The Stampede
They are over 17,000 people; young, old, mostly black, you could see some white face; others on wheel chairs. They have assembled next to game stores on Lugoogo by-pass near Nakawa. Some, like Stanbic Bank came in teams as big as 500 members while others came in as individuals. They had responded to an important fitness whose top price is UGX 5,000,000 (USD 2600) top prize and some bragging rights.
A glance at the island of the by-pass and either side of the road; four-wheel drive cars, some new, others not so new. The cars are Toyota Corollas, Carinas; Japanese SUVs while a Mercedes, a BMW can be spotted hither and thither: a sure sign that
Uganda’s mainly middle class and bourgeois had congregated. The scene on the road looked more of a grasshopper festival. A galore of yellow stretching over a kilometer, simmering in the morning sunshine.
Should you join the mass, you meet an old friend last seen 10 years ago. Some are greying; clearly aging, others are overweight, the folly of too much work (sic) and good living. Many hold key positions in government, academia, the corporate world while some have ventured into private business. The police chief was in attendance. In the humming sounds you must speak in overtones.
Many of them optimistic about their winning prospects despite the telling sign of the spindly legs on oversized waist-lines. Of course others have what looks like a trim body. But many Uganda’s do not exercise regularly. They are wearing yellow sleeveless shirts bearing the registration numbers; have strapped a running chip on their shoes and happy to be there. I ran as contestant number 2186.
Some runners are warming up. Running up the road and then down the road. They are taking this race very seriously indeed. To some runners, it is a way of proving that they a class apart from the onlookers. Yet it could be some show of bravado.
So when the MC announces the eminent START. The moving mass edges closer to the starting line. I also move along and meet the Stanbic Bank team. They are all fired up, but keep together; the herd mentality I guess. You know safety in numbers is an important motto in this circumstance.
The MTN marathon is starting in five, four, …., fire. The MC tells us over the public address system and off the marathon race goes. It is followed by the half marathon race and….. At 7:20 am, the gun goes off for the last race, the 10km race and the sea of humanity jostle. The stampede is incredible. You have to shove to run, stagger, fall; pick yourself up and run.
At the first turn, left into Jinja road, I think the leading pack have made a mistake. Instead of turning onto Wankoko and join Spring Road, the fellows run right ahead on the Lugoogo hill. I am told MTN had made last minute changes and now runners must contend with a tougher course.
Up the hill in quick strides and breezing towards Uganda Management institute, two things hit me. An encounter with open sewers at the institute. Now, I thought we were lucky with National Waters and Sewerage Corporation treatment plant on spring road, but this, this can not help. The stench depletes the needed oxygen to make the stretch to Zain round-about. I also notice that the runners have taken the dual carriage road so that vehicles have to pack on the kerbs.
You can hear the curses of the taxi drivers while other passengers remark about the spectacle. Uh! That one is too fat to complete the race. She will soon collapse. Ayaa ayaya!!! That one must be sweating in the pants. On and on as you ran past the frustrated motorist the comments keep coming. To disprove the skeptics, the hormones surge and you trudge on even faster.
Suddenly, there a mad rush. Somewhere opposite the Electoral Commission, runners panting and scrambling. For water. Give me water. The courtesy take too long. So they descend on the watering point and tear package of Rwenzori mineral water to shreds, pick their fill and run on. I ignore the water.
We now turn at the traffic lights into Kitante Road (Yusuf Lule). This hill is stiffer and longer. I change into quick steps while breathing easy, swinging the arms close to the body. The masses soon fill this road and suddenly it is a yellow flow up hill. For many people it is a challenge to forget. So they stop running and start walking. I overtake many runners as the stretch rounds about the Garden City shopping mall.
Again change tact and use the long stride. I run smoothly upwarsd. Many people ignore the yellow cones and invade traffic on the right lane. The motorist must be bewildered. But they behave well and stop to allow the wave through. At this point running the mass have become the walking mass. Some people openly ask for boda-bodas to make part of the race. Ofcourse that is illegal. But they take the boda-boda anyway. A young boy is riding a bicycle with his (dad?) closely behind him.
We now encounter another hill. A smaller hill I thought. The round about at the golf course should be an easy take. It is not. Instead of rounding and proceeding smoothly on Kitante Rd, the route is diverted via Fairway hotel. This is cruelty. I can not believe this. At this point my body is weakening. I feel some pain in the lower back. I slow down. What a waste. But this hill, I must conquer. There is no point in walking. I could as well stop and take a boda-boda; and be done with this race.
A number of runners must be feeling my pain as I see many with hands on their hips. Phew here and phew there. Anyway, I trudge on until the slope on Lourdel road. We descend back on Kitante rd and continue to Mulago round-about. This must be 5 km, half way the race. Then take Kiira road, climb the hill next to Uganda Museum.
Someone remarks that the race is won. Kiprop had done this distance in under 27 minutes. A world record it is. There is no point in competing. Just run to cross the finish. We now approach the Kayunga stage. I see a muzungu holding a bottle of water. He offers it to some runner who declines it. I edge closer to him and take the bottle of Rwenzori Mineral water. I gulp some and spit it. Gulp a little and swallow. Then pour the rest on my head to cool the heating body.
At this point, my thighs give up. There is pain in my thighs and I want to give up the race. Not now. Pain in the lower back. Now, I have pain in the thighs. It is now a race between the body and the mind. I slow down.
Despite slowed down, I still overtake people who have given up running altogether. They are now determined to walk the rest of the distance. To them it must a walking race. My pace is now reduced to a few steps per second. I should maintain this pace to the finishing line. So I trudge on, running slowly.
On reaching the Kiira road police station, I turn to the left, onto Lugoogo By pass road. I now feel a little energized. But there is another problem. My insole is sore. It is aching. This reduces my pace further, but I resolve to run on to the end.
We run past Kololo SS and onto home stretch. It is now a painful experience as my troubles is unrelenting. I run. On seeing the beckoning finishing line; I haul the body a little. I gain some pace and run. Raise my hands up in triumph and cross the finishing line. I stop.
My body is engulfed in heat. I am burning up. Where is the Red Cross? I cry out. No answer. My whole body is on fire. Run on. Warm up. Keep warming up. Someone yelled to me. I can not run. My body is on fire. I feel dizzy. This yellow mass is dizzying. I find some place and sit down. A minute. Two. Three minutes and I up. Give me water. Where is water?
I finally spot people moving to the Lugoogo Tennis Club area. I follow them. Moving slowly up this hill and finally I find some water. A good Samaritan gave it to me. I pour the water on my head. Gulp some. Spit and drink the rest. More water please. I find some place to rest. Plunge into a mess of packaging material and rest. Aha!! I espy Nduume. A scrabble player protégé who is volunteering in this marathaon. He brings plenty of water bottles. I wash my face. Douse the body and drink.
I regain my composure. The body has cooled down. I walk around the area. Move to the tents. I see the corporate tents. Toyota Uganda, Stanbic Ban, MTN, Bank of Uganda even Ministry of Education and sports tent. The tents are serving breakfast. Mostly fast foods and carbonated drinks. People are taking pictures. They are having a good time.
I walk further and find the Red Cross. It is a huge makeshift paramedic assembly. Blankets on the slim mattresses. People being massaged. Some grimacing in pain. Others, bottle in handle having their thighs, calves and backs being massaged. It is my turn. I have pain in the lower back and the thighs, I tell the assistant. He applies some liniment on my thighs, press, press. Lie on your tummy, he implores me. I oblige. He presses the lower back, raise my legs and massage the thighs again. These guys must be enjoying myself I you know what am thinking, especially doing this to certain people.
It is over, move out and wander around the tens. Meeting people I last saw at campus. It is a good feeling.
You must give to Philip Besiimire, Aggrey Kagonyera and Eric Van Veen for the audacity of thinking outside the box. The trio is reputed to have muted the idea of a fun run. But the Uganda Athletes organization decided it should be a marathon.
The MTN Kampala marathon is a living testimony that if you match thought with resources, the world is at your calling. From a single curious event five years ago, MTN Kampala marathon has evolved into a Ugandan sub-culture. The mothers in northern Uganda can afford maternity services courtesy of the proceeds from registration fees, the effect on the MTN brand is tremendous as the event deepened its value into our psyche as a nation.
