Citius, Altius, Fortius

I love the Olympics. It gives Kenya a chance to stand up and showcase their long- and middle-distance athletes who at the same time scare the wits out of other similar distance runners. The Olympics give Kenyans a chance to be proud of their flag and their national anthem.

That is until you consider the London Olympics.

It was not so much that we did not believe we had a great team. Heck, we all rallied behind and believed the Sports minister when he said that he expected our team to bring home thirty-six medals, with at least twelve gold medals in track.

We knew we would have Ethiopia, Morocco, and Algeria breathing down our necks, but that was not a problem. Our runners are good. No, cross out that. Our runners are the best. They had consistently won gold—silver, by default—in other pre-Olympics competitions and previous Olympic Games. It was a given that in London, we would have a few podium shut-outs, cinching the first three positions with saunter-in-the-park ease.

But alas! Alas! How our pride fizzled with the falls! We were haplessly disqualified in the first 400-meter relay heat after accomplishing a double feat of falling and managing to drag down with us the South Africans, who, mercifully, were redeemed after they appealed.

Brimin Kipruto, our homegrown, 3000m steeplechase gold material, fell, came in fifth, and what would you know, our supremacy on the steeplechase podium went flying out through the window thanks to a once-obscure, pesky Frenchman with an endless name, who snagged our silver medal—again! A repeat of Beijing in 2008.

And Kenya wept.

What could be more ironic? Mahiédine Mekhissi-Benabbab, the Frenchman, beat us by studying how we strategically run, what Rift Valley altitude? What plateaux? What something-in-the-water? It would also seem that Russia—Russia!—learnt a thing or two from watching our running techniques. They beat us soundly right on our turf in the women’s 800m race, oh, our dismay! Oh, the sorrow!

And Kenya wept some more.

I am not sure which is worse: losing to nations that in the history of athletics are not known for dominating in the long- and middle-distance track events, or watching formerly-Kenyan athletes running under a foreign flag. It is at first disconcerting watching these athletes run: they look like Kenyans, run like Kenyans, talk like Kenyans but have very un-Kenyan running vests and names. What heartens my soul with delightful malice—serves them right!—is when they lose. Miserably. Unlike Kenyans. That is until you consider the London Olympics, if you have been keeping up with me.

I, apparently, have not been the only Kenyan smirking in my Diasporan corner. Kenyans all over have had these cat’s-got-the-cream smirks on their faces for so many years that athletic gods decided to rain down their disapproval over a particular week in August 2012 in London.

Kenyan athletes not only hit one rough, un-Kenyan plateau but also took the Olympic Creed to heart: the most important thing was not to win but to take part, not to triumph but to struggle … and not make the podium if really lucky, or end up disqualified if really unlucky.

The Algerian who took the gold medal in  the men’s 1500m race (our race!) got himself almost barred by the International Association of Athletics Federations (IAAF) for—wait for it—showing “poor sportsmanship and a lack of effort” during a previous race, the 800m.  In the 1500m dash (when compared to the 10 000m jog, you see), he whizzed past our Kenyan runners who got nary a medal, and who I wish had shown a “lack of effort” too.

We are used to losing—what a painful word!—our first place to Ethiopia and Morocco and once in a while, we will cede our track prowess turf to Algeria and Tunisia and Uganda. But Turkey? Russia? The Czech Republic? Puerto Rico? France? Oh please! Bring me sackcloth and cover me in ashes. We Kenyans in particular and Africa in general no longer have the monopoly over our races. Can we blame this on the El Nino? Less snow on the peaks of Mt. Kenya? Desertification in the Sahara? A severe allergy to metals, namely gold, silver, and bronze?

Kenya took home eleven medals in London, only two of which were gold. Solid gold.

David Rudisha not only won the 800m gold but also set a new world record, running and finishing the race inside one minute and 41 seconds. 

Ezekiel Kemboi, the men’s 3000m steeplechase finalist, had French sports commentators waxing eloquent over him when once he had won the race, jumped into the arms of silver medalist, Mahiédine Bekhissi-Benabbab, swapped running vests with the French runner, and then ran the lap of honour wearing Bekhissi-Benabbab’s vest and holding high the Kenyan flag. This was a glimpse of the spirit of Pierre de Coubertin’s Olympics: nations coming together to compete well and honourably. The scene was brief, did not end the mother of all wars, but for a few minutes, it made spectators forget their differences and left a warm glow in our hearts.

So we may have not finished our races, we may have fallen, been disqualified, lost a race or two, struggled, watched the medals race past us, but proudly Kenyan, we will rise again.

Rio 2016: watch this space. We’ll be back, faster, higher, and stronger yet.