I am so sophisticated, I write numbers in CAPS

Hola peeps. Y’all good?

 

Told ya, I wasn’t kidding when I suggested that the Comrades marathon could make me lose the zest for writing. Can’t believe it’s been 3 weeks since I completed the race in 10hrs 14mins with a massive blister on left big toe and the sides of both soles hurting. The blister has disappeared, but the sides of feet still hurt, and that could be ‘cos I haven’t made it to Aminarrrgh since I returned to Juba on June 15^th. Although I saw a professional physiotherapist in Joburg the day after Comrades, he didn’t use a pestle or other kitchen utensil on my feet like Aminarrrgh does. One time, I swear I saw a blender beside her massage table. I didn’t bother inquiring further; I was just glad it wasn’t me she was going to use it on.

 

I initially intended to see Aminarrrgh two Saturdays ago, but stuff got in the way, and when I called the next day, she said she was busy and promised to call me back but never did. Or was she giving me attitude ‘cos I failed to call to cancel the day before? Man, if that’s the case, between her and my frustrated artist cum cleaning lady, I have two women in my life who gimme relationship-level attitude, even though we ain’t dating. The other day, the cleaning lady asked when we would be refilling the ice cream in the freezer, as the tub’s almost empty. Okay, that probably explains why my powdered milk is low, but not my Ijebu garri stash. Abeg, when South Sudanese begin chop garri?

 

I am in the field as I type this, and it’s weird ‘cos I purposely chose to spend the weekend here. By the time I return to Juba, it’ll be a total of 7 days on this field location - the longest time spent with any of my teams on my own volition. No regrets, though, but it’s time to return to Juba as I am getting tired of eating rice daily. Plus, a bottle of soda here costs almost $2 'cos we are in the middle of nowhere. What’s weirder is that when I knew I would be coming to the field, I started getting the buzz I usually get when I am set to fly outta South Sudan. Never happened before.

 

Anyhoo, I’m all buzzing ‘cos I travel to Nigeria in two weeks for work. Should be there for almost 2 weeks before returning to Juba, and hopefully, fly off to Thailand after a few days. I am yet to receive the visa, so maybe the Thailand trip mightn’t happen. No matter, I’ll be in the UK/US a few weeks afterwards anyway.

 

It’s July and my plan not to be outta Juba as many times this year as last year mightn’t be working ‘cos if I recall, it’s only May that I haven’t been outta the country. After the Comrades race, I traveled to Pretoria and spent 6 days there, mostly recuperating and hanging out with friends. On the eve of my departure, I attended the BAL third-place game and was pleasantly surprised. The place was packed! Had no clue they had such a massive following. If I do the Comrades again, and that’s a big IF, I must include BAL games in my itinerary.

 

Bought some merch at the BAL arena for my twin nephews in the States who played on their high school team. Forgot to tell y’all that I attended their Senior Day back in February, and it was like in the movies. I mean this was a friggin’ high secondary school basketball game and they had cheerleaders and electronic scoreboards and play-by-play announcers — my goodness. I lived in the States on and off for nearly 3 years, and I still can’t get over how everything is so… extreme, whether it’s kids’ sports or deporting migrants. Ha. You know I had to go there, right?

 

When I arrived at OR Tambo Airport in Johannesburg, the immigration officer was thrilled to see that I had traveled to participate in the Comrades, and he quickly stamped my passport and waved me through. “A Nigerian came all the way here to run the Comrades?! Eish, brother, that race is tough, eh. Good luck, brother”. Had secretly hoped he wouldn’t glance at my visa and ask what I was travelling for, so I could tell him it was to investigate Elon Musk’s claim of white genocide.

 

For real, though, EVERYONE I met in South Africa was supportive once they discovered I was there to participate in the Comrades; from the officer who asked to see my passport after picking up luggage who was frowning at seeing a Naija passport but turned that into a smile once he heard the C-word to the Uber drivers, to the guy at the Information Desk at the Durban airport to the hotel receptionist. If I do the Comrades again, and that’s a big IF, it would partly be ‘cos of the wonderful South Africans — utterly amazing people.

 

Yeah, but also insane people! Like I observed last year, the Comrades seems to be a rite of passage for every South African. There’s the viral video of a judge losing his rag at the temerity of a lawyer who wrote a letter seeking a postponement of a trial from the Monday after the Comrades because he would be running in the race. I kid you not. During the race, I sought other distractions after I grew tired of tracking the number of times fellow runners had completed the Comrades. The guy I sat beside on the flight from Joburg to Durban had only started running a year before he decided to do his first Comrades. See what I mean by insane? Everyone has their own story, and that’s what’s so beautiful about them. Some dude I sat beside while trying to keep warm before the race started told me he was running his first Comrades in memory of his late father, who had run it multiple times. Said he trained with his dad’s Comrades hat. Spotted tears rolling down his cheeks at some point.

 

For the race itself, after completing it, I wasn’t as drained as I was last year when a friend rightly joked that I aged 10 years over the course of the race. Like last year, this race was mostly a blur. I recall having the urge to pee after 5km, telling myself to hold on until the 10km mark, then holding it in until the 20km or 30km mark - not sure which, exactly. I do remember avoiding all the food on offer, including fruit, but drinking an obese family’s monthly intake of soda. Man, I was sooo drained.

Oh yes, I also recall hardly applying any “C’mon son” motivations and not untucking/unfolding my hands from normal running posture during the entire race. Usually, I unfold my hands intermittently during runs to stretch them.  

 

I was so antsy about the race that days before, I stopped listening to podcasts about the Comrades, as they were having the opposite effect of making me more nervous with each listen, rather than building up my confidence. On the morning of the race, I was confident I would finish after taking a massive dump before leaving the hotel for the spot where we boarded the coaches to drive us almost 1.5 hours from Durban to the starting point in Pietermaritzburg. Man, that poop was epic! I looked at it before flushing – as I am wont to do with my poop creations – and it reminded me of the inclines I would soon be surmounting. As I flushed the poop away, my anxieties dispersed.

 

David’s brother Biggie was in Durban to support a client running the Comrades, so I met him at the Virgin gym in the stadium near the Comrades’ finish line. As the direct route was closed, I shuffled through the circuitous route for 15 minutes before arriving at the gym. I declined his offer at an ice bath, shuffled some more to the shower, where I spent what musta been an eternity letting the water wash over me and thanking God that I made it through. Due to road closures, Biggie and I waited for over an hour for an Uber, and eventually walked 10 minutes to get one.

 

By the time I got to my hotel, it was way past the time I usually call my daughter, so I ordered food from across the street and repeatedly tried to contact my daughter to show off my medals – a Finishers and a Back2Back – to no avail. In retrospect, I’da eaten at the restaurant instead of taking the food to my room, as they had great music and the cute hostess Thandi, with impeccably white teeth, seemed keen to hang. That’s it, screw East Africans, I am shifting my gaze to South African women now. Ha.

 

By the time I spoke to my daughter on Father’s Day, I wasn’t pumped to show her the medals anymore. She apologized for not making our usual Sunday call the weeks before, while wishing me a happy Father’s Day. Aww, chuffed she remembered that.

Earlier that day, some mates and I had exchanged funny anecdotes about how no one gives a hoot about Father’s Day. One guy said he expected to get a pair of socks “as usual”, another congratulated him on at least getting a gift. He added, “The kids are looking at me like today is a Monday. If it was Mother’s Day now, they would have been running around.” The luckiest among us boasted about how each of his sons had made him a card, and his wife prepared brekkie in bed and gifted him a mani-pedi session at a spa. Just as we were about to start sticking pins in his effigy, he added, “As soon as I got back from the spa, my wife said, ‘Oya, back to work. Our garden needs mowing and the older son needs prepping for his exams tomorrow.’ I didn’t even get time to relax.” We cracked up. Misery loves company.

 

I have one more night in the field, and I'm leaving just as my body is acclimating to being here. By that, I mean I have stopped waking up in the middle of the night to pee. On my first night here (Friday, June 27^th), I woke up three times, the next night twice, and on Sunday night once. However, last night I didn’t have to. I didn’t have to pee in a bottle either during this trip - well, apart from Sunday night - as I was mostly lucid enough to walk outta my room down the walkway into the row of bathrooms. Haven’t had any of the weird dreams that I usually have out here. I told you this field visit was weird, didn’t I? Wait, I did have one dream where I was teaching ants to jump rope. Yeah, that’s the only one.

 

It's about to rain. The weather here has been generally better than Juba’s. On Sunday night, it rained the entire zoo for 3hours non-stop. I coulda sworn I saw an ark come into focus from my window. I hope today’s isn’t as serious ‘cos I like working outside. I have been more productive here than in Juba. I work ‘til late without disturbance, wake up late if I don’t have online meetings, don my scruffiest tee, open my laptop, eat a meal with rice, take a dump in the second bathroom from the right, shower, work ‘til late, and repeat. It’s like Groundhog Day but without women.

 

Speaking of a recurring nightmare, there is still no progress on loan repayments from debtors. Regarding IGI Limited, in my last blog, I mentioned that on June 1st, the solicitor informed me, “the case came up for judgment, but the judgment was not ready.” I still don’t even know what that means. Last Thursday, he came back with, “The judgment would be made on Monday, June 30^th by God’s grace”. You see, it’s the latter part of the sentence you gotta pay attention to, “by God’s grace”. This perfectly captures what my friend Sandra observed after she visited Nigeria when she said, “Wait, is every Nigerian born again? Everyone I meet spouts something religious, yet in the next breath they are trying to fleece you.” Amen, sister.

 

The DSS agent who was initially enthusiastic has gone quiet. The delay in debt payment has caused me to move around money I never intended to, but I thank God there’s sufficient reserve not to cause a panic. I am now so jaded with Nigerians that when a mate I lent money to called on Monday to apologize and offer to pay the funds a day later than promised, I was genuinely shocked that someone was willing to repay a debt without my prodding them. Had expected her not to call in the first place, or even if she called, to make up some lame excuse as to why she couldn’t pay on the due date. Hopefully, she doesn’t disappoint.

 

Confirmed tix for my bi-annual UK trip, so I’m all geared up to show off the fancy white jacket I got in South Africa when I take my daughter out. I’ve informed her of my UK dates so that she can come up with plans, and I can make reservations ahead of time, ensuring we avoid last-minute bookings, which we experienced in February. I also bought a pair of green pleather pants in South Africa that will have me looking like a Temu-esque Lenny Kravitz at mom’s 80^th birthday celebration next month.

I keep pushing my boundaries, man. Last Monday, I wore a peach suit to the office, which got men and women complimenting me. If they keep these iatrogenic compliments up, I might end up wearing a suit without a shirt soon. Once I combine that with the Tabi boots I plan to reward myself in August, imma look so fly I might just spontaneously combust.

 

Tot ziens and God bless.