Chapter 13 – Running and riding
Holiday that never was
It was a Wednesday. October 9 to be specific. The weather continued to be ‘normal’. Lots of spontaneous rains and cold as usual. There would be a glimpse of sun when we were lucky to be out there at the right time, however, it was mostly dull, cold and cloudy. I did my reading at the fourth floor of KEH. This fourth floor is actually the third floor, since the ground floor is called the ‘first floor’ over here. That reading session was not really a reading. It was more of a seminar, where our peers compare notes on what their research was progressing and reveal their plans for their next actions. All these, of course, in readiness for the next such weekly meeting.
I left KEH at 12.30pm intending to walk to the next shopping centre called Madla, which is located on Madlamarkveien road, about two kilometres from UiS. I would otherwise have taken a bus, the green-coloured Kolumbus bus, and parted with NOK 37.00 for a ticket valid for one hour. A bus ride on this 2km journey did not seem like the best way to spend 370 bob. I was the only person who seemed to support that view. Everyone else was taking the ‘buss’ for all journeys, including such short distances. My walk started when the weather was still – still cold. No sun. No wind. I had hardly walked for five minutes before it started shining.
“Perfect! Those in the ‘buss’ can only imagine the sun,” I consoled myself as the green buses kept passing by on both directions on Madlamarkveien.
I could however see the rain falling in the ocean, which was just a stone throw to my left, just beyond the collection of residential houses on that direction. I could easily have just turned left at any point and crossed through anywhere with a path to get myself to the ocean. There was hardly any fence around any house. I was not going to the Atlantic for now anyway and hence I continued my walk along the road to Madla. So here I was – enjoying the cold rays of the sun, while the rain was falling in the ocean. I could see that rain approaching my direction, ready to get to me any time soon.
“Ooopppss!. Spoke to soon!,” I told the deserted road, as the first rush of cold showers hit me.
I was already conditioned to the way life over here, where you control the weather – it does not control you. I was already clad in my jacket. The only thing I had to do was to remove the jacket so that I can wear it over my backpack. I kept walking along as the rain fell. I liked the walk. I even met two other people on my approach walking about, talking about, as if the now light shower was not even there. The showers however persisted. This was our life. Once you pass by Madlamark Kirke on the same left edge of the road, and then the Pizzabakeren across the road after a two-minute walk, then you know that Madla shopping centre is not far. I was there in about ten minutes. The rain had stopped by then.
I missed to get the airtime that I had gone for. The reason why I had to take this long trip was because Kiwi did not have airtime, nor do we have any roadside kiosks that sell anything. You either get it at our Kiwi, at any other Kiwi, at our Rema-1000, at any other Rema or you do not get it. The big Madla mall did not have any single joint selling airtime. The predominant telecom provider, Talia, had the courtesy of advising me to go to Sentrum to get airtime for their competitor provider, Lyca. That was a first. A competitor being polite enough to advise you on where to get airtime for a rival network. I walked back the 2km route while the weather was back to still – cold – no sunshine, no rain.
This cold weather gave me memories of how my five days had been. I had spent the weekend fully indoors due to the cold environment. I was rained on both ways on Saturday as I rushed to Kiwi to get provisions before the Sunday closure. On Sunday I was fully indoors. I did not even leave the second floor. See – I have learnt the culture – first floor is actually second floor in their view. Monday was a terribly mad weather day.
It was cold from morning to next morning. It rained from morning to next morning. It was torrents at five o’clock when I would otherwise be leaving for my Monday run. It was so cold that I confirmed, for the first time in eight weeks, that the heater below the table actually worked! I had fidgeted around with the circular dial and surely got some heat permeating from it within a few minutes. I could not have survived that day without a heater. It was the coldest day, just believe me. I could not argue with the forces of nature on that day.
That is how I ended up having my Monday run on Tuesday, yesterday. My yesterday run was determined by the weather. Instead of controlling the weather, it controlled me for the first time. I had been on standby from three. I had told myself that I would take the run as soon as the weather was favourable. It had been full of short drizzled, but not as cold as Monday. By three it was still, but the cold was visible. I did not mind the cold. I minded running in the rain. I would chance with the cold, so long as it was not Monday-cold. I was observing the outside from my two wide windows… then it happened… It started shining – to be truthful, the sun came out. Whether it had a shine or not was subject to confirmation. I knew that it probably just had the light. It was now four. I had never run this early. I was not going to waste a sunny day.
I was soon out of P10, but that did not help, since by that time, at 4.20pm, the sun was already gone. However, it was not raining and therefore my run was going to take place nonetheless. The temperature was low. It was cold. I started my three timing gadgets. The Runkeeper still complained of lack of GPS signal. The wristwatch still complained of missing ‘accelero’ and the Endo just kept quiet, as usual. I threw the two phones on either pocket of my shorts. I was not interested in their narrative today. I already know the distance of all routes and permutations, following the calculations that I did last time after all my gadgets had failed. I was now done trusting the gadgets. I now had the truth. Technology can go run! I don’t care. I now know the distances even without the gadgets.
The weather was still – no wind. It is the wind that I have learnt to dread. These winds are usually stinging cold. I can survive a ‘still cold’ run, but not a ‘windy cold’ one. My first two preparatory runs on the 2km circuit around UiS went well. Then it started raining while I was on my third circuit.
“The hech!!!,” I shouted to the empty roads that hardly had anybody around, not even vehicles on the long stretch of visibility.
The raindrops were cold. Cold I tell you. I kept going. I was still glad that it was a ‘still rain’. I ‘windy rain’ would have been worse. I kept going nonetheless. I was already in it. I had tried to ‘trick’ the weather by starting my run early, while it was still shining, but the weather had once again confirmed who was to have the last laugh – sorry, the last cold. I was glad when the rain stopped as I finished this third circuit and headed for the forest trail on the hills. My run in the forest was ‘the usual’. It was cold but still. That helped. I met a few joggers. A few bikers. A few people walking the dogs. The usual events on the trails at the hills. Nothing to write a blog about. Little did I know that the rain would be waiting for me as I did my concluding run on the semi-circle of UiS as I headed to the finish line. I just kept going because the finish line would soon be within reach. And there it was – back to P10.
I stopped my gadgets, because I had to stop them anyway, not because it mattered what they recorded. I had already calculated an actual distance as 19.5 + 2.8 = 22.3km. Anything recording anything else that was far from that figure was a liar – And I do not care for liars! So, this is how it went. When I had settled down in the room, after a hot shower, I did check the gadgets, to discover the liars…
Endomondo: 22.19km in 1.43.03
Runkeeper: 21.70km in 1.43.14
GOA: 1.43.05
24-hours of bus rides
Friday was cold. Friday was rainy. Friday was just crazy. I had to cancel the planned Friday run. The temperatures were just too low. The drizzles were just too much. I would do with one run in the week. No need to worry. I still had many days to the marathon. Nothing beats preparation, call it planning, call it practice. It is in this spirit that I decided to scout the airport route that I would be taking in exactly one-week time, as I head for the marathon. I wanted to rehearse my timing to emulate how things should flow on the real travel day. I had to be at the airport by 1300hours. I did some preparatory study on how best to travel to the airport, in terms of the most optimal bus departure times, and the combination of buses to take to get me to Sola. Of course, the rehearsal would mean going and coming back.
It was while figuring out the best option for my two trips, that would set me back Kr.37 for each hour, that I saw that ‘cheaper than three tickets’ slogan on the Kolumbus website. They claimed that their 24-hour ticket was suitable for that slogan.
“What do I do with 24 hours?,” I asked the computer.
It did not answer. I had to take a juggle of the ‘74NOK for 2hours by getting 2 tickets’ versus ‘90NOK for 24hours by getting 1 ticket’ for quite some time. I finally settled on the slogan. I would go for it. That also meant that I had some planning to do. Not only would I scout the travel to the airport, but I would also have to ‘use’ as much of the 90NOK as I could squeeze out of it… everything within 24-hours.
It was on Saturday, October 12, that the alarm woke me up at nine. I had a nine-twenty bus to catch to town as travel no. 1. I would then take the train to Sandnes as travel no. 2. The ticket, whichever it is, is valid within the zone Nord-Jaeren for use in buses and trains – provided you restrict yourself to the ticket validity in time and eligibility in terms of allowed regions. I had a ticket that was valid for one region for a 24-hour period. My region was about 10km radius. I was in town in about fifteen minutes. I was to then go to the train station. This would be my first ride on the electric train. There was nothing special about the ride on the electric train – just the ‘welcome’ and the short time that I spend on it.
I got the ‘welcome’ when I got into the Stavanger Stasjon. I had just matched in, a few minutes past nine-thirty. I was to locate the train that would leave at 0944. Then out of nowhere…
“Hello, I am here to give you this,” he handed over a piece of paper.
Strange, I tell you. This was the first Norsk-person that had ever said a word to me ever, at their own volition. I was not expecting it and it took me aback.
I looked at the hand that was handing over the folded A5 page. I did not know whether to take it or not. How about if it was a trap of sorts? To then charge with something, like ‘possession’?
I took it, reluctantly, looking at the content.
“I wanted to introduce you to Jesus Christ, please read when you get home.”
“OK, thanks.”
I started walking towards what appeared to be the train platform, ready for boarding. It was now heading to 0940. He followed me. It was inevitable to say something.
I looked back, “I was heading to Sandnes on line three. Could you please show me line three.”
“Oh, that, I am also going towards Sandnes, but further,” he started, “This is line three,” he pointed at the very next train.
We both got it. It was now inevitable that we would sit on the same seat on the train which had 5 seats per row, three and two configuration, with an isle in the middle. We got talking even as the train started moving. Just small talk. Who I was. What I was doing around. Who he was. Why he was on a mission.
“I was a missionary,” he would say at some point, “I invite you to my place. My wife is the best cook ever. You will like her cooking.”
And just as I thought of saying, “Ain’t happening,” he added, “And she has been to holiday in Kenya before. She talks great things about Kenya.”
I alighted exactly 16 minutes later, with Kris’ telephone number and the small pamphlet, which I shoved into the bag and walked downstairs from the upper train rails and moved to the lower street level. My no. 3 travel would get me back from Sandnes to UiS by bus. At least I had now gotten ‘payback’ for my ticket – at the very least, yet I had not even started my real mission for the day – travel to the airport. I took a snack at P-10 and did not even have time to replan my trip before I realized that it was already 11.50 and I had a 11.58 bus to catch.
Off I ran to the stage and would soon be subjected to the heavy rains, forcing about eight of us to pretend to get shelter in the small bus stage structure. We were generally being rained on, but most of the people at the stage had jackets for exactly this type of weather. The first surprise that hit me at that stage was that there was no bus no. 7 for 11.58am. The earliest bus would be a no. 6 at 12.10pm. It was good I was doing this ‘mock’ travel. I can just imagine the anxiety if this was happening ‘live’ next week such a day?
The 12.10 bus was on time and it drove us through the rain to Sandnes in 14 minutes. I got the changeover bus no. 42 at 12.43pm that took me to Sola International, arriving there at 1320. Had I managed to get the intended bus no. 7, then I should have arrived at Sola at 12.33pm. My changeover would have been somewhere before Sandnes, at Sande terrasse. The failure of that no. 7 had now thrown the initially well-timed journey into disarray.
“Now I know,” I murmured as I alighted at Sola and walked around briefly to take in the sights and familiarize myself with the geography, in readiness for the real thing in a week’s time. I also added to my knowledge base the fact that no. 7 bus operated weekdays only.
I was just getting back to the same stage no. 3 at Sola, in readiness to take the next bus for travel no. 5, when this evidently drunk person shouted at me just outside the ‘Departures’ door of the airport, on the external walkway. I looked at him briefly, and let him say his Norsk things. I kept walking and soon reached my stage and started waiting. In the initial scheme of things, I would now be heading for Tananger, then from there to Stavanger, then plan the next ‘use of the ticket’ from Stavanger town. Now with the lateness and with nothing like a simple washroom anywhere in site, I decided to head back to Sandnes with no. 42. Unfortunately, there were still no such rooms anywhere within visibility. I was therefore forced to travel back to UiS as travel no. 7. I got back to the room at 1500. I had made it to the airport and knew exactly how to get to it when I do it live next week.
I was done, right?
Wrong!
The 24-hour ticket was still begging to be used. It still had 18-hours of life in it! I also remembered the missed sojourn to Tananger. These two facts motivated me to take travel no. 8 as a trip to town with a no. 6 bus, followed by travel no. 9 as by taking bus no. 2 bus to Tananger. This is the part of the route that was quite strange. I had never ever been this side of town. I just relied on the notes that I had taken while reading the Kolumbus webpage, to inform me on the various stages that I would encounter and also to guide me on when the ‘right time’ to alight would come. I alighted at Tjora just on the main highway. The time was now 1636. Checking on the bus timetable affixed on the noticeboard of the stage, I could see that the next bus, no. 42 was expected at 1706. I had nothing else to do at this remote location but to just wait for my next bus. Thirty-minutes of waiting, doing nothing!
Just then, another bus no. 2 came by and stopped at the stage. It stayed there without moving. I knew that it would block me from getting my bus when it comes, now that it was past five. Momentarily, a small van also drove in and parked behind the bus. From observation, it was a change of driver moment. The Kolumbus bus driver would soon leave the bus with his cash machine and get into the white van, while the one who drove the van got into the bus and stayed in the bus without driving off. The stage was not still blocked by the two vehicles. And just as I feared, my no. 42 bus soon approached and could not get a parking space, with the stage now occupied by two vehicles of the same organization. I however still motioned for the no. 42 to stop and hoped for the best.
The bus did stop in the middle of the road just in front of the parked bus. The lady driver told me something in Norsk as I got in using the entrance next to the driver. I did not get a word.
“OK,” I responded.
This was now travel no. 10. This journey took me back to Sola as a stopover, then back to Sandnes at 1715, just as the train that I was to take swished by. I walked around Sandnes to pass some time even as the rain fell at Sandnes. I was now timing the 1814 train as travel no. 11 back to Stavanger. And as accurate as clockwork, the train to Stavanger was on the platform as scheduled, dropping and picking passengers before it sped along the line, powered by overhead lines, and went along smoothly. I was in it. Enjoying the evening view of the route, mostly on the waterfront. The ‘neste stopp’ things was also available on the train, announcing all the upcoming stations. A display in the train, just above the middle isle also displayed the next station. A display next to it indicated the outside temperature as +10 degrees Centigrade. I alighted at Stavanger Stasjon at 1830 and headed to the next bus stage, ready for my travel no. 11 – back to UiS in a no. 6, taking only 13minues to get to UiS.
It was not just past 1900. The ticket was still as new as unused. I had just squeezed about 10hours out of it, hardly half its value. It had not even reached its half-life! How resilient was this ticket? It was still daring me for another 14hours!! Surely!!! How many lives does this ticket have? Even though our very own Kenyan compatriot, Eliud Kipchoge, was making history in Vienna as being the first human being to run the 42km marathon in under 2hours, 1.59.40 to be precise. Even though he had declared with this win that no human was limited. Even though this feat was still in the news, just beating the previous day’s Nobel prize award to Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed. All these events could not compare to the ‘immortality’ of this 24-hour ticket – it was a die hard, a never-say-die! Believe it or not, I surrendered while it still had 60% life left in it. I was done traveling. Eleven travels within Stavanger was the best that I got, but it was still worth it. Too bad – the immortal ticket has its limits. It would be useless by the time I wake up in the morning.
Last run
I was relying on the success of this run Monday to bring me back to the level of preparation that I needed. I had missed two important runs of the previous week – doing only one of the scheduled three. The missed two were due to the weather. It was becoming cold and rainy – let me rephrase – it was persistently cold and rainy since that was now our life. My runs were now being pegged on ‘opportunity’ and not the schedule. I was ready to get out for the run any day, any time when the opportunity would arise. It would even be better if the opportunity coincided with the schedule. For the last week, I only got such an opportunity to do my run one time.
I had only two runs on the cards this week. One last ‘compulsory’ long run, and one last ‘final’ short run. I had to hope that the ‘opportunity’ for these two shall present itself on schedule and with good separation between the runs. I prepared myself for the Monday run, and hoped that it would work for me on this Monday. It started with the weather forecast.
“It shall be cold today,” Mutua said, “But expect rains after six”
We were at the kitchen discussing emerging issues. He had consulted his weather app while reporting this status.
“I should be on the road by four then,” I updated him. I hoped this would happen. I had to do this run today or latest tomorrow – today the better.
Isaac, my very next door neighbour and whose room was exactly opposite the kitchen door, would momentarily join us.
“Mwaniki PhD is here!”
“For crying out loud!, You still have like two years to go!,” I responded.
The group of three laughed out loud. We were now used to this introduction. Isaac was the youngest of the four prospective philosophers. He also had the most ‘inexperienced’ in many things. He kept narrating his first encounter of seeking for PhD registration at the UON, where his potential supervisor, a don that I meet often at the corridors of SCI Chiromo, had given him free advice,
“I see you are a young man full of ambition. Kenya needs people like you. However, first get a job, get a beautiful girl, marry, settle down, then come back,” he was told, at the very entrance to SCI.
While handing back his proposed proposal, he was given a final sendoff with, “PhD is a journey.”
He retold that story almost daily, whenever we meet at the kitchen or at the lab during seminars. He also talked about his encounter at KU at the same season when he was seeking registration, where yet another don had examined his papers with a, “Yes, yes, good,” while flipping through the CV and proposal.
That initial reaction had given him some hope that this was it. He therefore was quite hopeful as he waited with abated breath for his final good fortune...
“However, you do not have a pedagogical background!”
These two stories had become his definition. He found these experiences as quite strange and unbecoming of institutions of higher learning. The rest of us found these episodes quite normal in the Kenyan setting. He was just getting back to Kenya from two first degrees in the US. The rest of us had acquired our first two in Kenya. He kept finding his reception back home as strange. The rest of us kept finding this reception as what would be expected. Didn’t I tell you that he was the most inexperienced?
Of course, Isaac’s ‘inexperience’ went further than his encounters. He was really struggling with surviving in the kitchen. He seemed to have hardly encountered a kitchen environment in his life. His cooking methods were mostly accidental – try something first, then discover if it works. Several times he would put something on the cooker, match to his room and forget about it. The smoke from the burning remains would draw him from the room.
I would usually see ‘things’ in the cooking pots and wonder what they were, courtesy his methods of cooking. Each kitchen user, it is was only the four of us, was expected to wash the utensils that they had individually used. This was expected to be done as soon as possible, immediately after use. However, washing utensils was Isaac’s weakest weakness. He would just dump them around the sink, or in the sink if lucky. He would be reminded to ‘take care of them’, which he would doc, usually very late in the night. Even with this, he would still sometimes still forget to ‘take care’ of a spoon or a cup that you would still find dirty and ‘forgotten’ just around the sink.
He did not believe in washing one piece of utensil. There had to be a minimum first. That would mean that his used cup or spoon could spend their day dirty on the sink, until when later on there would be some more. So, it went without saying as to who was responsible for the dirty cooker-top or the spoon left unattended in the sink, when you can easily shove such utensils into the dishwasher and press start and forget about it, letting the machine ‘take care of it’. How about when you encounter that mixture of food in the pan. That mixture that is soaked in stew with rice, meat, potatoes, beans all in the mix. With all these challenges, it was no surprise that he had settled on coffee as his daily meal. I have never seen someone who liked so much coffee! We would take coffee for dinner!! He would switch to tea in the latter part of our stay as he got tired of being awake whole night. It was just how our life was.
“I have to go prepare for my run,” I disengaged from the kitchen and left with my macaroni. I had to prepare early since I had to be ready to start the Monday run whenever the ‘opportunity’ would present itself.
I sat by my reading desk, overlooking the two wide windows, monitoring the outside environment. There was no sun, but there was no rain. It looked cold, but the weather was still – no wind.
I kept monitoring and when the time check was four, and the weather remained as it was, I had to leave the room and go for my run, taking the ‘opportunity’ before ‘anything’ happened. I left P-10 just around four-thirty. My analogue was permanently out of communication with the shoe gadget. It was just a timer with no distance metric. The Runkeeper was still not getting a GPS signal as I started the run. The Endo was still intact and ready to time, with full GPS signal. I however was not relying on any ‘distance’ gadgets. I was re-running a route whose distance was already measured and known. In fact, I dropped the two phones on either pocket of my pair of shorts and just did the run. I did not care of their verdict. The only verdict that I cared about was time, not distance.
The weather was still as I started the run. It was as cold as expected. I can guess that it was about 12 degrees, if I compare with the 10 degrees that was displayed on the train as I alighted on Saturday. It was almost same feeling, a bit better, but same in most ways. The cold wind started hitting me as I started on the second kilometer, but it was brief for say two minutes. I realized that this cold wind persisted whenever I was running on this particular point on the route for the three times that I went around UiS for the ‘preparatory’ part of my run. I headed for the hills and forest trail after the three initial circuits. The weather rained cold and still. It was not windy – good one. It was not rainy – another good one. The cold was something I was now getting used to.
The profile of the forest trail was now etched in my sub-conscience. I just kept going through the trail as if on automatic setting. I hardly noticed anything strange. What was expected was there. Those walking their dogs. Those jogging around. Those just walking. Few people biking around. The rabbits running around and crossing the roads.
“But wait a minute! Are these rabbits or hares?,” I looked around while still maintaining my momentum on the road.
I did not seem to get a clear answer from my observation. I would bet on them being rabbits for now.
It was not long before I did that final hill run towards UiS’s Kjell Arholms gate – the road that would lead to P-10 and the end of run. I was glad to finally finish the run, mainly due to the cold that was quite cold, and that I would now get out of. While the ‘gold standard’ true distance was 22.3km, the gadgets had a distance of their own:
Endomondo: 21.90km in 1.41.35
Runkeeper: 21.72km in 1.41.40
GOA: 1.41.55
Very last run
Like flicking a power switch, the sun was switched on at exactly 3.37pm! It had been a cold day from morning. The environment was still, but the cold was evident. I could see the cold from my sitting position, just facing the two large windows seated on my desk at P10-237. The people walking out there were clad in layers of jackets. My room was heated, first from the central heating-ventilation and air conditioning system (HVAC), and secondly with the under-the-desk electric heater, though I had not yet put this one on since morning. It was therefore a surprise and a welcome relief when the heavens switched on the lights with that sun. I however knew that the sun had nothing to do with the temperature. It was providing ‘sunshine’ but not ‘sunheat’. It was just a contributor to brightness and ‘feel-good’. However, the sun had a way of mitigating some effects of the cold – maybe the psychological effects – the ‘feel-good’ effect, not necessarily higher temperatures. I guessed that the temperatures were still in the tens, probably twelve degrees.
I was due for the final run on this Wednesday, October 16. The final sun just a few minutes before I started the run was quite a welcome relief. I was however apprehensive. Would this sun last for the next thirty minutes when I was due to start the run? Would I really get it when the time came? I pondered over all these as I observed the ten or so young girls next to the white three-story block, which is the students hostel just across the road. They were doing some cheerleading routine of sorts.
They were all clad in long white stockings, short skirts, short sleeves. They poured out of the dormitory just as the sun came out. I could see them make formations and make gestures. I could not hear if they were singing or talking from this distance, about two hundred metres away. The thick glass of my window did not make things easier. It did not take them more than ten minutes before they disappeared back into their block. Oooppsss! It did not take more than ten-minutes for the sun to be switched off once more. It looked good while it lasted. The day was back to usual ‘normal’ after hardly ten-minutes of sun.
By 4.30pm it was apparent that my final run would not be possible. It was windy cold by that time, and the drizzle was visible outside the window. I could see the clouds of showers hitting the white student residential blocks cross the road. It was a cold evening. The run was off – the last run was off! The showers would then fall steadily as the now early darkness slowly engulfed the surrounding from six o’clock in the evening.
The unmistakable ring of the fire alarm jolted me back to reality around eight. It was loud. It was characteristic. The alarm device was just overhead in my room. Each room had such. Mine was now beeping loudly.
“Now what?,” I shouted as I immediately left the room.
I met other six or seven Paviljong-ians leaving and heading downstairs. We all gathered at the fire panel just next to the main entrance on the ground floor. We gathered in a group of about twenty. All were staring at the panel. The alarm persisted – from every room – from every floor.
“Switch it off,” the gathered ones told a volunteer who was pressing on each button on the panel – randomly and without any idea as to what he was doing. He would soon be joined by another resident. They pressed all button and turned all keys on that control panel, but the loud beeping from everywhere did not stop.
“You shall soon see the fire engine here!,” proclaimed one resident.
“Switch it off,” the dormitory rep shouted. The random trial and error on the panel continued. It took about three minutes to get the panel to switch off the alarm. The three minutes were all trial and error. Finally, the block fell quiet. Phew!
We had just talked about this very scenario the previous day, when the four of us were coming from our post-grad weekly seminar. It was Mutua who brought about the topic.
“Imagine there was a fire drill at the library today.”
“Library? That giant place!”
“Yes, And I did not know about it. I just saw people leaving when the alarm started,” he stated, “I also just took my laptop, put in the bag and left.”
“Where did you people go to,” Oby asked.
“The assembly point next to KEH.”
“I cannot believe that you took your laptop!,” I had commented, “When you hear the alarm you are supposed to just get out!”
“Without my laptop?”
“Yes, without!”
“Ai, hapana – na iki ibiwa?”
“Do you care more about your la-a-if or la-a-ptop?,” I asked.
I did not know that hardly one day later, we would be having a similar situation. This time it was not a drill. Something had triggered the alarm, and all of us obeyed the alarm, only to be stuck at the main entrance yard, trying to switch of the panel. I do not know who had told us that the panel was faulty. How about if it was a real fire detected in some room? Even one of those unoccupied rooms? The fact that all housemates believed that their rooms and kitchen had nothing ‘smoky’ did not mean that we should just declare this alarm as false!
There was relief and calm when the panel had finally been switched off. Those from the ground floor disappeared to both directions of the floor, while the upstairs group climbed the wooden stairs full of chatter, on how this ‘false’ alarm had interfered with their otherwise peaceful evening. At least my group had learnt to ‘leave everything behind’ when they responded to the alarm.
We had hardly settled back to our warm rooms when the second alarm burst its high pitch into our ears.
“Surely!!,” I cursed as I made another work stoppage and left the room to walk the long corridor to the entrance wing.
I had the option of just turning right and going down the fire exit next to my door, but this did not seem like the appropriate time for such action. I had earlier inspected this exit during the first alarm and knew that both the door and the foldable ladder external to it were working. The emergency door was however not the bush bar type. You had to unlock it from inside first, but after that you were out. That would make this door non-compliance since such doors should not have any semblance of a physical lock. However, it was still something available for use, and that lock was nothing to take more than two-seconds to open.
We soon found our group of six or seven making the corridor walk from first floor towards the ground floor once more. This time the ground floor people did not even bother to join us. They survived the high pitch that persisted in every room, as we once again struggled to silence the panel – using lessons learnt from the previous episode, hardly ten minutes ago. The alarm was silenced, and we were back to our rooms. Everyone had now vowed that they would ‘never’ respond to any other alarm – however loud! One resident even suggested that we just ‘disconnect the fire alarm panel’ and that would solve the problem once and for all.
The end is near
I knew that life at UiS was coming to an end when the ten Kenyans, four post-grads and six grad students met the administrators of the Kenya-Norway mobility project, KeNoMo for a debrief at KEH CIPSCI room on the third floor. Room 412 is on the third floor by all accounts, but over here the ground floor is first floor, hence this was the fourth floor. I even remember arguing with the Politi over this issue as to whether I was staying on the first floor or second floor. I had argued that Room 217 is on the first floor, since I only take one flight of stairs to my get to my room. The madam had insisted that 217, even by definition was second floor. We went through two rounds of arguments and I gave up, since I was on the receiving end of a residence permit and did not want to jeopardize the process.
The KeNoMo debrief generally gave us a feedback forum to highlight our experiences with the process and the stay. Hellen and Ralph were available to take the feedback from 12.40pm all the way to 2.00pm. I walked the 3 kilometers to Madla just to compensate for my missed run of the previous day, and pretended that this 6km circuit should count for a run. It did not count. It was a very ‘junior’ walk. However, the environment had ‘refused’ to allow me do my last run and I just had to live with the situation. How I would do in the real marathon now remained to be seen. The real marathon started becoming a reality when I visited UiS ICT to get my laptop setup for printing and actually printed my ticket and runner confirmation number.
“This Amsterdam marathon is happening,” I muttered as I walked back to P-10, travel ticket in hand.
