Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXXVI

Getting some perspective

You may wonder why I am writing about the Coronavirus, having written the last in my series of Coronavirus streets in Manchester way back in June 2024. Obviously, there was also the minor distraction of dealing with Men’s things, my prostate taking on an unregulated growth spurt that was trammelled with blasts of radiotherapy.

Then you consider I was out grocery shopping today and one of the passengers on a bus I boarded had a facemask on, you do not see that about quite often, though a lady who attends my church whose full face I have never seen dons a facemask almost as a fashion accessory, a shade of brown, but quite distinct from her South Asian skin tone.

Saying his prayers

The bus out of the city centre towards Salford, where I planned to board another to my intended destination, presented nothing of great significance apart from wheezing and many with coughs that might indicate something more serious than portends. On that sampling alone, we are easily a nation of the unfit, the infirm, the unwell, and qualitatively unhealthy.

However, it was the bus ride within Salford towards Cheetham Hill that offered much to amuse or intrigue. It was first an unkempt man sitting on one of the priority seats. In what seemed like a headbanging the bar in front of him, I soon realised it was an unconventional approach to Muslim prayer as he was muttering, clasping hands, and then bowing in obeisance to the Sallah edict.

The bus was driving eastward but I could not suggest his heading was facing Mecca, but who am I to intrude on the religiosity of an adherent faithfully saying his prayers before Goosey Goosey Gander takes umbrage?

The fiery Ijebu wars

At Ade’s Cash & Carry, of the many designations it has, at the checkout till, there were conversations going on in Yoruba, the tiller with facial scarification I would have mistaken for an Ogbomoso indigene, but with the brutal nose strike, so that might default to Ibadan.

Two tubers of water yam, quite different from Puna yam, were being weighed on the tiller scales, but they did not have the hairy fibres one would expect on that species I was accustomed to. As I voiced my misgivings, an engagement began about where I was from.

Answering Ijesha-Ijebu, the man interjected, Ijebu-Ijesha, a different place some 197 kilometres away. That confusion between my village and the other town, in entirely separate states and they do not remotely speak the same dialect. It so happened that the customer being served was also an Ijebu-man, he knew where Ijesha-Ijebu was and began to converse in Ijebu that I have never deigned to master.

My excuse is that I was born abroad, and I pleaded innocence by volunteering. One of my names is Adetokunbo, and the crown was brought from overseas. That was the beginning of our schism, he is from Ilishan-Remo and has been advocating the creation of an Ijebu State with Sagamu as the state capital. Let’s just say as the boundary between the real Ijebu-land headquartered at Ijebu-Ode and Ijebu-Remo, which is a few kilometres west of my village, the idea falls on its face with infeasibility.

It is totally unlikely that the Ijebus aligned to Ijebu-Ode and the expanse of the 16 Agemo masquerades of Ijebu-land would subsume themselves to the leadership of Ijebu-Remo that gained prominence out of the colonial chicanery of divide-and-rule. We would seethe with disdain and disparage any such advocacy to chop Ogun State into hamlet fiefdoms.

While I would rarely feel challenged with Yoruba expression, I was clearly found wanting facing a son of Ijebu soil. Other interesting banter ensued, and we shook hands, and I left.

The Yorubas have occupied

On the bus back to Salford City Centre from Cheetham Hill, I must have been transported to some place in Yorubaland, I half expected the only Caucasian on the bus to burst out in Yoruba song as literally every else on the bus was speaking in Yoruba.

One even had a playback of some Yoruba-speaking event on the speaker of his phone and some of the narrative did cause stifled giggles without anyone wanting to reveal they knew what was going on. I could see from my vantage point that everyone was straining to listen even as one or two mobile phone conversations cared nothing for the public space they were in.

I sometimes forget some parts of north Manchester have been colonised by Yorubas; I could be one of the exceptions that lives in the city centre. Now, that Ade’s Cash & Carry has stiff competition in Salford on range, quality, and price, apart from ready-made stews, it won’t be long before these interesting Yoruba engagements happen closer to home.

The Coronavirus is still out there, and I had my 7^th booster in November before jetting out to Cape Town. Nine vaccinations and boosters altogether mean we all must be careful, five years on.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXII

No power of witchcraft

I have always been fascinated by the whole charade behind identifying that someone is a witch and the means by which the suspected are interrogated and forced to confess under the pain of death that they practice witchcraft, after which they were almost always put to death in the most horrific and gruesome manner.

It makes you wonder how someone who apparently has mastery of the dark arts can just at accusation and threat of untrammelled menace would suddenly be helpless and incapable of defending themselves. Their accusers having nothing but power and manufactured conviction that they are right, and they can rid the community of evil by the propensity of wickedness.

They can’t be that helpless

In my view, if anyone were indeed a witch, whether child or adult, the very least one should expect is something magical challenging the faculties like just disappearing from the midst of their accusers at the minimum or if they were that inclined, they put the fear of real witchcraft in the hearts of the mob usually led by religious or community leaders seeking to bolster their political status by finding unusual and individualistic people to victimise.

Just imagine, a witch in the heat of being pursued smiting one of two of her attackers with blindness or causing fire to consume one of them. For instance, someone with the mastery of martial art when cornered would hardly crumble into a heap of helplessness, they’ll fight back probably breaking a few bones even if they eventually get captured. This is just a matter of muscle in the physical, not to talk of the metaphysical and paranormal that is associated with witchcraft. I am not convinced many of those accused had any idea of what witchcraft was about, they have just been helpless victims of tyranny.

Strange places in Manchester

Which got me thinking of another fascinating setup, in the back streets of the parish of Manchester into the Hundred of Salford (I love old English placenames) as I walked from Ancoats to the centre of Cheetham to do some shopping for ethnic goods. Avoiding the main roads apart from when I had to cross them, I was soon cutting through St Michael's Flags and Angel Meadow Park into NOMA (North Manchester) where architectural monstrosities sway in the skyline.

A rather secluded part of old industrial Manchester had a working brewery taking me back to my teenage years when my first job was in a brewery, along with clothing manufacturer factories bearing names of South Asian provenance and let one not suggest they might be sweatshops. Then I was in Strangeways (it has history), dominated by Her Majesty’s Prison where twice in the week past, I saw someone drive through the gates in a Mercedes Benz car, they must be paying good money there as it was just too early in the morning for the person to be a visitor. Anyway, I look away.

A plague of drones

Up on the walls, were surveillance cameras with screen wipers and then signs indicating this was a ‘no drone’ zone. I guess with one drone, that might present a helpless witch scenario. I can remember which of the recent Olympic games opening ceremonies I watched where thousands of drones were deployed in a light show. My vivid imagination considering a swarm of drones hovering over a prison controlled from so far away that the drones were using Artificial Intelligence to maintain proximity with each other and if one or a few were taken out, they massed into new attacking formations.

This again, not even to deliver contraband to the prison but to get everyone agitated. Who would do such a thing? This is more the stuff of thriller films than anything else. That was my though process on the matter of witchcraft, one would expect a witch to summon the equivalent of an amazing mixed martial arts practitioner controlling with the mind a swarm of drones able to defend themselves from immediate physical danger and create enough of a distraction to escape capture.

Now, where was I? Walking up New Bury Road to get to Great Cheetham East Street. Suffice it to say, apart from the lady at the checkout in the shop, I was the only other one wearing a face mask.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XL

A river scolded

River Medlock, a 10-mile long river that rises is Oldham, through the centre of Manchester before it runs into the River Irwell was after a moment of natural exuberance tamed by the Victorians, culverted and restrained through the cities of Salford and Manchester. It idly flows almost bereft of its menacing history when it took the dead out of their graves in Philips Park Cemetery in the mid-19^th Century.

Blog - Walks through the cycle of life

On my walks, I write in my notepad with script that is neither shorthand nor legible, I just have to remember my scrawl as a collection of thoughts to transcribe into my eventual blog. A sight indeed not learnt from the rigour of handwriting lessons I took in primary school.

A sample of handwriting from my notepad whilst I am walking.

It’s going down

Two high-performance Porsche cars and a Range Rover parked in a secluded and abandoned garage on Old Ashton Road, three men by the building engaged in a discussion and through the air, I heard the words ‘pay’ and ‘money’.

I surmise, something is going down and I doubt it is legal, else they would have met in a restaurant, I would think. A thought crosses my mind to take a picture of the cars and their licence plate numbers, but I resisted the urge to court trouble. Who knows what else they might be up to and you really do not want to be the collateral damage?

I walk on by trying for forget what I saw and setting my eyes on the goal to just get my steps in whilst I discover another part of Manchester that was always there, but I never dared to visit.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXXIV

A quite to things

We can agree that I have moved into full Bank Holiday mode not so much by going away, but by allowing myself a longer lie-in, dozing off on the sofa, and rest that some others have at times misconstrued to being up to mischief. I cannot even defend myself enough from such suspicions, it is tiresome and irritation, I reckon it comes with the territory, an overexertion of the imagination or a deficit of trust.

Today being Trinity Sunday, I did expect a busy church and whilst there were many people attending, only one member of the clergy was present, in the position of the president and the preacher at the Sung Eucharist, even the choir was absent. One of the wardens read the lessons in a voice that did not define his age, an adult with a voice at the cusp of cracking.

Some learning helps too

After the service, I first went to read a panel on the history of Salford, an old train station and other developments on the wall below the Cathedral Approach. Then walking up Chapel Street which is partly closed for the many road reconstructions dotted around Manchester and Salford with inconsiderable schedules of work. I will think road users are navigating a maze if they dare visit the centres of these two cities.

Turned left towards the Lowry Hotel, crossing the Trinity Bridge ensconced in a park on the north bank the River Irwell and then right towards Spinningfields where I saw queues of people who appeared to be completely oblivious of pandemic precautions trying to gain entrance to imitation biergartens (German for beer gardens) in the sudden advent of seemingly summery weather.

They are out queuing

The restaurants are full too, though I am concerned about the ‘Check-in to a venue’ facility on the NHS Test and Trace COVID-19 app, because it registers the time of your check-in for the rest of the day and if there is no consideration for when you left a venue, you wonder about how that could affect you if patrons visited a place many hours apart, but on the same day would be distinguished as not implicated except that they are at a venue. Maybe the link would be the staff at the venue being vectors and that gets quite concerning.

Patrons might be asked to isolate whilst the staff continue as if they interacted with no one. I am not sure that setup is as foolproof as one is made to believe. In my view, I will still give public places a wide berth and take the preference of alfresco dining over sitting indoors. People are trying to regain a sense of normalcy, any new lockdowns regardless of the penalties for breaches might invite a public insurrection.

The shop of things

The spices of people

Out shopping at the new ethnic shop up in sprawling Salford passing through the potpourri of the world of South-East Asia and just before we get to the conurbation of those of the scroll, I veer right to a place that is a magnet for Africans, the sounds and phonetics getting ever so familiar if you stop to listen.

People in chariots of fancy, none horse-drawn, the bit on the bridle is a pedal, and the carriage yields to the turn of the steering and the stirrups are more commanding of posture; the seat belt is soon undone as they come to a halt at the stables behind the shop, I guess that would be the car park.

Lost in the aisles

Two men, probably husbands, as they looked out of place, sent on an errand completely oblivious of what they were to purchase, the questions they asked the staff did not carry them any further until they had to set up a video conference and the instructions became clearer, they left before I did and may not have to return having fulfilled what they were sent to do.

The commander was probably twice the size of his friend, what I tried not to notice was too obvious to ignore. If he ever kept a doctor’s appointment, there is some advice he has not heeded to that he desperately needs to consider for life and wellbeing.

A lady who tried to draw their attention was ignored, she had mistaken one bottle for another, and as she was already at the till, I exchanged the drinks, taking the fermented from her for the unfermented that she required.

The things we eat

The Jafro Foods coconut-flavoured chin-chin was back on the shelves and even in a bigger container, I fetched 2 off the shelf, some moin-moin in leaves, and I even ventured frozen fish for which the French lady behind me offered a good recipe tip. A mother of 4 boys with appetites insatiable, I was not going to pretend I wanted to know what her monthly shopping bill was.

Meanwhile, someone had bought snails for a princely sum that he decided he could not afford and brought them back for a refund. I could not be bothered telling him off for jumping the queue, I obliged him and felt the better for it. Checked through my stuff and took another route back home exploring parts of Salford and Manchester I might have been before but never considered could be reached down those ways.

The high tides of River Irwell

Just walking along

I generally take a standard route for my walks with some subtle variations to the path whilst not wandering off to give me something from 9 kilometres to 12 kilometres of brisk walking exercise in the morning. How I set off usually determines how well I perform, though I am sometimes shocked that there are times I have spent over 11 minutes to a kilometre when I have once managed under 6 minutes.

What gives me the most pleasure is getting 7 kilometres done in under 60 minutes, it means I should average 8 minutes 30 seconds to the kilometre. Usually, if I get 5 kilometres into 41 minutes, I know I can do it.

Not slow, big flow

One fascinating feature of my walks is the River Irwell that meanders through the City of Manchester and the City of Salford, serving as the boundary between them. I will cross the river about 6 or 7 times and up to 5 kilometres can be walking beside the river.

The river course of River Irwell - Wikipedia

I now have an eye for the currents of the river, the sedentary and fast flows, the latter which I noticed today and by the time I reached the bridge crossing into Peel Park, the river was the fullest I had ever seen it. Apparently, the river from the flood gauge can measure from 0.78m to 3.00m, the highest was 5.67m on the 26^th of December 2015, it was even much higher during a flood in Victorian times. In 1866, the river rose 14 feet (4.3m) above its normal levels.

Today, the embarkment towpath of the river was completely covered with water apart from the slipway, it was a murky brown flow and the tide was at 2.495m when I arrived at Peel Park and still rising to a peak of 2.733m at 9:30 AM. [Flood Information Service: River Irwell]

Tidal readings of River Irwell this morning.

If I had wings

The quiet feel of nature before the cities rise is calming and except for the kilometre indicators from my phone, I stopped listening to music or wearing earphones. The birds of River Irwell are a spectacle, sometimes, I have to walk through lots of guano. They never go hungry as there are people who have weaned the birds and ducks on a diet of bread.

Our local birdwatchers have sighted sand martins, blackbirds, Canada geese, great tits, wood pigeons, carrion crows, jackdaws, little grebe, starlings and much else. If only I could tell one bird from another apart from their generic names. [All bird references courtesy of The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB)]

River Irwell at Peel Park this morning. (Click on pictures to enlarge.)

Different speeds on two feet in the park

Every little step I take

Stepping out at the break of dawn, the morning breaks with a chill and the morning dew, the weather turning as you make your way almost too far from home for you to turn around, as the need for shelter is lost to the quest to complete a quota before you resume for work.

Briskly, as you set your walking exercise, the tracker on your wrist buzzes reading your heart rate as you set out to either break personal records or just have it on the record. In the business district, you weave, and you are notified of the first kilometre.

The doorways or the nooks of large shops have sleepers, the homeless whose stories we know little of, whether they are warm enough, or will have a supply for the day and can dream of a future, we do not know. Yet, fortitude and providence does raise people from the strangest places to make a fantastic story, maybe we can angels in that journey too.

A river of curls

Reaching the edge of the city centre, you have crossed the River Irwell twice and the industrial suburb beckons for your second kilometre, though your third crossing of the river is a few hundred metres short of your third kilometre and you are well into the City of Salford.

Your fourth crossing of the river and soon after then fifth is leaves your fourth kilometre between, and the park is just in view where the circuit you walk is just about 2.2 kilometres. When you begin to make your way home by another route on a busier road, there is probably another two crossings of River Irwell and you realise this is a river that meanders through Manchester, though its course is unlikely to change in the near future.

The people of the park

The park begins to come alive as the light of day bathes it with a welcome giving you the sight of others roused to move. An elderly lady with two male companions take a walk she speaks, they nod, it is the first morning greeting, as she feeds the birds, the ducks and the geese with bread crumbs.

Further on, one man and his dog on a leash, then another man with his two dogs, one dog walking into my path whilst the other is taking him for a walk, pulling hard and demanding of motion. The lady in a hijab, sometimes walking and other times running, says good morning, we smile and she’s gone.

It’s in the family

A father pushing a perambulator combining baby-sitting with running, whether it is fun or not, the baby remains in deep slumber, as would I if I have the rocking motion of a vehicle to comfort me.

A mother brings her son to the park, he rides his bicycle as she goes for a run, then over the bridge, two kids on their scooters arrive with their dad, they make for the children’s play area, but it is still in the quiet of the day. Eschewing the cacophony that comes with music from my headphones, I take in the sounds of nature, the river rolling over rocks, the leaves rustling in the trees, the birds making different sounds a haven of the variety of life.

Another few people visit the park to run, each with a different circuit, all of different sizes and have I just recognised a face from one of those profiles of idle distraction, not that I venture a confirmation of my curiosity. The many greetings I make turn into a short conversation with a couple that walks through the park, each time noticing how different I was from the day before. It is a quick chat; I might get to know their names.

Then I return

As I leave, I have 9 kilometres in my trek and three more to go for my doorway. People walk or run, but none are doing the brisk walk I do. I can’t run and yet, I work up a good sweat that calls for my flannel at certain times.

Workmen sauntering to work are surprised at my hurried passing, I am only held back at the traffic crossings until one of them picks up a traffic cone and bellows out to me about exceeding the speed limit. I acknowledge him with a wave and 20 minutes later, I am at home.

This blog covers the subject of the blog I lost yesterday; I do not know if it is as good as the original but getting it out of my system means I can go on to other things.

Blog - A lost blog inspiration

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - X

Towering over Manchester

The decision to get out for a walk is sometimes a fraught process. Like I could have with the good weather gone for a stroll, but I did not. My view of the weather forecast today from yesterday and it appeared it was going to rain, though I did not fully discount the possibility that the weather might be better than predicted.

When I eventually stepped out, it was already late and my intention of going by the large supermarket was thwarted by the fact that it was already closed.

The streets looked a bit deserted as I made towards Hulme crossing the Mancunian Way on a pedestrian bridge that allowed me to frame the tallest occupied (Beetham Tower. 2^nd left) and tallest unoccupied (South Tower, right) buildings in Manchester in one shot, the former ceding the title to the latter.

The towers of Manchester.

A river runs around it

Down towards Regent Road, past the Regent Retail Park that I visited last week, I took the turn to the right unto Oldfield Road until I got to Chapel Street, turning left and viewing the ox bow course of River Irwell to my right.

Panoramic view of the ox-bow course of River Irwell.

Further on, you realise that Manchester is, in fact, a city of three universities, two in the city centre and the third in the City of Salford, the University of Salford. This backs unto the first public park in England, Peel Park founded by public subscription in 1846 and bordering the River Irwell.

Panoramic view of Peel Park.

In the park we find the statue of Joseph Brotherton who was the first Member of Parliament for Salford and holding the office for 24 years. More intriguingly, is the obelisk with a water level marking for the height of the Great Flood of Manchester in November 1866, reaching 8 feet 6 inches or 2.59 metres. That was just mind-boggling when I saw the expanse of land that would have been covered by water.

Obelisk with flood water mark.

A park to play

Apart from being the main public venue of the 1851 royal visit of Queen Victoria to Manchester, the park allowed for various leisure and sporting activities absenting people from poor living conditions and pollution of industrial Manchester along with being a popular spot for first dates.

After sitting by the river for a while, my journey back home was over River Irwell on the pedestrian bridge onto the finger of land created by the meandering river about 150 metres wide to the next crossing over River Irwell, from where a cataract can be viewed to the right. Linking up eventually to Chapel Street much closer to Trinity Way, I walk by Salford Central Station over River Irwell again and into the City Centre.

The course of River Irwell in Salford

The plaques of John Dalton who presaged the advent of modern chemistry, Edward Schunck who became the first recipient of the Dalton Medal and Frederick Crace Calvert who setup the first commercial manufacture of disinfectant soaps show that Manchester was indeed and still continues to be a city of scientific innovation.

I sometimes forget, there are gems of history, architecture, science, nature, and the arts in my city. It only takes a walk and some curiosity to find them. I got back just in time for another Sunday soiree with my neighbours in our courtyard.

Snapshots of what I saw.