There are gyms and there are gyms.
The first type of gym most of us would find familiar. They are mushrooming all over Nairobi in a pattern that is repeated in any big city in the world. These gyms have rowing machines, exercise bikes, a wide variety of pulley driven machines with digital interfaces informing you of your heart rate and exactly how many calories you have burned in the last 60 seconds. MTV Base on one flat screen TV in one corner, CNN on another, local news on the third. Chargers for mobile phones and iPods are available if you ask nicely. They carry a selection of free weights, starting from 0.5 Kgs (which you are encouraged to hold as you “power walk” on the treadmill). These gyms offer a dazzling amount of extras outside the immediate gym room such as aerobic classes, massages, power showers and complimentary towels, a sauna here, a steam room there and of course a hefty membership fee. Examples of this kind of gym, to name just two of the hundreds across Nairobi, are the gym at Silver Spring Hotel and the one at Sarit Centre shopping mall. Those are gyms.
Then there are gyms. If you ever find yourself in the NEWA part of Ngummo in the late afternoon or very early morning and are feeling brave, stop any of the young men and ask them for directions to The Jungle. A walk down one of the side alleys, a quick side step around some dogs and you will find yourself in a backyard which has one gym bench (refurbished), a barbell (welded), and many many free weights, usually made from pouring cement into paint tins and chipping away to ensure the weights are balanced. No rowing machines or treadmills here, if you want to warm up, well that’s why the government is laying tarmac on the roads, get your jog on.
For the most famous, or perhaps infamous, example of this kind of gym in Nairobi you need to get yourself to Ololo better known as Kaloleni and ask for Big Boys. Have you ever wondered where those gorilla bouncers, gorilla freaks, muscle bound nutters you bump into work out? Most probably Big Boys. I remember being taken there by one of my bros, who is one of those Gorilla bouncers, and sitting outside listening to a bunch of muscle bound nutters talking about beans. Beans and beans and beans, the poor mans substitute for those crazy and very expensive muscle supplements.
Big Boys was what people in the gym trade call Chuma (chuma is Kiswahili for iron/metal). You don’t say you are going to the gym, you say you are going to Chuma (usually holding both hands in a fist around your chest and saying, “Chuma daddy!”. It certainly lives up to that name. A look around the room and you will see many weight lifting benches, many barbells and dumbbells and the craziest collection of free weights you have ever seen. We’re talking about 100 kgs dumbbells here and the like. (Although I understand that these days Big Boys has become gisty!) Want to warm up, forget treadmills and the like, grab a skipping rope. Apart from the numerous mirrors everything else in there is basically hard, cold, no nonsense metal. CHUMA daddy!
So what has all this got to do with presidential motorcades? True, Moi’s motorcade when he was president and Kibaki’s motorcade now share a lot in common. Both are packed full of brand new, armoured plated, dark blue Mercedes Benz. (Moi’s guys tried BMWs for a year or so but I do not see them around now, I wonder what happened to them.) Both motorcades are packed full of the crème de la crème (or total nutters depending on your point of view) of the Kenyan police force, the Presidential Escort Unit. Both motorcades are extremely secure, both are extremely lethal if you have the audacity (or stupidity depending on your point of view) to cross them.
There are some notable differences between the two.
Moi’s motorcade was like Big Boys. Big, powerful, no nonsense, hard, get-out-of-the-way-now-if-you-want-to-live and fast. Very very fast. Very very very fast. You never ever got a good look at Moi’s motorcade. To be honest you probably didn’t even see it coming. You would driving along, minding your own business, smelling the roses and all of a sudden you have a powerful police motorcycle next to you and police man shouting in your ear, his face so close you can smell the Embassy Kings on breath, telling you to pull over NOW. Usually by pointing a finger off the road and saying “huko” which is Kiswahili for “there”. It didn’t matter if “huko” was a bush, a ditch, a rock, just get off the road and do it fast. A couple of seconds later a big Mercedes, dark blue on the bottom and white on the top, with a single blue flashing light and constant high pitch siren, with no number plates, a big red sign which reads “Presidential Escort” would fly past, windows down with four scary looking “Echo Charlies”, as PEU are known, staring out, then a flurry, a blur, of motorcycles, Mercedes, Range Rovers, and 504 station wagon Peugeots carrying the Presidential Press Unit would fly past. Then another motorcycle and then, suddenly
silence.
Just like Keyser Söze, they are gone.
It may not have been pretty, it may not have been fancy, but damn, it was scary, efficient and effective. CHUMA daddy.
Then there is Kibaki’s motorcade.
First difference, everybody knows when Kibaki is going to pass. Why? Because these days they close roads almost TWENTY BLEEDING MINUTES before he turns up. You sit and you sit and you sit, people switch of their engines, get out of their cars and lean against the bonnet, newspaper vendors make a killing selling copies of those weeklies no one ever buys, and everyone is on their mobile phone saying, “I’ll be late, Baks is passing.”
Second difference, when the motorcade finally does turn up, boy oh boy, those guys must be listening to “Summertime” by Fresh Prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff
Every moment frontin and maxin
Chillin in the car they spent all day waxin
Leanin to the side but you can’t spead through
Two miles an hour so everybody sees you
Whereas Moi’s motorcade would constantly break the land speed record, Baks motorcade, after making you wait for 30 minutes, drives past moss moss like they don’t have a care in the world! Two miles an hour so everybody sees you!
Third difference, Kibaki’s full ceremonial motorcade is like whoa! I’m not taking the everyday, working-at-state-house version. I am talking about the one they unleash for state occasions or big events. The first time I saw the “full” motorcade was on the way to Nairobi Show on Wednesday which as we all know is “President’s day”. (What do you mean you didn’t know!). I was on Ngong Road when we were pulled over by the cops for the now customary 20 minute wait.
And when it came, my goodness. I like to think I am not easily impressed but I will readily admit that motorcade made the hairs on the back of neck stand up. Unfortunately it is illegal to record or take pictures of the motorcade otherwise I would have been snapping away. There was a row of brand new Rav4 Police SUVs, the PEU Recce team Mercedes and Range Rovers, then came the Presidential limousine flanked by six big, armoured plated S-Class Mercedes and they were flanked in turn by a squad of around 20 big BMW police motorcycles. Remember that Peugeot station wagon 504 that was used to ferry around the Presidential Press Unit in Moi’s days? We’ll they’ve upgraded it. A brand new Mercedes E Class station wagon, they stuck a metal rack on top of the merc and the journalist climbs on top with his video camera tripod and video camera. On top of a Mercedes! Have a look for yourself!
Click picture for a larger image.
Yes, this motorcade is impressive, 878 Million Kenyan shillings (12 million USD) impressive.
It is like there are two different philosophies at work here. Moi’s motorcade is a big no nonsense bouncer saying, “Do not even think about it” Kibaki’s motorcade is a bouncer saying, “Come on, have a good if you think you are hard enough.”
Moi’s motorcade – hard, no nonsense, CHUMA gym.
Bak’s motorcade – hard, fancy, Hilton gym.
© Mentalacrobatics for Mentalacrobatics, 2007. |
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