A Fast Man

A Kenyan Parable

Jonah was a well-known runner in Kenya. He was a prideful man, often known for bouts of boasting.

"I'm more of a sprinter," he'd say. "Faster than any of the marathoners in the whole of Africa."

"Yes, but can you even run a marathon?" chided Jane, his sister. She knew all the ways to get under his skin.

"Let me tell you something, little sister," said Jonah. "I can sprint a marathon."

"Wow, now that's a very big claim, big brother."

"You know, I'm a man of action, little sis," he quipped.

"Wow. You know there's a marathon coming up in Mombasa? I even hear some of the best Tanzanian marathoners will be there."

"Are you egging me on, Jane?"

"You only call me Jane when you're afraid."

"That's not true and you know it."

"Just to prove my point to my little sis, I'm gonna sprint that marathon."

She stared back at him.

He stared at her.

"Well, I've got some training to do," he said as he got up and left.

Three weeks later at Mombasa, Jonah stood at the start line in a sprinter's position. Jane stood by the sidelines. She was a supportive sister after all.

"10–9–8–7–6–5–4… mark your places… 2…"

Boom sounded the firing shot of the gun.

Jonah sprinted ahead as if he only had 100 meters to go. Then he sprinted another 200 meters. 300. 400.

The crowd went wild.

"Look at that super hero!" they cried.

"He has endless power!"

"Hip hip hooray!"

"He's superhuman!"

"I wonder if he's married," whispered a young woman to her girlfriend.

The accolades flowed like a waterfall, giving Jonah fuel.

He sprinted on and on and on and on.

The Tanzanian marathoners followed in second, third, and fourth place far behind Jonah.

"Perhaps we've met our match."

"I've never seen a Kenyan run that fast," remarked another.

On mile four, Jonah felt a pang. A sharp cutting pang that sent electric shocks all the way down to his ankles.

He plunged onto his knees. Then his palms.

The crowd looked on aghast.

Jane peered on—sprinting towards the brother who she had egged on.

When she reached him, he could barely speak. He curled like a baby before her.

"I love you little sis. I love you Jane," he whispered.

Then he closed his eyes.

They never opened again.

The marathon continued. All the runners passed him.

The Tanzanians won it. They took first, second, and third.

Jonah's start had been the fastest in history. He was right. No one had ever done it before.

A story by Pemba Umoja