Volume One wasn’t strictly a swimming lesson, but there was a pool involved … well … sort of. This lesson wasn’t a lesson at all, but again, there was a pool and bathing suits involved.

My princess and I love swimming. When we lived in Dar, we hit the pool every week, and sometimes, we’d even go to the beach. The downside of swimming in the ocean is it has tiny little creatures … like urchins … and crabs … and some microscopic things that bite like needles.  So while the current makes for great exercise, the living things sometimes cause injuries. Then, you have to get home and try shaking out the sand. There’s also the chance of having your clothes … or your baby … stolen, so I could never quite relax while swimming at the beach.

Pools, on the other hand, rule. Except, of course, for the chlorine.

We’ve been back in Nairobi for a year now, but somehow we haven’t gotten to the pool. Sadili Oval is just a short walk from my house, but I imagined it was quite expensive. Turns out it’s only a sock per head, making it a very viable option.

So, some Saturdays ago, we decided to have a swimming treat. I like to hit the water in the morning, to make full use of what I paid to enter. The system in Dar was to reach the pool at 9 when it was opening. I’d swim for maybe an hour, before the crowds arrived. We’d have the whole place to ourselves, and it was pretty fun. Great bonding.

By 10 or 11, the world would arrive. It was pretty small pool, so I’d get out, wrap up in some shukas … um … khangas … [lesos?], find a seat in the sun, plug in my headphones, and get lost in a book while princess played up to the crowds. She’s totally a people-person and I totally am … not. It’s not that I’m bad with crowds. I get along with humans really, really well. I just prefer not to, that’s all. So I’d sit and read for hours and she’d attend to her subjects. At 5 or 6 o’clock, we’d leave and take a tuktuk home. The pool had the best fries and samosas, so there’d be a food break in between.

Anyway, the game plan for Sadili was to leave the house at 9, but the aerial went rogue on us. The TV had been showing rice for weeks and the resident aerial guy was in shags for Christmas. He came back that Friday and spent hours on the roof with no luck. So we had to wait for him to do his thing, and princess was in a hurry. After several hours of tweaking, the TV was still showing rice, but at least now it was coloured rice – with sound.

We left for the pool at 1.00. Princess wanted to take a matatu, but I suggested we stroll instead. It was a nice walk, though we had to ask for directions. Civil Servants Estate has grown, apparently.

We arrived at Sadili to be told we couldn’t swim. Something about a broken pump and chemicals. Crap. We walked back to the stage looking miserable and decided to hit Lang’ata Hyper for the bouncy castle. I toyed with the idea of Nyayo Stadium, but I was a bit worried. The reason I was hesitant is because the pool is public and the water is green. Plus, we often swam there as kids, and the water always went over our heads. So, princess and I got into a 15 planning to get off at Uchumi, but then decided to just check out Nyayo. If it was too deep, we could always leave.

The Stadium is larger than I remember, and we spent 15 minutes just walking round in circles. For some strange reason, I couldn’t trace my way into the pool. Eventually, we found it and paid 150/= for the pair of us. The changing rooms were just as I remembered, but the seating stones were empty. Yay! There was a guard at the gate, so there were no idlers ogling the swimmers. There were even a few lifeguards giving lessons.

We changed and put our bag down, then I grabbed a wooden floater for my baby. The lifeguard roughly made me take it back, which I did with a lot of *russumfussums*. I slid into the water first, just to see how deep it was. Princess followed me, and the water came as far up as her chest. She’s taller than I thought!

And then the trouble began.

Nyayo Stadium has an Olympic pool. That’s 25 by 50 metres. By comparison, her school pool is a bathtub. The volume of the pool meant the water was c-c-c-c-coooooold. I didn’t mind this, since it felt awesome to be in a real pool again, but my poor baby was suffering. She jumped out of the pool every few seconds and eventually decided to just sit and bask.

I didn’t want to leave her all alone, especially since the basking spot was far. The edges of the pool were raised, so if I was swimming and she was basking, I couldn’t see her. I kept getting these flashes of that nightmare scene from Minority Report. Plus, I couldn’t see that many people sunning, so I half expected the lifeguard to make us stop.

I did a few more laps, 6 widths and 4 lengths. It felt awesome to be swimming again – actually swimming not just splashing around in a  bathtub. Then I stepped out to join her. We didn’t lie down, because I was still afraid of the lifeguard. He had been rather brusque with me earlier. Princess had wanted a kickboard, so she made me ask for one.

At first, I wanted her to ask. After all, she wanted it, and she needs to learn to do stuff for herself. But I guess she reads people better than me. She took one look at the lifeguard guy and chickened out. I sulked for a bit then asked on her behalf … and nearly had my head chewed off. Apparently, kickboards aren’t for kids. They’re strictly for training … which you have to pay for … at 5,000/= per session. *russumfussum*

Anyway, we sat with our legs crossed on the concrete, enjoying the sun and watching people. After a while, princess started to giggle, because apparently, a puddle was forming around me.

‘Mum, is that really water or … something else?’

For the record, she didn’t censor *something else*.

I looked at the puddle and was puzzled myself. Where could all that water be coming from?! I decided to blame the hair.

We’d been sitting for a while when the girls showed up. Well, three girls and a guy, all ice cream and make up. The guy sat on the stone seats while the girls went into the water. Mr Lifeguard stopped them because one of them had a boobtop and black tights which, apparently, is not swimwear. He made her get one from the office – for a fee I guess. The process took half an hour, since someone had lost the keys, but the rented suit was really pretty hot, halter neck and beads. Very sexy.

Then the guys showed up. They must have come in turns, but all I know is suudenly there were hot bodies all over the pool. I was probably ovulating, because there can’t be that many hot men in one spot at the same time. This is Nairobi, not Baywatch.

There was this one pair of guys, one had dreads. They swam maybe two lengths, then stretched themselves out next to us. The first thing I noticed was the dreads, and the fact that he was lying on a bright pink kikoi. I mean … really?

Then I noticed the other girls were staring at him, and that they all suddenly came to lie around him. He had this loose circumference of girls pretending not to see him, but obviously drooling. A few of them did orchestrated stretches, probably flaunting their assets, but all I could see was the guy. I don’t even remember what his friend looked like.

For some reason, I looked over at Princess, and noticed that she was staring too, and she’s only eight!! She looked back at me and we both smiled, then turned to look at something else. Seems we have common taste in men. Hehehe.

There was another guy in the pool. Nice abs, but he had a swimming cap. There’s something very wrong with dudes in swimming caps. Next, I noticed this white girl walking round the pool. She kept going back and forth for like an hour. I don’t know what she wanted, but in the end, she changed and got  into the pool. None of the lifeguards approached her.

Some kids arrived, but it was getting late and princess clearly didn’t want to swim, so we got up and left. We’d only spent an hour – maybe two, but we were both pretty happy until the makanga saga. I still wonder about the dreaded boy with pink. I wonder if he knew the girls were ogling him, or if he cared. If he did, he sure knows how to hide it. But then again, he was lying on pink with a man …

Really, I did. And I’m pretty sure someday is one word *russumfussumeditorial* Anyway, I fished the watch right out because all my other watches had … allergies … and I needed to keep the watch that lived.

I’ve written about my watch allergies once before, but I can’t seem to find it in my archives. I really need to stop getting rid of old posts during tantrums. Anyway, what happens is my watches tend to randomly stop. And when I give them to someone else, they work fine. I’ve had a digital watch that blinked for no reason, and at least two manual watches that were ticking backwards … kind of like mine is right now.

The watches work fine once I put them down or give them away, and I once had a jug full of pseudo-zombie time pieces, so one Chinese doctor said I had too much iron in my blood. He said my inner-body metals were messing with the magnetism. The only cure was heavy pads and mercury, apparently.

He sold my dad an eerie green watch with strange writings on its face. It had a spinning metal dial, a rubber back panel, and a bright plastic strap. Also, it told time … and matched my uniform. It lasted for four years before it fell into a lake at Cataracts. At the time of falling, it was firmly attached to my hand. That was fun.

A friendly villager fished it out … literally … with a wooden raft and wire fishing pole … after my buddies dragged my soaked self to the shore. Sadly, I wasn’t in a t-shirt and there were no boys to see, so there.

Anyway, a while back, my mum bought me a watch. Actually, she bought it for my baby, but mine was digital and hers was prettier, so we exchanged. My watch – the one I gave her – was a Bench worth £40. The one I took was … not. Naturally, mum was not amused. But the watch proved quite popular, and a street vendor almost tried to grab it off me when I asked for new batteries. It’s such a pretty little thing.

Months later, the watch hasn’t died, and I love that its back side looks like a bracelet – no pun intended. Today, I dropped it in the toilet. After a long day that involved standing in the queues of three different banking halls, I felt pretty drained. One bank had a long line but really fast cashiers. Another bank had 14 counters, 2 tellers … and one of them was bitchy. The third ‘bank’ had an express counter, so I was in and out in minutes. God I hate banks.

Anyway, I got home dead exhausted and stopped by the John to … you know … John. I noticed some uniform that I’d soaked last night and forgotten about. The water was now an odd shade of purple, which is weird, because the uniform is white and blue.

I started to pull it out of the bucket, then remembered that my watch might get wet, so I took it off. Somewhere amid that process, I heard a desperate splash and … well … my hand went right in after it! I wasn’t giving up the watch that lived. Ala! I dried the parts I could see, placed it on the window sill, and waited.

Half an hour later, the screen was all misty but the watch was alive, so I pried the back open and tried to pull out the winding thingie.

That didn’t work.

I tried again. Is it supposed to bend like that? Oopsie!

I ignored the now warped wires and squeezed in a cotton bud to clean the window. It got pretty clean, though some fluff wrapped round the hour hand. I reassembled the watch, glad to see it was still working, and tried to bend the warped winding thingie back into shape. Er … well … it sort of ended up in three separate pieces … with leftovers … like this.

Sigh.

Still, the glass was clean, the hands were moving, and if I gripped the wire with my nails, I could still set the time. I grinned, updated Facebook, and continued with my day.

A short while later, I glanced at my wrist out of habit. It was ticking backwards. Sigh. Another one bites the … um … there must be some appropriate phrase that deals with toilet water. I’ll think about it later. In the meantime, goodbye pretty watch. You have served me well.

Mum, any more where that came from?