Goliath pulls sly punch on rather unwilling David

October 16 2002

A diplomat is horrified when a fight he has been joking about with an ex-pro is announced on the news. By James Astill in Nairobi.

Would the young British diplomat punch above his weight? More than 3000 Kenyans gathered to find out. Behind battered fire doors stage-right, Tom Fletcher, aka "lion of lions", aka "first secretary political", dragged his fight boots over the tiles, and hammered his gloves together.

The challenge had been issued a month before, over the sort of discreet lunch that ambitious, young political officers enjoy. Deputy Mayor of Nairobi Joe Aketch, a former boxing pro, told Fletcher they should have a charity fight. Jokingly, Fletcher agreed. And then watched in horror as Aketch, a meaty 54-year-old, announced the fight on the evening news.

Fletcher, 26, had never seen combat - the odd tussle on Oxford's muddy football fields aside. Now, he had three weeks to shift those discreet lunches from his waistline, and learn to fight.

"He pulled a fast one," said Fletcher, "but there's no way I was wimping out."

Leaving the diplomat dancing in his dressing room - "You are Fletcher! Sibuor simba! Lion of lions!" his trainer roared - I sought out the broom-cupboard where Aketch was encamped.

The Deputy Mayor's warm-up was in a lower key. "Sure, I got my old power back," he said, reclining in a deckchair, stroking his bushy, white chest-hair with a bandaged hand. Then, phut, phut! Two cobra-like fists bit the air. "Fletcher's goin' home on a stretcher," the 96-kilogram municipal officer drawled.

His blood was up. Hours earlier, his mayoral chain had been pinched from its safe in Nairobi City Hall. 

In the arena Britain's clear-eyed boy moved on up to the ring. Gyrating keenly, Fletcher saluted the crowd. "Oh, he's so good-looking!" shrieked onlooker Ann Wanjiku above the din. 

"Our man Fletcher! Sibuor simba! Sibuor simba!" his entourage screamed. On the dais, male diplomats twitched ties nervously.

Cowhide drums boomed as Aketch burst through the fire doors. A troupe of feathered Luo warriors flanked him as, with gloves raised, he swaggered his way to the ring.

No bell could be heard above the uproar as the two fighters lunged together. Fletcher, in red shorts, was dwarfed by Aketch in blue. But, jiving and swaying, clasping his gloves to his temples, his rudimentary skills stood the test. Aketch jabbed with a piston-like right, moving with well-remembered economy. But he found no way through.

Fletcher was still dancing in the second, skipping to the rhythm of Aketch's heavy blows. When the older man drew back, the young civil servant hurled himself inside, throwing haymakers above his own head.

In the third, Fletcher rocked the Deputy Mayor's head with a neat left hand. Aketch responded in a fury of whiplashing blows. Fletcher's gloves stayed up. Then it was over. The scheduled three-minute rounds had begun at one-and-a-half minutes and got progressively shorter.

As Aketch slumped exhausted in his corner, Fletcher cried foul. "I could have gone 12 rounds. I could have murdered him," he said. Aketch denied this.

The fight raised $US7500 ($A13,720) for AIDS orphans. With his sponsorship money, Fletcher bought a dentist's chair for a local hospital. And, yes, he was pleased not to be its first occupant. 

- Guardian

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