Action opens floodgate of sweet memories

The Games of the 31st Olympiad (XXXI) are underway and I am here where they are.

Many people are asking me to write about the Kenya team.

I am crushed by the weight of their expectations. I have received many emails from our Nation Sport readers and to their complimentary comments, I bow again and again.

Obrigado, that’s how they say “thank you” in Portuguese.

But yet again, I must apologize. I didn’t come to Rio de Janeiro to cover the competition; I came here on a separate journalistic assignment to write about human rights for my scholarship funders, Agencia Publica.

I am in buses, trains and taxis when I am not writing or sleeping. I have targeted a selection of sports and events to watch and it will be fun being there as just a spectator.
I have almost no time to interact with our sportsmen and women.

I desperately miss this. I enjoy watching them sweat and pant. In years gone by, I loved sharing an ice cream or a fruit salad with them. Having one-on-one conversations

Almost nothing can beat the experience of sitting at a table and having one-on-one conversations with athletes about their families, their rivals, their cows and goats and chickens and the smells, sounds and sights of Kenya.
When we are at home together, we take each other for granted. We ignore calls and don’t return them.

UNGODLY HOUR

But when we are far away from home together, we appreciate each other. We belong to the world together. I noticed this when I covered my first big international competition, the Commonwealth Games of Brisbane, Australia, in 1982.

As long as you are sensitive to their competition time table and don’t call at an ungodly hour, you’ll get your story.

I don’t want to dwell too much on this because I will be affected, remembering my days as a reporter, the best times of my professional life, which are now gone forever. With grace, I should accept this inexorable passage of time.

My good colleague, Steve Omondi, will ably cover the competition and allow me the fortune of writing my musings about Rio de Janeiro on the side of my assignment. I appreciate this very much and wish him good luck and the promise of a drink when the job is done.

******* ******* *******

One by one, my Casa Publica housemates are leaving.

They have finished their assignments. First, the Italians, then the French, and now the Chilean crew.

I have interrupted the writing of this chronicle to say goodbye to Alejandro and Jonge.

A lump of something has caught in my throat as I watch them board their Uber taxi to the airport. Me, am here for the long haul.

To the end of the Olympics, Rio de Janeiro will be my home away from home.