On Abebe Bikila                         

It was a power-packed field of runners from all over the world at the start of the 1960 Olympic marathon race at Rome. Strong, determined, able-bodied men jostled for vantage positions at the starting mark. The runners were attired in their national colours, had cushioned shoes for the exhausting ordeal of running no less than 26 plus miles.

 Right at the end stood a nondescript figure, who did not even have a pair of shoes. Frail to the point of being under starvation-diet, the low-profile man did not attract any attention. Just before the pistol shot, he merely looked up and said the shortest of prayers. Just asked for His blessings, as he had always done throughout his life before starting any work.

On his way, he was. He glided through the paved roads of the Italian capital with utmost ease and elegance. He was in no hurry. He was not in any race. He was not running against anybody. He was not running against the clock or any record. He just kept moving his elbows and legs in constant momentum.

Abebe Bikila ran this marathon as he would do so often among the hilly regions of his motherland, Ethiopia. He ran because he liked to run. He ran because it was his expression of freedom. He ran because he enjoyed running. Never bothered about style or strategy; techniques or tactics. No, he did not suffer from such luxuries.

In Ethiopia, Bikila ran through rough terrain. He never wore any shoes for the simple reason that he could not afford any. Wet ground, dry earth, sandy soil, rocky surface came alike to him. No gazelle was more graceful than he when on the run. At Rome he found that the entire route was smooth unlike the uneven ground he would cover without any complaint at home. He expressed no elation, no emotion.

After a while Bikila picked up a water bottle from the table set aside for runners. Bikila poured the water on his head while continuing to run. In Ethiopia no drink, not even water, is kept on the route for runners. In a country where starvation deaths are not unheard of, who has the time and money to offer drinks to a runner rehearsing his run?

Rome was distinctly more hot and humid than Addis Ababa. After about 19 miles, he sipped some water and waited a few moments to see how those following him were doing! For other runners it was an ordeal, more so to find a lean frame by-passing them with utmost ease. Now Bikila decided he had seen enough and decided to go ahead on his own.

Up the Appian Way he went in splendid isolation. In his charismatic style, he entered the stadium, breasted the winning tape and went on running around the stadium track as if 26 miles and 385 yards were not enough! The organizers ran after him to get hold of him but the man, now for the first time, changed his routine.

He stopped, did a few callisthenic exercises to cool himself, then looked up and thanked his Creator. Vaguely smiled at the world and waved his right hand. There was no bombastic gesture. No publicity stunt. No political or ideological message.

After Rome in 1960, Bikila competed again at the Tokyo Olympic Games in 1964. Nothing really had changed: the same non-emotional face; the same frail physique; the same low-profile. At Tokyo, now with the media spotlight on him, he repeated his feat of four years ago: the gold medal round his neck. However, now, there was one distinct change: he had shoes on!

 Shoes or no shoes, spotlight or no spotlight made little difference to the genius of Abebe Bikila. Not a trace of emotion clouded his façade. The same calisthenics at the finish, the same thanks to the Creator, the same wave of the hand.

In between Rome and Tokyo, the king of Ethiopia Haile Selassie had made Bikila one of his bodyguards at the palace. Now he could afford luxuries. He could take life easy. But, then, he would not have been the one and only Bikila.

Bikila showed the world that the poorest of nations, the poorest of people could match the very best the world had to offer. Even when exposed to fame and fortune, not once did he fall for the trap. In his own quiet way, he remained ram-rod straight in his love for his Creator, in his pride for his country, in his ideology of Spartan living.

It was because of Ethiopia’s Bikila that the neighbouring African nations of Kenya, Sudan and Morocco began to promote long-distance running in their own territories. Today the domination of African athletes and sportsmen in international meets is all because of one man named Abebe Bikila. Through sheer example Bikla became a champion of the coloured sports athletes of the world.

He uplifted not only a nation; not only a continent; not only a race. He uplifted the dignity of all the coloured people of the universe. Very few men have left behind such a legacy.