Ride Of Life.

I once came across a theory that we should often try to do things we don’t exactly like or derive a lot of joy from. That’s one way of growing in capacity and character. Life will not always grant everything on our wish list, so I see it as one of those counterintuitive exercises we do to increase our endurance.

Last week, I did one such exercise when I was down at the coast with my baby sharks for a swimming competition. By the way, it’s just hit me that the labels we give our kids have power. I have called them baby sharks since they were toddlers. Now they are true sharks, literally eating up seconds in the water and swimming quite well. This was the first out-of-town meet for my son. Sensing that he was a bit anxious, I decided to go and support him, as well as his sister, who is more experienced in such meets.

They had both left earlier in the week with their respective swimming clubs, and I followed on Wednesday on the 3 p.m. train to Mombasa. I’ve been a frequent user of the SGR—I’m committed to helping my government pay the loan for it, hehe. It’s been a reliable and cost-effective mode of getting my clan to the coast on holiday. That’s especially true during the festive season, when the cost of local flights is like flying from Nairobi to Mombasa via Doha, hehe.

We all arrived safely at different times at our different residences in Mombasa. The swimming competition began on Thursday, and I met my totos at the Bandari Maritime Academy about mid-morning. The gala was already underway. I was happy to see my kids in their element, competing alongside their age-mates. I think they were happy to see me too, although, as teenagers, they give you that look of, ‘Ooh, Dad, you are here? Thanks, but when are you leaving?’

I consoled myself that quality time is what counts. We spent two days together, having chats here and there, recording their swims and buying them electrolytes, lemon water, and the things that swimmers usually require at galas. You could say I was the errand dad, hehe. I was to stay through to the end of the gala on Sunday and return on the Monday train. However, by the end of day two, I felt they were all right to continue with the other kids who didn’t have the luxury of having their dad or mum at the event. So, we had a chat on Friday jioni and agreed I could hepa that coastal sauna. It felt like we were baking in that heat.

Trains are fully booked at this time of the year as Kenyans do their equivalent of the wildebeest migration at the Mara. Folks are heading down to the coast to end the year by making merry and resting kidogo. I decided to go back home by bus—not that I had a choice. I Googled bus companies for the best deal on price, but more so on comfort and safety. It’s been more than twenty years since I last took a bus to the coast or back. I settled for Mash Poa because their website was better than the other companies’ were. I would soon find out that their service wasn’t as impressive as their site.

I called them and booked a VIP seat. That’s what they called it, although it was just a seat with more leg space at the front of the bus. I didn’t consider which side the sun was setting on, so it roasted me properly for most of the trip, more because the VIP section didn’t have curtains to shield us from it. I had a good neighbour at least, so we encouraged each other through our ordeal. The driver was spinning that bus like a boda and occasionally shouted some choice words at the other road users. My VIP section turned out to be a Very Intense Place with the road rage and the sun.

At least the wilderness outside was comforting because I love the outdoors. I even caught a glimpse of an elephant as we cruised through the Tsavo National Park. I decided to retreat into my mind to escape this situation that I was trapped in for several hours. I tried to remember the last bus trip I took, and how I have evolved in the years since then. We do change over time, and it’s important to have occasions where we can compare and contrast whether time has changed us for better or worse.

I remember Nelson Mandela being described as having the ability to dine comfortably with the Queen of England and still be at home in the ghetto of Soweto. I’d love to possess that ability. I decided that if I got to Nairobi without making too much of a fuss, then I had endured that trip with grace. And I should exhibit similar grace as I would when taking a comfortable flight.

I think we should intentionally go back to a place we were many years ago and reflect on the journey we have taken. At the bare minimum, we should come out grateful for the ground covered. I felt like whatever measure of success I have achieved thus far hasn’t changed me too much if I could jump onto an old bus and hurtle down to Nairobi in ten hours. Some throwback experiences are still good to keep tabs on, because life can take us back there through its many twists and turns. May we grow and enjoy our achievements, especially the milestones we have achieved by midlife. But let us not forget where we came from, and that what mattered then may still matter now.

Doing things we don’t enjoy, in a sense, keeps us grounded. We see other people as fellow travellers through life. Being together in that bus with our overzealous driver was an equaliser of sorts. It didn’t matter what we did or how we ended up there; here we were looking forward to arriving in Nairobi, which, thankfully, we all did.

I now know that the bus remains an option even when I have the choice to drive myself to the coast. Life is better with options. May our success and advancement not narrow our view to thinking that we can only do things beyond a certain standard. Stay open, folks, and revisit old paths. There is still some good to glean from the paths we walked a long time ago. At the very least, it should enhance our gratitude.