Long distance virginity

I have kept it for a very long time, this virginity of mine. Even in secondary school, when it was the craze to just go out and lose it, I stuck to my guns and kept my things intact. I lost it on 23rd November, 2008…yes, it was memorable, left me exhausted…and it lasted quite a while; that goes against what I’ve heard about how long it usually lasts. I went in with all the odds stacked against me; let me illustrate…

I was supposed to travel with friends to Masaka on Friday evening but somehow it got late and my exhaustion and premonitions kicked in so I bailed out. Anyway, I woke up Saturday morning, packed my kanzu and made my way to Masaka to join my buddies for a Kwanjula. I got there at 1300hours to find that the bakko had arrived. Bakko are those people who come to an introduction ceremony late and make you have a very late lunch (grumble…grumble). We all did a ‘muzimbi’ shower, threw on our kanzus and headed to the kwanjula tents. For the uninitiated, a ‘muzimbi’ shower involves showering with enough water to fill a cup; I’ll spare you the details but I feel the Emry’s has better illustrations. This is not to imply, in any way, that the Emry’s takes muzimbi showers.

We spent a big part of the day standing around, carrying presents, sipping sodas and generally being on our feet. As the day progressed, it slowly came to sink in: the girl had taken from right under our noses! As the ceremony began to show signs of being a done- deal, we weighed our options; go to Masaka town and party, stay at the Kwanjula and try to party (which we’d have to do sober since it was a soda-only occasion), or travel back to Kampala and paint the town indigo (exotic like that…). Naturally, we chose option 3.

A lot of noise was made on our way back, a journey during which we cracked a window and we had to take turns holding it in place. Might I add that we were about 10 people traveling in a Super Custom. We got to Kampala at 11pm and headed straight to Kampala rugby club. The crowd was really big, and all the vacists had turned up in gear…you know- vests, boxers and some other such underwear; being in too big a hurry to dress-up comes with growing up. We were a big group so we took over and sealed off a section. The colonization involved walking in a ‘drunken stupor’ to some people seated at a table and initiating a conversation loud enough for the DJ to hear (even though he was at least 10m away and was wearing those DJ headsets). A number of lap dances later and after quite some bumping and grinding, we relocated to Fat Boyz…the parking lot was full of people. I think that as a country, we are starting to take ‘hanging out’ too literally…the building was empty but the parking lot…man! Anyway, was with my crew till 4:00 pm when I figured…”Hey, you have work to do later today.”

Hit my sack and 2 hours later, had to wake up and go lose the virginity…twas a struggle(…the getting up I mean). Got there in time and found everyone getting charged. Took time off to say hullo to some faces I knew; Ok, truth be told, I hid from some. I kept thinking: You travelled to Masaka yesterday, you spent the day on your feet, you barely ate the whole day, you travelled back, went hanging, didn’t eat a thing, drunk some, slept for two hours…and you expect to make it? Honestly? Won’t you collapse? You may faint…there is still time to pull out…

Truth be told I was excited in a way. At being there. We set off at about 7:30am. There was a sea of yellow in front of us, and a sea of yellow behind us. There were people everywhere. And where there are people, there are stray comments.

“I am not running for life, I am running for money”

“I am so fast, I scare myself”

One friend to another: “Eh, there are so many people ahead of us. When will we ever pass all of them if we are already walking yet we’ve just started the race?”

The friend: “Relax. We’ll pass them as we walk downhill”

Trot. Trot. Trot. Trot. That’s my friend and I. Trotting past thousands, sticking to our pace.

People are surging forward. Some running. Some are actually sprinting. We have 10km to go, how can you possibly be sprinting now? Some are already walking. 10km to go!

There are young kids here. 10 year olds or thereabouts.

Trot. Trot. Trot. I feel the muscles actually strain to take in the hill as we climb it. There are people ahead of me as far as the eye can see. There are even more behind me. We keep going. We ignore the water points. Another hill. Now we are going downhill. Good thing is I’m bad with roads, so I keep thinking we are a few kilometers from the end. I’m sweating through the ears now. Still running past people. Start to feel the strain. They say the body can take it, but can the mind? Mine always fails me…The legs are starting to feel heavy. This is when I start to bargain with God; I can’t give up here! I have to set a personal best. We keep going. He stops to do his laces. I stop…and it is on record that once I stop, that’s it. We start again. I feel we have 2 km to go, the guy next to me is chanting that we have 8km to go!! Could have tackled him right there…people are drenched! Mineral water bottles are strewn all over the place. We keep going. The laces get undone again. We stop. And start again shortly. I think I’ll just fall and die, but I don’t want to be the one to give up; not now. I think it’s like 1km to go. But I have been saying that to myself for the last 10 or so minutes. Then his bloody shoe laces get undone again, and I give up…crap, I’ve done too much. I look behind me and the whole world is there. We walk a bit. Then he jogs off. I figure I now really have about 1 km to go but I’m spent, I’m walking, have no one to trot with so it’s just me and my pep talk. I need to get jogging again…can’t quite do it. I walk. Then I realize I’m not too far off…and I start to jog, very slowly at first till I get to my usual pace. There are people at the roadside chanting…

“You can make it”

“Keep going, you are almost there”

Morale boosting does wonders. I keep going. Then I pass a guy humphing on, with a radio on playing some good stuff…and I keep going.

Then I look up and see it. It’s like seeing the oasis in a desert. Like getting a free four course meal. Like getting those things they promise suicide bombers…

The FINISH LINE!

I try to do that Kipsiro thing of sprinting to the finish line and my muscles crunch up…I figure it’s better to get there Sleek style(slow, strained and dignified) than not to get there at all while trying to be a Kipkemei.

I did 1:04:22. I played rugby for 6 years, was never really fit and I HATED the jogging. That MTN marathon was my first out-and-out long distance run, though all the odds were stacked against me…Finally broke that long distance virginity…twas worth the wait.