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Route
Summary
This post covers the long-anticipated arrival at the Shoe 4 Africa Children’s Hospital, my farewell to Rocky, meeting Toby Tanser, and my experience at the hospital itself. My apologies for the lengthy post; I usually try to keep them concise, but I want this one to be complete.
Full Text
I woke up on Saturday morning at 12:30 after 13.5 uninterrupted hours of sleep (over 6 hours past my alarm). Thankfully, I felt good. After brunch, we made our way back to the road to finish running 15 km to the hospital. I couldn’t wait to get there. Ironically, Toby Tanser was out with healthy kids doing a running club for the day, but I figured we would just show up and see what happened.
Fortunately, I was able to hobble enough to maintain a 15-minute mile pace without aggravating my stomach or back abrasions too much. We ran on pleasant, flat dirt roads through farm fields and increasingly nice houses. Rocky stayed close behind, and we ran in peaceful silence.
We emerged onto a paved road and checked the map—4 km to the hospital. Rocky said, “Can you believe it? After hundreds and hundreds of kilometers, now just four.” For the first time all day, I started to feel some semblance of excitement. In those last four kilometers, waves of emotion overcame me. Initially, I’d thought 1,000 km would be a relatively easy goal, considering I had run much farther in the Canadian winter. But this trip has challenged me in ways I never could have imagined.
More than anything, I felt overwhelmingly grateful that my efforts were dedicated to the kids we were about to meet. There could be no failure knowing that, regardless of my injuries, pain, infections, etc., the only thing that mattered now was helping the kids.
Still, I have to admit there was a strange sense of anticipation as I walked up. I both hoped to see impoverished people in terrible suffering and excellent treatment alleviating that suffering. It feels a bit psychopathic to say, but I’d be really upset if it turned out the hospital was only treating mild coughs. The point is that this is supposed to be the place alleviating the real, deep suffering of Africa, right? I had already seen plenty of poorly staffed health clinics that people don’t even bother visiting for serious problems.
At 6 p.m., Rocky took a video of me running down the driveway into the hospital. Before walking inside, I wiped the grin off my face and braced myself to meet children in pain. We approached a security guard and explained that we were visitors to the hospital. He asked for my ID, and before I could take it out, he said, “Actually, don’t worry about it. Just go in.” I asked if we should have an escort. He said, “No, it’s fine, just go.”
What a welcome! As we walked, I felt as if I had finally entered a haven amidst the chaos of Africa. Yes, we heard plenty of crying and saw many sick children in the wards, but we also saw kids laughing and playing. The hospital has a backyard with green grass where parents lounge with their children.
We saw rooms packed full of people and beds. The staff insisted that Saturday evenings were quiet, yet we saw hundreds of children. With over 200 beds, the hospital has three times as many inpatients as St. Jude’s 70 beds. In the cancer ward, kids had visible tumors on their heads and other parts of their bodies. I imagined that any suffering I had endured over the past months couldn’t compare to going through chemotherapy as a child. Yet, somehow, the kids smiled at us. I thought of all the times when I felt I was in too much pain to wave at people or smile hello during my run and made a mental note that you can never be in too much pain to smile.
Parents waved at us and nodded with respect. For better or worse, in Africa, locals often equate ‘white person’ with money, doctor, or both. I sensed that the parents knew I was supporting the hospital in some way.
We walked through the entire hospital and found ourselves on the roof at sunset. It was a wonderful moment. The anticipation was over. We had helped a truly great cause. Rocky remarked that although the hospital was full, all the fancy equipment was in use, and the beds were packed, it didn’t feel stuffy or overcrowded. This was a true specialized hospital—the only place for impoverished kids (the majority of children) in East Africa to receive advanced care such as surgery, cancer treatment, neurological services, and other life-saving treatments.
Compounded with the joy of raising money for a great cause was the sadness of saying goodbye to Rocky—he would return to Tanzania as soon as possible to attend to his business. After three weeks together on a crazy adventure, I could hardly believe we were parting ways. We went to the bus station together, and just like that, he was off to Nairobi and then Tanzania.
Sunday
The next day, I woke up with no phone service and no Rocky to help. My SIM card had been locked, and I didn’t know how to unlock it. I scoured the streets of Eldoret all morning, but everyone was in church (apparently 80% of people here go to church).
Finally, around 11, I found a kind shop owner who gave me her extra SIM card for free. I called Toby Tanser right away—the man who built the hospital and inspired my entire “Run to the man who ran to Kilimanjaro,” starting in Tanga many months ago. He had been waiting at the hospital all morning.
I raced over on a motorbike, feeling only a little guilty for not running, and met him in his office. The room was filled with a mix of kids’ toys and African cultural objects. Toby greeted me with a smile, making me feel welcome right away. He looks like a movie star—well over six feet tall, slender, with well-kept hair—and he also sounds like a movie star, with a charming British accent.
I was curious about almost every aspect of his life. He has spent most of his adult life as a nomad and immigrant in various countries. Born and raised in England, he bounced around a lot in his late teens and twenties before finding his way to New York, where he built a life coaching runners, writing books and articles, managing the NYC Marathon, and then collecting running shoes to bring to Africa.
To me, he’s a perfect example of a kaleidoscope career (a term I just discovered 🙌), pivoting at every opportunity for a bigger challenge or deeper meaning. From professional runner to building East Africa’s only public children’s hospital, and now building sub-Saharan Africa’s only children’s cancer hospital. In a few years, Shoe 4 Africa will treat more children than any other health center in all of Africa—and the man behind it has not a single credential in healthcare, as he says.
We ended up spending the entire day together, and the time flew by. We talked about New York. His descriptions reminded me of the way my parents talk about it. It’s the only city in the world where you can bump into anyone on the street. Working in fundraising, he talked about his wins and all the missed opportunities. He went to an event with Hugh Jackman, not knowing who he was, and asked what he was doing on March 11 (six months away). Jackman said, “I don’t know. What am I doing?” Toby replied, “You’re running the New York City Half Marathon with me.” Six months later, Jackman ran it wearing a Shoe 4 Africa t-shirt, raising money for the charity.
In one missed opportunity, Toby and his wife, Chelimo, were sitting in front of Alicia Keys on a bus to another run. Alicia noticed Chelimo, who is beautiful and from Kenya, and said hello to them. They were too starstruck and only said hello back, even though Alicia had presumably invited them to have a conversation. 'The only failure is failing to try; everything else is success,' he insisted.
Despite his love for the city, I sensed that Toby had no desire to return to New York—he was right at home here in Eldoret. He said that when friends used to ask him about life in Kenya, he would say, “Oh, it’s great!” After many years, he added the condition, “if you have money.” I agreed with him that I wouldn’t want to be poor in Africa. I’ve always thought of New York as a dog-eat-dog world, but in Africa, there’s no government support, no welfare, public social programs, or unemployment benefits. You’re on your own… well, your village will help you, but just remember that your neighbors also live in poverty.
I asked Toby about a line in his book stating that when you work in charity, it’s not as important to have money because the world takes care of you. In response, he explained the trauma of his second brain surgery, which caused a perspective shift for him in many ways. He had just committed to the project of building the hospital and subsequently gave up all his paying jobs. Then, while riding his bicycle in Manhattan, he was hit by a car. He blacked out and was taken to the hospital. Unlike the first brain surgery, this one took a very long time to recover from. He insisted on continuing to forge ahead with his work on the hospital despite experiencing frequent seizures. He was a one-man team and couldn’t risk the project losing momentum at such a precarious stage in its development.
By the grace of God, the owner of another charity had put Toby on a health insurance plan (the first of his life) months before his brain surgery without telling him. So, you can look at it both ways, Toby told me. On the one hand, the universe saved him from hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt. On the other hand, he recovered from a major brain surgery with no source of income while maintaining sole responsibility for a multimillion-dollar international development project. Just reading about the second brain surgery in his memoir was scary enough for me—not a situation I’d want to find myself in.
I asked Toby if he’s still involved with running-related charity work, such as organizing races and distributing shoes. He said that now almost all of his efforts go into healthcare. He gave me a tour of his latest work on the hospital grounds. There are three buildings under construction right now: a consultation building that will process all new patients, a children’s burn hospital, and a children’s cancer hospital with 150 beds (twice as many as St. Jude’s). He pointed out the construction site for our Women’s House in a quiet area near the river, which will break ground in early 2025.
We also visited the basketball court, soccer turf, playground, playroom, classroom, library, and kitchen. Yes, it’s a lot. Toby calls it a Children’s Health Village, and he wants it to be like Disneyland. Personally, I felt more like I was on the campus of a prestigious university than at Disney. Kids don’t come here for vacation but to improve themselves; they continue with school, and they get healthy. The environment is filled with hope—just being there gave me personal motivation to heal from my incredible but draining adventure.
The children’s hospital is now fully funded by the Kenyan National Government and absorbed into the Moi Teaching Hospital umbrella. Moi is the second largest hospital in Kenya—20,000 people, including patients, visitors, doctors, and staff, walk through its doors every day. Consequently, Toby is not too directly involved with day-to-day operations, as far as I can tell. Instead, he spends his time fundraising and working with the contractors. Once construction is complete, the cancer hospital will also be gifted to the people of Kenya and taken over by the Kenyan government.
I was a bit surprised that Kenya would agree, no questions asked, to fund and staff a hospital year after year, as long as someone else builds it. To me, the construction sounds like the easy part, and providing high-quality specialized care by qualified doctors seems hard. But perhaps, for a developing country, development itself truly is the biggest bottleneck… eventually, I’ll get more clarity here.
In the afternoon, Toby dropped me off in the playroom while he ran some errands. I sat quietly until a young girl with a radiant smile and a slight limp walked over. She tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a game she had set up. It was a memory game where you flip over cards and try to find the matching pair. Within minutes, she conquered, as her stack of matching pairs piled up while I sat empty-handed.
The kids couldn’t have cared less who I was or whether I ran here from Everest. But they were happy to play with me and seemed glad I was there. What made the biggest impression on me was that every kid here was treated like a normal kid, no matter their illness. One boy with a bandage over his heart joined in. Another girl with a brain tumor (I think; she had a big head) joined as well. Everyone competed with full effort to win. There was laughter and even some cheating, as kids went out of turn when they identified a matching pair.
Monday
I returned to the hospital on Monday to see it in full swing. Toby had insisted it was much busier during the week, and he was right. The waiting areas were overflowing. I went straight to the backyard. Most inpatients and parents were already there, playing on the jungle gym, in the playroom, lounging in the shade, and some folks played soccer on the turf. I joined the soccer game. Soon, a bunch of patients, caretakers, and even medical workers came too. The game got competitive enough to make me run hard—the first time I’d run since arriving at the hospital two days before. I broke into a sweat chasing around some truly talented caretakers. Other kids felt free to join for a couple of minutes here and there. I forgot they were even patients, as they sprinted across the turf (though they were definitely weaker than healthy kids).
Eventually, the game petered out, and I went to relax in the shade. I reflected on my time in Africa and at this hospital. In a place with so little security of all kinds (financial, food, property, etc.), I couldn’t help feeling grateful for how safe I felt here. I imagined that children would not just heal but also get exposure to the world of opportunity outside their village by staying at this hospital. The books in the library, well-educated staff, and the well-functioning and non-corrupt institution of the hospital all make a big impact on young kids.
I asked Toby if patients ever don’t want to go home. He said, “Oh yes! Even parents don’t want to leave.” I shuddered at the idea of returning to the most impoverished villages I saw on my run. Toby had also confirmed earlier that many patients come from complete poverty (I had worried mostly middle-income families made the long journey). He told me about a woman who cried because she couldn’t even pay 50 shillings (¢40) for her daughter’s treatment. The hospital didn’t charge her, but she wanted to pay out of gratitude.
When the midday sun hit, I went inside to sit on the benches with the parents of new patients. On average, about 200 outpatients walk into the hospital every day. A team of communications officers guides them through a consultation to get them the appropriate treatment or medication as fast as possible. The hospital has a full pharmacy, so many children just come to get medicine, including those with AIDS.
Feeling that if I stayed any longer, I too would never want to leave, I got up and re-entered the chaos of Eldoret, ready for the next step on my journey.
Congratulations! What an adventure, and what an amazing way to reach your goal. The finish line of the New York Marathon on game day, only blocks from my apartment, can't compare to your arrival. I'm proud of you beyond words. I know you currently have no concrete job prospects, no real source of income, and yet your main concern is for others, the kids. I'll take a moment to contrast that with our politics here in the U.S. right now, where some of our richest and most powerful politicians are exploiting people's fear of others and encouraging hatred, just to get a bit more powerful than they already are. You are a shining example of human kind on every level of the word.
YOU MADE IT! Congratulations my sweet Olly! What a fantastic story you have told... and to have made such an incredible accomplishment. I am SO proud of you. You see the "Big Picture," and continue to amaze me and the people around you. I love you. XXXOOO