Desperately seeking non-African friends who do not require items to be transported whenever one travels outside the continent

Hola peeps.

It just dawned on me I was so consumed with detailing every exciting moment of my time as Interpol’s Most Wanted I forgot to tell y'all what I was doing in South Africa. Believe it or not, I participated in the 2024 Comrades Marathon. Yup, 86.6km of sheer pain. Bear in mind this is coming exactly 2 months after completing the Paris marathon in 3hrs 48mins. Why do I do this to myself? What am I running away from? What am I running towards? What am I trying to prove? If only I knew. It’s the same way I hold breathe during HIIT workout to make it more difficult. Why??? A childhood friend reckons I am trying to feature in the next phase of MCU. Ha. That’s classic. Until I discover the reason, I intend to take a month off running before prepping for the Lisbon marathon in October.

 

Some of you might think I chose to embark on these feats after breaking up with ex, but the joke’s on you 'cos I was still with ex at time of the Paris marathon. To be honest, both marathons are such a blur I cannot provide any advice for anyone thinking of doing something as insane as the Comrades. Okay, maybe two pieces of advice. One, lubricate as much as possible to prevent chaffing and sore nipples. I chose to wear my limited-edition JPG-designed bras  to help with the latter. The other advice is to change your nationality to South African. Those guys are clearly insane ‘cos of the 23,000 participants over 21,000 were South Africans. The Comrades is almost like a rite of passage in that country. While limping off the plane from Durban to Cape Town a day after the race I noticed South African limpers waving at each other and screaming, “see you next year!” U what?

 

You know the Mike Tyson line about everyone having a plan in the boxing ring until they get punched in the mouth, well, my lofty aim to complete my first Comrades without walking was thrown out the window after encountering the first hill. I just wanted to finish. Man, I ate and drank everything on offer at the refreshment stations. I just wanted the race to end. In all that though, I did stop to show some kids the proper choreography to New Edition’s If It Isn’t Love. C’mon, one’s gotta pass on valuable knowledge to the younger generation whenever one can.

 

The kids were on the lawn in front of a house of one of the thousands of spectators offering support and refreshments, and holding up hilarious home-made signs like, 1 in every 1,000 Comrades runners poops their shorts, are you THE ONE? and Remember, you paid money for this. There were also the motivational screamers: Hey, why are you walking? It’s supposed to be a “race”……They are called “running shoes” for a reason. Funniest dudes were those insisting, “you are almost there” at the start of the race. Amazing folk. Oh, I can’t forget the guy who was heralding the benefits of his organic honey in tackling Polly Shortts, the last major hill on the course. Did he expect us to pull out a wallet and purchase some honey while navigating the tough incline? Even now, I fail to grasp his marketing nous. Kinda like that time in Luxembourg I saw toothpaste for men. I mean, really?! It’s like moisturizer for female elbows.

 

What helped me in the latter part of the race was bumping into a Kenyan runner called Hillary. Dude was struggling with cramps and he sought the advice of a total stranger. I told him not to stop and to keep going no matter what. I decided to run beside him for the entirety of the race. We chose to walk up any inclines and run on descents. He helped me and I helped him. If God hadn’t brought him my way I most likely woulda walked all through the second half of the marathon.

 

After completing the race I went to the rest area for International Runners, which was like the graveyard scene from Michael Jackson's Thriller video. As I tried to make sense of what I had just been through I decided to watch the rest of the runners complete the marathon ahead of the 12-hr cutoff time. My heart went out to some guy in his 70s who was 20 meters away from the finish before the pistol went off indicating the official end of the race. This dude’s shoulders were about 45 degrees apart, he was basically running diagonally, as he struggled to finish. Man, it was brutal to watch.

 

I didn’t inform family I’d be travelling for the race as they woulda freaked out at the race distance. It’s hard enough being back in Chief’s good books after he saw me at the church service on April 4^th. I only decided to travel to Nigeria last minute after I was able to add a Juba-Addis-Lagos leg to ticket I had previously purchased from Juba to Paris via Addis. As such, I arrived in Lagos on April 3^rd, spent most of the day at the Interpol office, attended Chief’s 85^th birthday celebration on April 4^th, then departed for Paris that night.

 

You see, Chief only decided to mark his 85^th birthday at the end of January, thus giving his kids all of 2 months to make the requisite arrangements. As I had already paid for flights and accommodation for the Paris marathon on April 7^th I knew there was no way I was gonna cancel Paris plans. So when he kept asking if I was gonna make his party I truthfully responded that it would be difficult work-wise since his party would be a weekday, a weekend woulda been easier. ‘Cos of his Leslie Gore-esque tantrums, even after I changed flights with 2 weeks to go I still kept up the pretense to both Chief and rest of the family. You’da seen their faces when I walked into the church service. I later discovered from Nike and Kemi that Chief bruited about how I don’t value him and prodded them to make me change my plans. I won’t be surprised if he adjusted his will during that period.

 

Come to think of it, it’s not something to joke about. While in South Africa last week, I got word that another friend in his 40s passed way. That makes 2 mates in the space of a week. As the news filtered in while I was out with friends on Friday night, I spent the evening hunched over phone sending WhatsApp messages to people in my close network enquiring if they had a will in place. Most folk don’t wanna talk about it, and I ain’t suggesting it as a nostrum, but it’s necessary.

I completed mine last year and, as expected, left everything to my daughter. Based on Interpol situation and general state of uncertainty, I have committed to putting aside sums every quarter that would amount to covering her school fees up until post-grad. One never knows, man. Last night, I attended virtually the night of tributes for pal who passed away on June 6^th. Man, it was surreal.

All in all, the celebrations went off without any hitches. All guests remarked at how Chief looked more like a man in his 60s than an 85-year-old. That said, dude must really be feeling the rigours of his advanced years ‘cos he’s decided he’s no longer keen on foreign travel, what with wheelchair assistance at airports, etc. I am not sure I truly believe him. Chief not getting on planes is like moi not blogging about poop.

That said, on the flight to Joburg from Nairobi I dreamt I was taking a dump, but it was a urinal setup…for dumps. I kept waiting for the looo to empty out before dumping but nope, people kept coming in and dumping like it was normal. Maybe it’s aftereffects from the Comrades marathon that’s responsible for recent spate of weird dreams like one with WhatsApp convos being made public and one on the night after the Comrades where I dreamt of wearing a dress and woke up with cramp in leg.

Oh yeah, my fave new thing is farting in the swimming pool. Farting, not peeing. The bubbles up escaping from swim trunks and rising up lower back is exhilarating. It’s infantile I know, but hey, one can’t take life too seriously. For instance, I am not ashamed to say I spent yesterday watching YouTube videos on how to bounce my pecs. Once I master that and the Human Flag, there’s no stopping me.

Tot ziens and God bless.