being KCA and UON.  As an exchange programme, MSc and PhD students from Kenya are to visit NO for one semester to learn in the case MSc courses and do joint research in the case of PhD students.  My quick calc indicated that we had four UON and five KCA from the group of nine.  We learnt that there would be orientation sessions on Aug. 14 and Aug. 20 – one was to attend either (or both).  

The routine going forward would be then be monthly meetings for reporting progress on work done.  There would however be weekly meeting, on Fridays, for the three of us on research for the same purpose.  Other generalities were that we should ‘stay out of trouble’ – Ha! Ha!, very funny.  On the other hand, we could travel freely within NO, especially after getting the resident cards from the Police.  

Under Q&A, we learnt that dressing and salutation were both informal, especially relating to students and their Profs.  Norwegian classes are also on offer for Kr.1,000.  We had to buy bus tickets, from the ticket machines near the bus stops before boarding buses.  Alternatively, we could get a NO cellphone number and use and app to generate tickets upon payment for monthly sessional tickets that costs about $75.

Next - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – Lost runs

Chapter 4 – Lost runs

Previous - Chapter 3

Lost first time

Monday is usually a run day.  And this was yet another Monday and a run was surely on the cards.  I changed to my run gear by 4.00pm, intending to do a run from five o’clock.  The music was already loud, very loud, from the Fodder fest that was being held just outside our Paviljong 10 block.  In fact, our parking lot had already been cordoned off, to accommodate the party benches and food trucks.  The football field adjacent to our block had also already been sealed off and already adorned with many white tents.  From afar we could see the bright lights and strobes dancing over on the stage.  However, it kept raining.  Nonetheless, the revelers kept walking around and partying about.

I had been waiting for around an hour in readiness for the run.  When I went to check out the weather at five, it was still raining, and my run would not be possible.  I was therefore stuck with my run gear and no run to show for it.  Two attempts later would yield the same ‘rain is too much’ result, forcing me back to the room.  Nonetheless, the time finally came for me to get out of the block, rain or no rain, and start running around.  I did not know much about the routes.  I was relying on what I had mapped on Google and hoping that I could recall the same map, since it was not possible to print and carry a map, nor would I have internet connectivity to view a live map.

I started my two timing gadgets at 6.00pm.  The wristwatch gave me an ‘accelo error’, while Endomondo on the phone indicated a GPS signal error.  It did not matter.  Running was a must.  It was drizzling, but it did not matter.  Running was a must.

I left Paviljong 10 and hit the tarmac just next to it, turning left and heading to the general direction of Kiwi.  I intended to explore some route that should circle the campus on a 8km radius.  The pain of thousands of needles piercing the skin hit me when I started off my run.  It was cold and chilly.  It was painfully windy over short spells that persisted over time.  I persevered through it.  I even thought of calling off the run but it was too late.  I was already rolling downhill on the route we had walked on the previous day.  I would soon just persevere the pain of the cold and keep going.  

I would soon turn another left at the crossroad, go uphill slightly before crossing yet another road with Oljedirektoratet on my left and Innovasjonspark Stavanger on my right across the road.  Though the vehicles were quite few, the few of the few that I encountered actually stopped for me whenever I was crossing the road at a marked pedestrian crossing.  One even had to stop while I was about ten meters from the crossing, and waited for me to reach that crossing and cross over, before it went along.  That was a first.

I kept going.  The drizzle kept going.  I then got to a forested area just after the parking of Oljedirektoratet.  I saw some sort of barrier and did not know whether I was allowed to pass through or not.  There was a signage in Norwegian.  I was unable to read it.  To err on the side of caution, I avoided that gate and instead turned into the footpath to my left that headed into the forest, leaving the road to my right that had the barrier.  The forest however seemed too thick to navigate, though it was runnable.  I felt more unsure and unsafe.  What if one of the signs was that no one should get into the forest?  I asked myself as I turned back, hardly one hundred metres into the wood.  I therefore had no choice but to run back to P-10 using same route that I had taken.  

I was soon back to P-10, now on my left.  I could have just turned left and got into the block.  Then the idea to continue going along that road crossed my mind, and that is what I did.  I kept going past P-10 and kept going towards the unknown.  I was not very surprised to find myself having circled UiS and was now at the junction with Oljedirektoratet building on my left.  The same building that I had encountered hardly ten minutes ago.  It started drizzling.  I had just ‘discovered’ that there was a route that goes round UiS.  

That is when the idea to just circle round UiS came to mind.  And, just like that, I run round and round the big UiS circle, managing to do four circuits around the campus.  The Fodder party music become loud every time I passed by P-10 and faded away as I got far on my running route.  When I stopped my timer at 7.05pm, it was still plain daylight.  I only stopped because I was losing count on the number of circuits done.  I am not a good at keeping tabs with number of rounds around a circuit, for any number greater than three.  Finally, there I was, beaming with happiness for conquering my first cold, chilly, drizzling marathon that ended when it was still daylight.  Even the phone app that had indicated a GPS error was able to somehow map my run, when I finally did a review and sync onto the computer.

Lost with the Nigerian

But the week would not have been complete if we had not met the Nigerian.  Our trio of researchers were at the third-floor corridor of our principal working place, the very place that would define our life in UiS for the next 3 months.  We had just finished the meeting with Ralph and Hellen, and were just appreciating the architecture of Kjolv Egelands Hus (KEH).  We were relaxing on the corridor benches.  Being at the very top of the three-story building, we had nothing but the sky above us – technically, the glass ceiling, which from my assessment was openable when need be.  It is just then, from nowhere, that someone came to our direction and stretched a hand.

“I am Okafor,” he shook our hands in turn, “From Nigeria,” he did not need to say.  His accent had already betrayed him, but he said anyway.

“Mutua, but call me Paul”

“Obonyo, but Eric is easier.”

“Barack, like Barack Obama,” I introduced.

“You mean!, Mr. President?,” he responded, excitedly.

He leaned on the table where we were seated.  Two of us on one side.  He faced the three of us and started.

“Welcome to this University, what do you do here?  New students?”

We updated him on our mission.  A short term stay for research.

“Good for you, Oh!, But I must tell you few things you must know.”

We were grateful for the free info from Oga Okafor, since he filled us in with quite a lot of ‘secrets’.  He told us not to greet anybody, since this was considered impolite in the Norsk culture.  People do not share seats.  If you try to join in on a seat, then you would see the occupant already there just stand up and leave.

“When I saw you seated together, I knew you not know nutin abot this korcha, I beg.  I knew you not know the korcha here.” 

He told us that the cost of living was high and that we should brace for a shock once we start shopping.  He advised us to shop around for places where we can get good prices, and buy provisions in bulk.  He told us that there was an African market somewhere, where we could get stuff at relatively cheaper price.  

“But shop around and buy bulk, I say buy bulk, Oh!.  That the only way you survive here.  Otherwise, you don survive here.  You don survive Oh!,” he paused to let it sink, then continued.

“Things like power, that be so expensive.  So expensive, I beg.  And remember, you can’t afford heating in winter.  Winter be cold, but use power and cost it go high, Oh!.  High I tell you.  No survive.”

We thought that we had heard it all.

“Before I forget.  Let me tell you another trick,” he re-adjusted his hands on the table.  Looked left to see our two faces, then right to see Paul’s face, “I beg, do not shop while converting Kroner to your currency.  Just shop and pay.  If you convert to your currency.  You go feel bad, I beg.  You go see things so expensive.  You go no buy.  You go no buy at all, if you convert.  Just buy and go.”

He told about how it is virtually impossible to get medical treatment.  He said that you cannot get medicine from a chemist without a certified prescription from a doc.  And you ain’t getting one unless all tests have been done and you are confirmed to need drugs.  He told us of an episode where he went to hospital after coming from Naija, knowing that he surely had malaria.  However, he was not treated.  

They told him, “They say here we have no mosquito.  We do not have malaria here.  We go not give you medicine.  We go run tests.  They go run many tests, I beg.  I feel paid but they go give me no medicine.  No medicine, Oh!  I just go home and shiver and just get well on my own.  Don’t go get sick here.  Just pray you be well.”

“An ana tin, lon di longej*.  If you go stay for long, you must lon di longej.  Otherwise, they go say sometin, and you go wonder, I beg, what they go say now?  Oh!.”

And just as soon as he had arrived, he was already off with a casual goodbye, “I must go meet my supervisor for final Masters thesis.  I go finish my Masters soon.  See you around.”

*And another thing, learn the language

That Oga was God-send.  He gave us quite some valuable tips.  He confirmed our suspicion on some things that we were observing, assuming that they were accidental, yet they were that way actually by design.

My second workday was Tuesday, August 13, 2019.  The three of us had agreed to go to our principal working place at KEH at nine.  We were just to start working on our projects by refining the existing writeups as we awaiting the arrival of the assigned supervisors, expected for the following week.  I stayed at our room in CS department for the whole morning, upto four, but without getting much work done anyway.  I was unlucky that my computer had decided to fail on this day of all the days.  My final project version was not opening up at all.  Coincidentally, this is the very version that I had failed to backup the previous day.  

I am usually careful to backup the latest version on email, but not this time.  The Word document just ‘refused’ to open.  And what is this obsession of MS with error codes?  Getting a message that the document cannot open due to error code 0X8007016A does not make any sense at all.  How is a human being supposed to decipher this error?  I hate MS.  I hate error codes.  I hate the person who thought that it was a good idea to error code on people.  Would it not just be plain simple to give the error in human readable directly?  Or, that would be so much work!  Are computers made for people or people are for computers?  

I left the PG students room frustrated, as we did another walk to Kiwi with my two colleagues.  I was set back some $7 for a few onions, carrots and a sachet of seasoning.  This shopping would ‘somehow’ be transformed into dinner.  A cabbage head costed $4 and I did not buy… yet.  The time would come for that, but not now, when I am still thinking of prices by converting Kroner to KES in all my transactions.  

Lost in Kenyan clashes

Back to PH10 and we would get visitors in our kitchen.  Our kitchen has a six-seater table in the middle of these once two-rooms now combined into one by the removal of the mid partition and one door.  These visitors were two of our fellow country people from the MSc group, Tonny and Kim.  It was just time for chit chat and talking about all manner of things.  We talked from five to almost eight.  It was still so bright by that time when dinner was made.  I declined, “I don’t take dinner at daytime,” I reminded the four.  

We talked the education system in Kenya vis-à-vis here.  We talked some religion.  We talked what had brought us here.  We talked the freshers party that we had missed, despite it being on our very front door.  

“I missed this for good reason”, Tonny would say, “My ATM card was not yet working, yet the entry was three hundred and fifty Kroners.  And that was before food and drinks.”

The very party that was supposed to be ‘free entry’, was surely too good to be true.

“At least you people expect something in your accounts tomorrow,” Paul interjected, “The three of us have nothing until next week.  Our papers are still being processed.”

“How long are you here,” I would ask at some point.

“Until December 20,” Kim responded.

“You will surely enjoy the winter… in total,” I reminded him.

“Can’t wait,” he tried, “Actually, I am scared.”

It was inevitable that we would talk politics.  And I wish we had not, since for the first time I got emotionally affected by what was discussed.  First time.  Hope it shall not repeat…..

Reader discretion is advised for the following part of the story.  Please do not read if you cannot handle.

Tonny told us about the 2007 political clashes that followed the national elections in Kenya.  He confirmed that he was in Naivasha town and he witnessed it all.  He described how he saw with his own eyes how people were being chopped like trees in the name of ‘cleaning outsiders’.  What he described was too graphic to even write about.  He said that some few good Samaritans would hide ‘outsiders’ in their homes and provide them with disguises such as providing female religious dresses to male folks.  He described how one of the people he knew has confronted such a ‘female’ and demanded that she removes the buibui to confirm that she was actually female.  

Hell broke loose when he discovered that the disrobed person was not only a man, but also an outsider.  He asked him to robe on his usual religious attire and led him out of the village, calling out villagers while dragging him by the robe, machete at hand.  The two would disappear from the village.  However, it did not take long before the badly mutilated body was found not far from the village.  Tonny describes that particular incident as bloody and gruesome.  

He described how ‘outsiders’ were ambushed in their sleep on a Sunday, January 27, 2008.  He was very specific about that date, since he still remembers that particular date today, as clearly is it was eleven years ago.  The ‘outsiders’ were ambushed in their homes at night, while asleep and cut down with machetes.  Their property was removed from the natives’ houses, since they did not want to burn their own infrastructure, but just the occupant’s property.  The occupants’ property was all removed from houses and then thrown out in the open, for all passers-by to pick whatever they wanted.  The remainder of the property was burnt down I heaps.  Those who were not cut to death has a worse fate, since ‘outsiders’ who refused to come out of the houses were burnt alive while inside.

“That event changed me forever,” he reaffirmed, amidst total silence on the table.  

This was the first time that I had heard a firsthand account from a witness of how the situation was.  He did not have any kind words for the motherland in many of his stories thereafter.  He described the top politicians as unworthy of even claiming to be leaders.  He even vowed that he was not going to vote in any election ever.  I surely could feel the change in him.

“The media did a good job in painting this episode as nothing that serious,” I found myself commenting, mainly due to lack of anything to say, since the silence was now too loud.  All were still in shock.

“Let me not even talk about the sexual assaults that was being done by the gangs.  In plain sight, without any fear in the world.  With total impunity!,” he started his narration once more.

He narrated another incident where a pregnant ‘outsider’, who was married to a native, was first sexually assaulted, then murdered.  Her husband of many years, despite the children they had had together, would not say or do anything.  He just stood there and let it happen.

He talked of so many other bloody scenes.  He told us of how heads that had been decapitated were being hanged on lampposts along the streets and trophy over conquest over ‘outsiders’.  It was like an eerie horror movie.  A bad dream.  A nightmare, only that this was reality, with five people around the table.

“Let no one cheat you people,” he concluded, as he stood up ready to move back to his wing on the same floor, “There is no victory in war!”

Next - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Routine runs

Chapter 5 – Routine runs

Previous - Chapter 4

The orientation

For the first time it did shine.  Actually, the second, since the previous day had actually seen us enjoy the sun until eight in the night.  It was during that night sunshine that we had had the same opportunity to catch up and get a first glimpse of the clashes from the witness’s mouth.  On this Wednesday it shone from afternoon.  The morning had been bright and sunny.  My small 2x4 has a big window on one side, straight from the door, you get to that window.  

I usually sit across the reading table, just next to these large two end-to-end windows that rise almost half the height of the room.  Once the curtains are drawn, the outside scenery pours into view as if it was just waiting for this unveiling.  From my seat, next to the table that leans on the wall, I can look and savor the outside beauty.  I can take in the ambiance from morning to around nine in the night, so long as the sun is shining.  It does not end there though, when darkness falls thereafter, the well lit streets continue to show the scenery from where the sun left.

Across the inlet road after Paviljong 10 is a small white wooden house.  The sign on it is reads ‘Med saerskilt tillatelse for drifsavd’.  It looks like a garage or repair shop of sort.  After it we have the green live fence, then another tarmac road, the main one.  The very road that I treaded on when I was being rained on during the Monday run around the UiS.  Cross that main road and you get to the compound with the two three story blocks, which are also student hostels.  

Surrounding these blocks are large areas of greenery, then a road somewhere beyond, only noticeable by an occasional bus passing by.  Beyond one of the three-story students block, to its left, is a hilly forested area well visible in its green majesty.  Just behind that forested patch is the characteristic location of the ‘tower’.  We would later learn that it is the most prominent skyline.  

“When you lost, just look for tower, and walk to tower”, Hellen would tell us during one of our conversations about Stavanger.

I see all these when I draw my curtain.  I see the sun when it is on.  I see the rain when it falls.  I see the night sun as late as nine at night.  And for sure, I am not lost, since I can see the tower and I am near it.  So, when I told you that I saw it, then believe me that I saw it – either while seated in the room, or because I was out there seeing it.

When we left P-10 on this Wednesday, August 14, for the orientation, we already knew where to go, having confirmed with our contact through the WhatsApp group.  We passed a group of students also going in that direction.  We also met different groups coming opposite our direction.  We continued our conversion, the three of us.  We resisted saying Hi to anyone.  We did not want to appear rude.  I was really struggling.  

Our tribespeople are already the greatest greeters in Kenya, and not this?  Many times I would see my hand go high, in a waving manner to the various people walking towards us or going same direction to where we were going, only to be reminded by my two colleagues to show some ‘respect’.  I finally decided to just be keeping my hands in the pockets, which is a hard thing for me to do.  Believe me when I say this, since my hands would usually be out of the pockets within a few seconds.

On this afternoon we were going for a 1400hrs orientation at Arne Rettedals hus (ARH), Room V101.  This is a building just across the main road that runs through the campus.  A bus passes either side of this road every ten minutes.  V101 was an amphitheater, with seats progressively placed at higher elevations.  We found ourselves at the very last rows.  We were the few Africans around.  The rest were a mix from various parts of the world out of Africa.  I would easily and immediately recognize the African folks because they would usually be engaged in conversations and occasional loud laughter, in groups of over three.  The rest of the populace, being the natives, were generally engage in conversations with their cellphones.

We finally started the orientation, just a series of talks on the various aspects of life in Stavanger and specifically the UiS.  They reminded us that we were in the Faculty of Science and Technology and that this was a specific orientation for that faculty.  We were updated that the university had about 12,000 students in two campus, with the current UiS being the bigger campus.  Thirteen percent of the student population are international students.  Most talks would soon have some ‘beer’ issue.  For example, the student exchange organization has a relaxation space in their office block, where ‘cheap beer’ is available on Wednesdays only.  There would be a guided tour of the city some weekend soon, for Kr.250 and there would be lots of fun including… you guessed right – ‘beer tasting’.

Finally, it came time for the part of the orientation that we were waiting for – the discussion on cost of living.  We were already finding it rough to even see a ‘pocket-friendly’ soda.  And it hit us!  The presentation by the student union started by informing us that NO was amongst the top five most expensive countries in the world.  If that was so, then there would be no more new surprises, right?  Wrong!  A beer is Kr.70!  I had to start with that, since all sentences were tending to start with that during the orientation.  

The free advice was to survive based on a strict budget, otherwise you may find yourself outspent in the middle of the journey.  The tricks of survival remained what we had already been informed by Oga Okafor – buy from the right stores, buy in bulk, do your own cook instead of eating out, buy duty free goods if you can, travel by bus – never by taxi, and get freebies whenever available such as the free sponsorship by the student union for organized trips for groups of over twenty students.  

The campus had a gym for members that was accessible upon monthly subscription fees of Kr.225, but there was a free one week offer – remember, the tip on freebies?  We learnt of other amenities such as student housing, cafes, health services, library 24-7, bookstores and kindergarten… yes, that one.

“In case you get child while here,” the speaker would emphasize.

The hall would fall dead quiet when we were reminded of academic conduct and misconduct.  Cheating was a criminal offence.  Plagiarism was also equated to cheating.  The consequences were great and grave, and bad for your academic programme.  This could result into – cancellation of exam results, suspension from the exam or suspension from class for a semester.  They even had a video shown for this particular topic of orientation.  The video ended up showing that one can enjoy that beer at the end of their academic life if only they do not cheat.  

At last, the orientation session would come to an end, but not so fast.  We were to do an exam… a quiz on ‘kahoot’ phone app, where those in the hall formed teams and answered 16 questions.  With each question, the winning teams would be displayed on the big screen and their cumulative points would also be shown.  We suffered the disadvantage of not being Norwegians since some of the questions were quite specific to landscapes, personalities and political systems in Norway.  Nonetheless, but we gave it our all.  

“Capital city of Norway?”… that was easy, “Oslo”

“Number of counties in Norway?”… that was not as easy, with the options being 6, 8, 11, we guessed 8 and got it wrong.  The answer being 11.  (Norway has 5 geographical regions, each with a number of ‘administration regions’ aka counties.  Until 2017, the number of admin regions were 19, then were reduced to 11)

“Is Norway part of the EU?”… that was tricky, but as an AJZ follower, I knew the answer to be “No”

“The Vikings had horns?”… surely, no human has such.

“Population of Norway?”… that was a coin toss, with the options being 3M, 5M, 7M.  My group had tossed a coin that landed on 5M, which turned out to be the right answer.

“Second biggest city in Norway?”… we picked Stavanger immediately from the options… only to get is wrong.  It was Bergen.  Stavanger was no. 3

And…. without cheating, the winning team in this contest ended up having two Africans and one Asian!

We left V101 at 1600 as scheduled.  We soon gathered outside the meeting room on the open inner space as a group of ten.  From the laughter and high fives, all passers-by immediately knew that none of these people jovial people has any association with the Vikings.  These were a bunch of Kenyans, Malawians, Nigerians and Zambians.  Just chatting with each other as if they had been studying together for years – the truth, they were just meeting for the first time.

Lost during a routine run

When we got to P-10, the sun was still sweet and bright.  There was no way I would miss a run on this evening.  Afterall, this was a Wednesday – a run day.  While Paul and Eric decided to enjoy their evening by benefiting from the one-week of free gym membership, I was on my journey of discovery – exploration of the open roads far from UiS.  I had mapped my run on Google map and knew how it should turn out, at least on the map.  Unfortunately, I could not have the map with me while on the run, since I did not have internet connectivity on my phone while on the run.  Connectivity would not be possible without a local SIM card and some data bundles on the SIM.  

Of course, I would have benefited from the free Wi-Fi all over the city if I was configured properly on a local SIM.  However, that was just wishful for now.  For now, I just had the map on the computer screen, trying to commit it to memory on how it should be, and reliance on recall and good luck to pull this off.  The map showed the route as straight enough, just a long loop on the tarmac in front of my windows, and that would be it.  It should be a 6km loop – a thirty-minute thing.  Simple enough.  Do this four times, and I am done.

I set off for the run, timing gadgets at hand, and started slowly, past Kiwi and kept going.  I had now learnt to keep to the side walkways.  And the walkways were available along all the roads, no exception.  At times, the walkways would get under the roads as a crossing, then get you out onto the other side.  Other road crossings were well marked across the roads, and would usually be at a junction point.  As already noted, the vehicles would give pedestrian right of way at such pedestrian crossing points.  

I would finally get to the main road that I intended to get to.  I was to turn right on this road, which I did, and then kept going on straight ahead.  I soon passed the Clarion hotel on my right and kept following along Madlaveien, the main road to city centre.  After some underpass that the footpath led me through, I found myself on the other side of the overhead crossing road.  After that underpass, the main road that I was running next to started drifting further to my left.  Soon the main road was so far to the left, while I kept running through a residential housing estate.  I was skeptical as to whether I was still on the right path.  This did not seem like a main road, it was an estate road no doubt, but it was also not blocked in any way.  Wooden walled houses stood on both side of this road.  Most of the houses did not have fences.  Those fenced had green live fences.

I reduced speed but kept going through the estate for about five minutes.  I was quite relieved to finally get out of the road within the residential units and join finally rejoin a sideroad next to a main road.  It was even possible that it was the same main road that had disappeared on me a few minutes earlier after that underpass.  I was glad to get it, but that did not last.  

After about fifty meters, this side road seems to just end, followed by red strips marked on the tarmac straight onto where I was to run through.  Nonetheless, the strip of road was still on the side of the main road, but not as well defined as the previous side walkways which tended to have a gap, of greenery or otherwise, between them and the main roads.  This was surely the road kerb, painted in red strips.  However, that is where I kept running through.  It did not feel right, but I did not see what alternatives I did have.  Then another fifty metres ahead and I got to a big roundabout, with large expansive roads.  I turned to the right, just to keep with the edge of the road where I was running.  

Then I heard a car hoot behind me, then pass.  I looked at it and did not see anything.  Then another car hooted from behind and I stopped to look at it.  It soon came to a stop just next to my standing space, on this two land road.  The passenger on the front seat opened her window, and the driver, on the other side of the car tried to lean over, “No run here. This is highway,” he said.

“So where do I run?”

“Get run path, but not highway.”

I retreated the one hundred meters back to where the red road markings started.  I still did not see the side walkway that would give me a change to run towards the direction that I intended.  Where was the pedestrian walkway?  Where did I miss it?  I simply could not see how to run towards this direction on the footpath that should be existing somewhere, since I did not see any.  Not wishing to run myself into some legal trouble, I decided to just run back to retrace my steps back to UiS.  I would then have to remap my run from there.  I would also get an opportunity to maybe study the route map once more and re-strategize.  

So, I started running back, using same path that I had taken.  It was a relief to start getting back home.  I kept running.  It was now just past six.  The sun was still high and bright.  I kept going.  I met quite a few people on the side path, mainly those on bicycles.  I kept going.  Very few vehicles were on the main road next to the pedestrian sidewalk.  I kept going.

“This must be my turn,” I finally told myself, relieved, as I got to a junction.

I turned to my left and kept going.  I soon got a “wait a minute” moment, when the road somehow made a turn to the right, hardly two hundred meters after my left turn.  My expectation was that once I turned left, I would run generally straight, all the way to Kiwi.  For sure there was no right turn if my memory serves me right.

“Maybe I was too busy running to notice the road profile,” I told myself, “For sure, I had made a turning when I was running to this direction, and that turning must surely be this one.”

I still kept going but the surrounding infrastructure did not seem familiar.  I was running without specs, but I still wondered why the route seemed different this time round when running back.  Ten minutes down the road and I would for sure know that I was lost.  This is because this road came to an end and joined another crossroad.  For sure the road to Kiwi did not disappear into a straight road junction.  That was a certainty.  I was surely on the wrong road.  I was lost!

I ran back to the first junction that I had taken from the main road, and thought that maybe I had turned left a bit too early.  So I decided to rejoin the highway and continue further down the road, then take the next left turn, just in case I had taken my first turn too soon.  I started running down the main road, and soon enough found another left turn.  I took this turn and started another run on this new road.  This road would again soon turn slightly to the right, unlike my expectation that it should be straight on.  Ten more minutes of run and I soon realized that I was lost, again.  This was for sure not the road that I had used when coming towards this direction.

So, there I was, lost twice!  However, nothing to worry, it was still too bright.  It was hardly six-thirty.  My strategy was to still go back to the highway and continue with the highway further down and get to the third left turn, just in case I had turned left too soon in the last two attempts.  This third attempt was even more disastrous.  My side road just came to an end then turned left into a residential estate.  That was for sure not the turn that I had come with earlier – no way.  I therefore ran back and chanced once more on that first turn that I had already taken.  

Maybe I was just not being keen and observant.  Maybe the road to UiS was just there in plain view, but I was not seeing it.  I once again ran back to that first turn that I was already lost on anyway, but my mind told me to give it another try.  I made the same turn and kept running through it.  It still had that unexpected right turn even as I ran its full length.  There was no change.  It still brought me back exactly where it had brought me a first time – to a road junction which was surely not the road to UiS.  

I ran back, now worried.  It was over an hour now since I was on a ‘lost’ mission.  I had done more than twelve kilometers, but I was not yet back to my starting point.  And now I was surely lost.  My phone could not load a map to show my position.  I had no idea at all where I was.  I came to a standstill and started looking around, just to see if I could decipher anything familiar.  Nothing came to mind.  I saw a place called Stokka Forum building, and opposite it a church, I think Lutheran written Karismakirken.  I was next to them now, but I could not recall ever seeing these two when I was coming this direction for the first time.

I had to ask somebody for the directions.  There was no use going round and round without any possibility of getting out of this maze.  If anything, I would end up getting more lost with each experiment.  I was now walking.  I passed besides Stokka and headed towards a compound that looked like a school or sports club of sorts.  There was a big field with children playing.  There was a fence around the field.  A footpath ran next to the field.  I saw some gentleman on the footpath heading away from the field.  I quickened my walk and caught up with him.

“Excuse me,” I said when we were walking parallel.

He was taken aback.  He reduced pace to almost a stop.

“Hello, I was running but I seem lost.  I want to go back to UiS”

“Hi,” he hesitated and stopped.

“I was running from UiS, and want to go back there.  I seem lost,” I reassured.

“I see,” he gauged me out.  I looked harmless enough.  

I was just clad in a Tee-top, a pair of short and running shoes.  No danger from me here, on this bright daylight, though it was almost seven.

“Which UiS?”

“Stavanger University!”

“They are many, which one?”

“The one near Kiwi.  Kiwi supermarket”

“Kiwi are many.  Which Kiwi?”

I was completely lost.  I did not have sense of direction or road names or building names or even localities.

“Main campus… The main University, the big one.”

He absorbed the new intel.  I could see that it seemed bad news, from his immediate reaction, though he tried to conceal his fears.

“You are far,” he finally said, in reflection, “Very far!”.  

He extracted his phone, “You are here,” he pointed at some place on Google map, “And you are going here,” another pointing.

“Wowi!,” I almost shouted.  

I was completely lost.  There was no way I would have gotten myself out of this quagmire without help.  I immediately realized that I was getting lost further with any attempt to keep going down the road.  I immediately knew that my mistake was having missing the left turn in the first place.  I took a second turn, which I kept believing was the correct turn, and that is why I was now lost… by far.

“Now, you have two ways.  Go back and up the road to that turn, or cross through here, turn left to the main road then turn right on that road.  When you get to main road, keep going until you get to the turn that goes to Stavanger,” he pointed at the map.

“Mhh,” I responded.

“You sure you will get it?”

“Sure.  Provided I get to the roundabout, the turn, I shall be able to go to UiS.  Thanks a million”

And surely, I just crossed through the edge of the playing field, the children and apparent guardians looking at me suspiciously, and then got out of that enclosure of the playing field.  On the other side of the field was the tarmac road where I turned left.  Before long I had seen a main road which I crossed and then turned right.  The right turn placed on the main highway, that was already familiar.  I resumed my running on the sidewalk and it did not take me long to start seeing all the familiar landmarks.  Everything that I expected to see was now back to view.  There it was, the DNB arena.  I remember marveling at its size on my first leg of the run.  ‘Stavanger Ishall’ was next to it, then the building marked DLL.  Even the once elusive Clarion was finally there, in plain daylight!

What a welcome relief to be back to familiar territory!  That underpass crossing Mandlaviein marked my left turn that would then take me straight back to UiS.  I was so charged up when I reached UiS that I had to take a quick 2km circuit around the uni, to finally stop my run in a time of 02.04.48.  The analogue showed 20.87km, while the mobile phone app showed 21.99km.  The app provided a route map of the run.  A map that I would treasure forever, as the half marathon that was not meant to be… the lost half.

After I had relaxed and studied my ‘lost’ run from the mapped route on the phone app, I realized that I was surely on the very right track on how I wanted my Wednesday run to have been.  My run was on track until that missed footpath that led me straight to the motorway.  Had I not stumbled upon that highway and was forced to turn back, then I would have been successful as planned.  Had I got the right pedestrian walkway at that point of the run and kept going on that walkway, then I would surely have come back to UiS from the South side, as I initially planned.  That was however not to be, as I had to face the humiliation of getting lost in a foreign country.  However, that is water down the bridge.  What matters is lessons learnt.

That does not mean that I shall stop trying to go through this big 6km circle around UiS.  I shall keep trying until it is done.  I have learnt where I went wrong, and I shall try not to repeat the same mistakes.  Lessons learnt, one, there is no jogging on the highway whatsoever.  Your jogging path exists at all times, and it is somewhere around there, where you are.  Just look for it, until you find it.  Chances are it is just around there and looking around will enable you find that walkway.  However, if you do not find it, abandon the run, since you cannot run on highways.  

Lesson two, mark your turning points properly, on a physical map or on memory.  Running usually becomes ‘sweet’ and ‘smooth’ in the course of the run.  A runner is likely to run past their turns at such moments of enjoyment.  Get something to mark these turning points.  I shall ensure that I get a landmark that cannot be mistaken.  Thirdly, carry a map if that is the way out.  I shall scribble something on paper next time I am out there, since I am not able to get an online map due to lack of internet access.  Fourthly, be ready to get lost.  It is the fun part of the run.  Believe me, just do.  Finally, be ready to ask – but after you have tried.

The new routine run

But we would soon be facing a near miss when we attended the first postgraduate seminar on the first Friday at UiS.  This was a ‘listening-in’ session for the four dot KE to hear out what the local students would present to their supervisors.  We found ourselves on the same table as four other ladies, and a gentleman.  The gent, who was in simple jeans at T-shirt would turn out to be their supervisor, an associate professor.  We did a quick intro round the table, specifically our areas of research.  We were then informed that these Friday sessions were for status review, where progress was reported and next milestone stated.  

The seminar started well.  The first students indicated that she was through with her PhD work and was now on finalization.  She presented the list of four papers under publication or consideration.  The other three students were generally on the same project on anomaly detection of power systems using predictive models.  In terms of progress reporting, each of the four was asked to show what they were doing and what was their next plans.  For the first three it went smoothly, I believe because they did not say much and stuck to the point.  For one student it went south about five minutes into the presentation.  

“Show me the code,” the Prof said.

She projected the Python programming script on the big screen.

The Prof stood up and walked to the big screen in front of the room.  He started going through the code while standing next to the big screen and just pointing at lines of code while reading.  Occasionally, he would instruct the student to scroll up or down.  Finally, he asked the scroll to stop and examined something on screen.

“What does this line do?”

The students responded with many sentences of explanation.

“Yes, but exactly, what does this part of the code do?”

She made another attempt.  She was from India and she was speaking just too fast for me to follow along.  The supervisor seemed to be quite at home.

“Explain why you are putting this data on the x-axis of the graph as numeric and not time”

She gave another explanation, long explanation, fast spoken.

“Why does the predictive line graph look like just a simple shift of the real values?”

She tried, “That what the model does.  It predicts from samples on 4000 points and above”

“But that is just a simple shift on the x-axis?  Your code is wrong, let me see.”

Some more scrolling on the code page was done.

“Stop right there.  Here, see this, I remember I told you to remove this.  You cannot predict based on such a short time span, and by just shifting the starting point to the next one to predict.”

“But I am sampling!,” she protested, a bit angrily.

“Did you really make the changes that we discussed?”

That is when it got nasty!

The exchange now started.  Gloves were off.  There was no more pretense.  Neither the supervisor nor the student were backing down and it was now becoming a shouting match.  The four dot KE researchers were totally at home with this kind of stuff.  This kind of encounter is our ‘usual’ type life in this journey back home.  There was nothing new.  However, the other ladies must have been in shock.  It showed on their faces.  Just when we thought it cannot get any worse…

Probably, for lack of better words, the student said, “Now, why do you think the graph is skewed as you have said.”

The answer was just equal to the question, it would have been worse, “Why are you asking me?  Why I am even entertaining this!”

It would have got out of hand had it not been for Ralph who sneaked in at that particular time to be part of the ‘listening-in’, since some of the lady students and the four of us, were under his project.  The presence of the sponsor forced the Prof to tone down and decided to let go of the current misunderstanding between him and his student.

“Let us discuss further,” the Prof concluded, with discontent full on his facial expression and voice, “However, you are still far from publishing.”

“But I shall be going for summer vacation!?,” she responded.

Her supervisor did not even respond.  He just left, anger and frustration evident with every step that he took as he headed to the door.  This episode brought to an end a very interesting first Friday seminar presentation session.  It was everything that a post graduate seminar should be, and even probably a bit mild compared to what could have been at Chiromo.

“Your ID cards are ready,” read the WhatsApp message from Ralph. 

We decided to go for the IDs immediately after the seminar.  It was one of the ‘must haves’ while in this country.  Just a simple, what is your name, where is the reference number and sit for a photo was the series of stages that we went through at ARH.  We got our UiS ID cards immediately thereafter.  

It is also just besides ARH that we were to meet for the group trip to Stavanger town.  Another WhatsApp message would soon announce that Ralph and Hellen were running late for this mid-day appointment.  They would finally make it at 12.20pm, upon which we queued at the bus ticket vending machine.  Bank cards, credit or student cards were being used to pay for the tickets.  Each ticket was NOK 19.00 for students rate, valid for 1 hour.  The non-student ticket was NOK 27.00 for the hour.  There was a 24-hour ticket which we did not explore.

“And student it mean age must be under twenty-five,” Hellen reminded us as we queued up on the vending machine.

“We are all under twenty-five,” we responded, almost in unison.

“Sometime they check bus and look at age, so they can sometime check,” she reminded us.

“We are students, we are paying 190 bob.”

I stood at the stage and continued small talk.  There was a small monitor, about 20 inch size, hanging above the head level on the stage booth.  The monitor would update us on the time when the different bus numbers were expected.  The bus marked X60 soon got to the stage.  With ticket at hand, we got into the double carriage bus that usually traverses the campus in either directions.  We took the uphill direction bus this time round.  

The driver was alone and was operating all machinery and systems.  He was – opening and closing doors, and even monitoring those scanning their m-tickets by just showing the barcode on the phone to the reader, or those with physical paper tickets like us, who were supposed to show it.  With two doors, it was difficult to even know who was showing a ticket or not.  The rest of us just got in, tickets in pockets.  There was no conductor and no one checking the tickets.  The driver was the only person in charge.  Driving, stopping, opening doors, checking on scanning of tickets and ignoring those using the back door without scanning or showing their tickets.  The driver did not seem to care.  He closed the two doors once the ten of us were in.  The bus left and kept going.  

There was a display screen inside the bus, just behind the driver’s cabin, facing the passengers.  The next five stations were displayed on this screen.  It would scroll up by one line after passing through a particular stage.  I noted that the bus would not necessarily stop at each stage.  Either a passenger in the bus would press a ‘Stop’ button available on each seat and hand rails or those outside would have to flag the bus down by hand.

The trip to Stavanger town took less than thirty minutes.  There were many stops along the way, some hardly five minutes apart.  With each stop the public address system on the bus would announce the next stop, “Neste stopp Stavanger Museum”.  It kept announcing next stops until finally the Kolumbus bus dropped us at the terminus, in the middle to Stavanger.  …

“This is the Kolumbus final stop,” Ralph told us, about thirty minutes later, as he motioned us out, “This is also the centre of Stavanger.”

We then went for a guided tour of the town, mostly on the old town.  It was impeccably old and well maintained.  All buildings were white in colour, apart from one particular street.  Which we still went through anyway.

“This was all white,” Hellen informed our curious selves, “Then they say do anything you want to make this good,” she continued, “Then all people they just bring all colour and paint all colour and now look,” she motioned both sides of the narrow street, with shops facing each other, some cafes, some bookshops, some bars.  It was colourful.

We walked down that short fifty-meter street.  It was surely colourful.  Buildings on either side were painted any and all colours.  Most of the joints were some eatery of sorts.  I saw a few bookshops.  I saw a few people whiff out smoke on the pavement seating areas.  We kept going to the end, then were back to the now familiar white coloured buildings.  

We finally went to the shipyard, where we watched two gigantic ships on dock.  I have never been up, close and personal with such monsters.  Those things were giant.  Each was about ten stories high.  They looked like cruise ships.  They surely were cruise ships.  One was loading in readiness for some voyage.  We soon came to Stavanger theater (Stavanger Konserthus) and marveled at its sheer size – as big as one of those ships.  And just like that, the tour came to an end.

“Do you have more plan again?,” Hellen asked Ralph as we now settled, standing, waiting for what next.

“No,” Ralph responded, “I thought you had this figured out!”

“Not me, nothing plan.  I thought you plan something?”

“I stay just across the bridge over there,” Ralph motioned, in a manner of goodbye, “I think I shall just cross over and go home.  You guys can make it back, right?”

“But we wanted to see Little Asia.  They told us that it has good prices,” I informed Ralph.

“That is possible, but you have to take a bus.”

“It is good that we still have our tickets,” I was relieved.

“That can’t work,” Ralph lamented, “It is past one hour.  You have to get another ticket.”

“But how far is it?  Can it be more than three kilometers?”

“Maybe one, maybe two.  You could walk!?”

We walked.  It was hardly one kilometer.  There it was, Little Asia Supermarket.  It had Asians operating it.  It had some variety of food stuff and other items typical of a supermarket, but nothing far from what you would find at our default Kiwi.  Whether the prices were any different remains to be seen, since I did not have all comparators yet.

It did not take long however before music came to my ears.

“Prezo!  Unga!  Kimbia!,” Obonyo called me out loudly within the supermarket.

I followed the direction of his voice and found him on one side isle.

“Hebu ona hii.  Obusuma!  Najua umekuwa ukingoja sana!”

I examined the packet.  A 1.5kg pack of something that looked like maize flour.  It was surely maize flour since it was written as such.  Back home we are used to having it on a paper pack.  This was on a plastic bag.  Back home we are used to it being a 2kg pack.  This was smaller.

“Heera White Maize Meal.  White Maki Atta,” I read loudly, “And see the back of the pack, ati, Maize meal is made from maize kernel and comes in two general colours, white and yellow.  Ati, The white variety is most commonly found in African and is a staple food throughout the continent, what the….”

“Hata kama ndio kutuchocha?,” one of the MScs responded.

I did not part with that packet though, I held tight, lest it got lost from my grip.  However, unlike Kiwi, I noted this LA place had the bad habit of not indicating prices for some items, most items.  I picked the packet without knowing the price – but it was now too late, ugali was a must, regardless of the price.

Later, Isaac, another PhD student who had joined in later, would draw my attention to yellow maize flour.  Of course, his late travel to NO was a result of a flight reschedule, after he had read his flight time at 04.00pm instead of the expected 0400hrs.

“This is the real deal Mr. President, just see, the real thing.”

I examined the new plastic pack written “Farina di mais per polenta bramata gialla.”  It took time to notice the translation written somewhere on the packet as “Yellow corn flour for polenta”

“Now, what the… is polenta?,” I asked myself.

“I shall find out at UiS kitchen,” I reassured me.

So I ended up with a second packet of unga.  Just before paying for these, which had no prices on the shelves, I read through the instructions of making polenta as written on the packet….

“Pour the flour contained in this package into 4 lt. of lukewarm salted water at medium heat…”

“What!?,” I shouted loudly at the cashier.

“What is what?,” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said as I packed my material and paid up.

Prior to paying up for our shopping, we had just stumbled upon this African guy at LA supermarket.  We were all walking around the cereals section of the mart.  Our aim was to get something to eat.  Something homely.  He was a total stranger, but conversation just started as if all of us were colleagues.

“Brothers,” he greeted, “What are looking for?  Perhaps I can help!”

“Hi!,” the three of us in that section of cereals responded, almost in unison.

“We are looking for corn flour, unga.”

“What?”

“Ground maize, ground corn.  Powdery thing you get when you crush maize, you know.”

“Oh, I see.  That you find in next counter,” he pointed.  It is partly due to his guidance that we managed to get the white and yellow maize flour.

“Me, I am looking for Banku, it is Ghanaian thing for making our good food.  Only found here in Little Asia, but not there today.”

We would soon discuss this and that, and just like that, he would soon be gone.  We kept on shopping and at some point left the supermarket.  My bill was about $13 for my two packs of maize flour and some veggies.  

Running with the brethren

The four postgrads finished shopping first, leaving our other colleagues still at it.  We were still debating outside LA as to how we would get back to UiS.  The options were to walk it out, through routes that we did not know or get a bus, which is the normal default.  The get-a-bus option also had two variants – get the bus at the stage just next to LA but pay NOK20 extra for paying cash to driver for the ticket or walk back to the city centre bus terminus and get a ticket at Kolumbus (office or machine) for NOK19.  I need to remind you that even the tickets had two options – the student with ID and under 25years who pay Kr.19 or any other adult who pays Kr.27.  The tickets also had many variants!  How will we survive all these variables?  There was the hourly ticket, the daily ticket, weekly, monthly and annual tickets.

I had already told my three colleagues that the world would end first, before I spend that extra Kr.20.  I was ready to walk to the terminus.  The three were not very decided.  I could understand the reluctance of Obonyo and Paul.  They were not used to walking much.  In fact, they were just benefiting from one day of ‘free’ gym membership – probably their first serious workout in like forever.  They were always on marvel when I narrated my marathon escapades, where an eight-kilometer lunch hour run is the norm.  Our newest member, Isaac, was ish-ish.  Nonetheless, we were also still waiting for our two colleagues still shopping in LA, hence the decision on what to do was not that urgent.

Then we heard a vehicle honk, just next to the sidewalk adjoining the mart.  The four pairs of eyes looked in that direction, and saw a hand out of the car window waving in a manner of calling us to that direction.  We were hesitant.  In fact, we made no more.  A second honk and persistent waving forced Obi to check it out.  The other three remained put.  We observed his every step.  Ready to take remedial action shout something happen.  We saw him lean on the co-driver window side and speak to someone.  We were about fifty meters away and hence could not hear what was being said.  After about thirty seconds, we saw Obi stand up from his leaning position and call us loudly, “Hey, guy!  Come over!  We have a lift!!”

That was a first one.  Getting a lift was not on the agenda at all.  The options had just been end of the world or walk back to town to get a ticket.  Who would be willing to give us a lift in the Arctic circle?  This is not happening.  I was the last one to join in.  Skepticism manifesting in each of my slow steps.  This however changed the moment I saw the co-driver.  It was the very person whom we had met at LA, at the cereals corner.

“I can drop you to UiS,” he reassured us, as the four of us squeezed into the back seat.  We noted a woman on the driving seat.  We would soon zoom off and start on the non-familiar roads towards UiS.

We had small talk to catch up.  They informed us that they had been in NO for over five years, with the madam having been here for a decade.  They informed us that they both worked here, but we did not make further enquire of the details.  We were just grateful that we were saving some NOKs and heading home in style.  It was music to the ears when the driver announced at some point, “I really hope to visit Kenya someday.  I really, really want that.”

“You are welcome anytime,” I said this on behalf of our grateful backbenchers, “Just look for President Barack while there.  I am staying in the capital city Nairobi at the moment.”

There was general laugher from the six occupants of the moving machinery.

We were soon dropped at the UiS parking and we walked back to P10.  A full day spent.  A full day enjoyed.

Next - Chapter 6