I promised to tell you about Oju's shoes...
When Joni was living in Monduli back in 2007, she did some running with a pair of well-worn ASICS that she had had for at least a couple of years. When it was time for her to leave and return to the States, she decided she would be buying new shoes and she knew that Oju could use them, so she left the shoes with him. I'm not sure what Oju was wearing before that, but they must have been trouble, because Joni's shoes were at least a size too small, probably more. But three and a half years later, he was still using them for his runs to Monduli Juu.
In the weeks leading up to our trip, Joni had told me I should bring an extra pair of running shoes that I wouldn't mind leaving behind. So I brought one pair for hiking in, one pair for running in, and one to give away. It turned out that Oju was the beneficiary. When I arrived at his room in the center of Monduli, I pulled out this pair from my backpack and made a presentation of sorts. Oju took off the shoes he had gotten from Joni, which were too small, and put on the ones I had brought, which were too big. I had this terrible feeling that they would be the cause of blisters, so I convinced him to wear two pairs of socks.
This whole exchange made a big impression on me. I couldn't quite imagine having such a strong desire or need to run that I would do 18 kilometers twice a week in shoes that forced my toes up tight into the front of the shoe. And then to exchange them for big clown-feet shoes that were too big seemed very unfair. And yet Oju assured me the "new" shoes were much better. The next time I go to Arusha, I'm going to bring the right size running shoes.
We set off at a leisurely trot, and my Swahili lesson began. We took a few turns to leave the main village, so I learned "kulia" (right), "kushoto" (left), and "sawa mbele" (straight ahead). The road was slightly downhill at first, then flattened out. The surface was a reddish dirt, soft without being too loose. The sun was almost directly overhead, but the the temperature was very comfortable, and there was a pleasant breeze. It was a beautiful day for a run.
As we left the village behind, we saw small groups of children playing in the fields by the side of the road. Sometimes they yelled something, but it was never sharp and edgy the way the kids had yelled in Arusha. I began to relax.
After about a mile and a half, the road began rising. There was no mystery about where we were heading. We had been able to see the mountains rising up in front us almost since we started. Our pace was still very slow and deliberate. Even so, the steady climbing kept us breathing fairly hard, and there were only a few words exchanged. "Kilima," said Oju, gesturing at the road in front of us. I repeated "kilima," and then to make sure, "hill?" Oju said yes. I repeated "kilima" a few more times, because it seemed this would be a very useful word.
After several miles of steady progress, we turned a corner and began ascending a much steeper hill. Here the grade was so severe that the road had been paved to keep it from washing away during the rains. I was just putting my head down, when Oju stopped and began walking. It was a little surprising at first, but then seemed such a sensible thing to do that I fell in step beside him. We were, after all, in no hurry. The road was long, the hill was steep, and we had plenty of time.
I began to think about time. It seemed to me that no one every became a distance runner without having a lot of time on their hands. Obviously no one who was in a hurry and who had money to spend would choose to run from Monduli to a distant outpost six miles away. I thought of all the distractions in my life, and the even greater sense of distraction I sensed in the kids at Concord. There was always something to do, and always someplace to go in a hurry. Oju was not in a hurry. He had all day, and so did I.
I thought about how, at our gentle pace, I could easily run for twenty miles, and then do it again the next day, and the next. Joni had told me that when she was living in Monduli, she would sometimes walk the six miles from town to the main road back to Arusha to catch a bus there. She didn't need to, she just had time for it and nothing else to do.
In the days that followed, we would drive through the Maasai lands, and would see Maasai men, women, and children walking miles and miles from the nearest village. They could and did walk all day and were never in a hurry. Later, in the national parks, we would get the same impression from the giraffes, elephants, zebra, and other creatures that slouched their way through the hot African day. No one rushed. There always seemed to be ample time to get wherever you needed to go. Even the big cats, who could, had they wanted to, shown us sprinting that would have made Usain Bolt look like he was running backwards, mostly just slept. These were the thoughts I had as we resumed our easy trot up the road.
After the steep grade, the pavement disappeared again, and we made our way up through the lovely countryside. From time to time we would come across children watching over herds of cattle or goats. Once we met two boys on the road, who ran with us for a little with big smiles before returning to their animals. At one point, a car passed, raising clouds of dust. It had been the first vehicle we had seen since we had left the plains.
Some time later the road leveled out onto a broad plateau, and we saw a low row of buildings. We had arrived in the market town of Monduli Juu. There were a lot of people milling around, including quite a few wearing the traditional Maasai shuka, the colorful robe draped over one shoulder. Oju knew a lot of people here, and exchanged greetings with several. No one seemed to think it unusual that we had run there.
At one point Oju disappeared into one of the shops and emerged a few moments later with two bottles of water. He nodded back towards the shop and said, simply, "my friend." We walked about, drinking our water, while Oju pointed to things and told me what they were in English and Swahili, or sometimes just Swahili. I repeated everything.
Although neither one of us was in any hurry to turn around and run down the mountain again, eventually we decided that we would. As the afternoon went on, our families would be waiting for us, wondering if we had been eaten by lions. We set out slowly, gathering speed as the road descended. The run back was easy, under control. I'm sure it took less time to run down than it had to run up, but the pace never picked up, even on the steep paved section.
Back in Monduli, we retraced our steps to Oju's house, picked up my backpack, and then began walking to Rose's house -- about a mile more. It seemed we could have run, but the walk was a nice cool down. Hakuna shida. No worry.
At Roses, I used a bucket of water to sponge off and then changed into pants and a clean shirt. Although everyone else had finished their afternoon meal, we feasted on the leftovers. Ann asked whether I had been able to keep up with Oju. I said that I was able to keep with him in running, but my Swahili was still lagging far behind. But I still had time, lots of time, to learn more.
Oju and I after running to Monduli Juu and back. Oju is still wearing his "new" shoes, his two pairs of socks, and the shorts he ran in. I've already sponged off and changed into my civilian clothes.
Next: Tarangire
1 comment:
thanks for this. I get the feeling that, at some point I.ll be wishing your trip was longer!
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