One day I will be a golfer

When Tiger Woods won the Masters in 1997, he punched in the air (with the leaderboard behind him), twirled his club, looked at his then caddy, Mike "Fluff" Cowan, walked over to him and hugged him. They had done it together. It was a feat that no one expected him to achieve when so young but he did it in style. Throughout the week, you could see tiger bending on the golf course listening intently to his caddy. There was a special relationship. One of trust and pure commitment.

So when a few weeks ago after morning run in Karura, I walked to Muthaiga to meet someone. Walking after a 15 km run is a good warm down. You barely feel your feet. You just go through the motions. Being a raining season, you hear the waterfalls from Kiambu road and birds chirping from Karura forest- a delight to your ears which makes you want to stop and take it all in- even the cars that are zooming past you can’t take away the moment. The road drifts away as the waterfall takes the airwaves.

We were to meet at 10 am. When I called the guy, he said he would be there in a few minutes. Kenyan version of do not be in a hurry, just wait for me. To have some tea as I waited for the guy. I scanned for the cleaner looking Kibanda. You know the one that is more pleasing to the eyes. Not because I am a clean freak, but because my eyes and my stomach always conspire. If my eyes do not like it, then chances are I cannot stomach it.

I sat at the shaded extension. The table was at the same level as the seat. By the way, why do kibanda people do that? Have seats and tables that are too uncomfortable. Ama it is a way of keeping you there for a long as you eat.  But you cannot pay 20 bob for tea and expect comfort. Now you know why the same tea costs 200 bob somewhere else. You’re paying for the comfort, and no smoke.

These vibandas were opposite the Muthaiga Golf Course, Nairobi County painted stalls that stood there behind the police like and aide de camp. I found it ironical when the city council guys brought them down a few weeks later. I wondered why they were brought down- maybe they were an eye sore the guests of the prestigious golf course or a security threat to the police station next door.  

I ordered for two chapati bandika, because what it Kibanda life without chapo bandika and some black tea. Chapati bandika is chapo and eggs. Counterproductive, right? But I run as hard as I eat. As I settled down to down my breakfast. I noticed I am the only one who ordered for a light meal. Most guys were asking for beef fry and Ugali. Liver and Ugali. Minji and Three chapos. But the most interesting guy was the one who asked for ‘kawaida.’ It turned out that kawaida is black peas, chapatti and ugali. A lethal combination. After eating that, you can walk to Ngong and back and still be full.

The guys were dressed in sport shoes. They had these tired shoulders and strong hands- some bigger than their heads. They were seasoned hands. Hands that have seen it all. Hands older than the bearers. They couldn’t construction workers because those guys eat breakfast on site and it was too late to be having breakfast. And certainly they weren’t cops. Cops look like cops.

They were caddies.

Though they spoke in hushed tones, with a lingo for the affluent, had some finesse and a polished demeanor. Because they spend most of their day in then golf course, they interacted with important people and that had rubbed off. Though they still had some edges, there was something gentlemanly in how they did their things. How they ordered their meals. Using fork and knives. Their posture.  Had they been older, they would have looked like guys who had fallen from royalty. Those that had tasted the best things in life until life gave then a curve ball. They were different in this ordinary setting. They belonged without belonging.

This was their morning routine. I assumed they needed to go to the course full. Their day job demanded so much of them. They spent most of their time walking or standing carrying  a heavy bag full of clubs probably without eating something else from one end of the course to the other. From the teeing point to the green.

I must admit, the first time I went to a country club I was stunned by the expansive greenery. How can a place have so much vast and green land and such tall mature trees? It was 1998, a Sunday afternoon after church.

We sat at the terrace of Karen Country Club and had lunch. I had rice and meat- which I later learnt is called steak. Had tomato sauce, again, I would learn it was Ketchup. I remember very well because after going back home, I wanted to be like one of those guys swinging those stick-now I know they are called clubs. I went home and started imitating those swings. My uncle had two golf bags with clubs all sizes. I couldn’t touch them, but I marveled at them.

Something was calling me, something is still calling me. One day I will be a golfer. Not for class or anything, but to live a childhood dream.

So that’s why a few weeks ago, I had a dream. I had a dream being a professional golfer. Everything felt so real and tangible. When I woke up, my bed felt like a golf course. The green-well lawned and inviting. I could feel the grass on my neck piercing in a comforting way. The day is still vivid in my mind: Squatting on the green as I waited to putt. My caddy standing next to me whispering something. All the spectators silent with the stewards raising placards written ‘silence.’ It is all clear. One day it will happen. One day I will swing the club, win a tournament and maybe punch in the air when I putt. One day.

The same morning, I woke up from the dream. I passed by Muthaiga to find the kiosks gone. Flattened. The only trace that remains are the rubbles. I felt some sadness. Maybe I will never meet those guys again. In the kibanda, or maybe I will, on a golf course this time.

I wondered what has become of the caddies, did they get a cafeteria somewhere inside the golf course? Where do they eat nowadays? What became of the women who served them their early morning meals? What has become of their family? Are they starving somewhere or have they found new ways to survive? After all, we are Kenyans, we always find a way to survive. We do.

I may never know if they found a new kibanda, but I do know that every morning they have to make their way to the golf course. Either on an empty stomach or a full stomach from another kibanda. I also do know that one day I will end up on that course and my caddy will never carry a full bag on an empty stomach.

The next time I went to Karen, it was 2016, during Karen Masters. This time as a photography assistant. The mystery was still there, and but something in my heart was reignited.

One day, I will walk on that green as I putt on the 18^tth hole. And maybe I will have the same grin as Tiger woods did when he won his first masters in 1997.

Image source: www.sbnation.com