CWB Kenya Day 11

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Day 11 (Tuesday) -

Seven hours' uninterrupted sleep - a luxury indeed - and the prospect of another open-air breakfast in the sunshine. 'Delhi belly' has so far left few of the team unscathed, and the Squeaky Bum Seven are now unusually well acquainted with each other's intestinal idiosyncrasies. No matter: nothing will deny some of us another cholesterol-filled, midriff-enhancing 'full English' - eleven on the trot, to date (or should it be 'the trots'?). Will someone please pass me the Imodium?

Davis, our driver, is soon transporting us to the nearby Menengai High School for another full day's coaching, where an estimated 200 children will pitch up. The estimate proves ambitious when around 50 of all ages and sizes amble along for a 0930 start. No bad thing: we can now at least offer more individual coaching to those who attend.

Aussie Mick - the Windlesham Wunderkind - looks more than a little perplexed by the couple of cows that are muscling in on our coaching space: a sense of disbelief not dissimilar to that of a bowler who's been carted back over his head to the boundary? (Know the feeling, Mick...?)

Griff's body language suggests that he's well up for introducing today's session - a Wikipedia-length ramble through the past 31 years - but Dickie D steals his thunder just in time. In a two-hour coaching slot, there's little time available for a stroll down memory lane....

Recently appointed to the post of Master in Charge of Cones - a valued addition to an otherwise inglorious CV - I set about taking my responsibilities seriously. Before long the ground is bedecked with a myriad of multicoloured spheres, like a patchwork of green studded with Smarties.

The morning session, like the heat, is intense. 'WW' and I waste no time in setting up some fielding drills before moving the group on to wicket-keeping. The students themselves have an above-average grasp of each new skill, but more impressive still is their eagerness to improve. If only their western counterparts were equally well motivated.

Competitiveness is a given among African children. As we progress to a team game to practise the forward defence, it's clear that Mick's team and mine will be going head to head to win. (Mine do.) Other groups look equally accomplished, each enjoying the luxury of working with two coaches. Some coach bowling skills whilst our project leader concentrates on batting, leading this contributor at least to speculate whether an off day at Sussex CCC could ever have resulted in the name Donald Duck....

An afternoon session beckons at the nearby athletics stadium, where 10, 20, then 50 children arrive in stages. The ability to improvise is de rigueur when coaching in Africa, and we gradually find ourselves managing a game of pairs cricket with 26 children per side. The result is surprisingly close.

Back to base by around 1730 after a long day in the dust and heat. Time off from the Tusker for now, and an opportunity to visit the market and local shops. Cobblers, souvenir sellers and sundry snake oil salesmen rub shoulders with other commercial premises, these ramshackle outlets a far cry from the temples of consumerism to be found in an average UK city. Bullring or Bluewater: one shopping centre and you've seen a mall (if you'll forgive the pun...).

Evening calls after after a very full day, and we adjourn briefly to the nearby pavilion bar for some televised footie. 'Kimber's' batteries are now running on empty, however - the result of advancing years, or perhaps just too much sun. Whatever. It's time for bed.

RL

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