Running in Rau

I heeded my mother in law’s repeated advice and refrained from running while on Safari to avoid being a lion’s breakfast-even though we were sitting in a Landcruiser for 10 days straight and it was hard to restrain myself. After a few days in our volunteer home base where we eat 3 huge meals a day—heavy on the carbs (no such thing as Atkins here, trust me), and sitting on my tush for the rest of the time, I decided it was time to get some exercise. Fortunately, I had some other willing volunteers to venture out with me on my first few runs, but as I am an early riser, and most of the rest of the volunteers are in their 20’s, my 6AM run soon became a solo affair. This is actually fine with me. At home, my early morning solo runs are one of my great pleasures—allowing me to think quietly before I begin my day. Even with the slower African pace here, I still appreciate the quiet time.

Beyond lung and muscle capacity, there are several other challenges to running in Rau. There is, of course, the need to avoid the goats and chickens crossing the road (and it is really hard to avoid thinking of the joke every time). In addition, I must do this while intensely concentrating on the placement of my feet to avoid falling into one of the ubiquitous pot holes, mud puddles on just uneven patches of “road” so I don’t break my leg—or neck. It is some comfort to know that if I did fall, I would undoubtedly have a troop of villagers ready and willing to escort me home.

Another aspect of note when I am running through the village is that I cut quite a figure. Obviously, there is the fact that I’m wearing running shorts (not commonly worn here) with my lily white legs and Jewish hips. As if that were not enough, Tanzanian women simply do not run (and very few men run). At this point, they have seen enough running mzungus to know that I’m not a fleeing felon or running from a lion. However, it’s still a somewhat unusual sight and I am an object of some curiosity to everyone I pass.

In Tanzania, the greeting ritual is an essential and constant part of life. This is one of the many charms of the people of Tanzania, but it does raise some logistical challenges during my morning runs. First, there is the challenge of figuring out which greeting is appropriate. If it is someone older or of higher stature than yourself, you say “shikamoo”, if not, you just pick from one of the variety of greetings—mambo, jambo, nipe tano (give me five), etc… Honestly, it’s hard enough to make these distinctions when I am standing still and focusing completely on the task. Ages are very difficult to discern here, at least for me. Indeed, the teacher with whom I work is insistent that I am 28 (one very good reason to stay in Africa….). So as I am running, without my glasses and doing my best to navigate the above mentioned physical obstacles, I am probably offending everyone I run pass. The other amusement is that Tanzanians customarily say “pole” (sorry), when they greet someone who has engaged or is engaging in difficult labors—or really anything that seems remotely exerting (e.g. walking slowly up a hill). For instance, kids walking home from school will be greeted with “pole.” So are mzunga runners. I only recently learned that the appropriate response is “asante” (thank you).

The 100s of kids I pass also never miss an opportunity to greet me as I run by and often start running with me—grabbing my hand and then dropping off as I move on. I particularly love it when a kid is trying to practice English and s/he yells “What is my name Mzungu,” making the same grammatical mistake that I am certain I make on an hourly basis with my remedial, pidgeon Swahili. Somehow, I suspect my butchering of Swahili is far less charming than when done by the adorable Tanzanian kids.

So, my runs serve a multitude of purposes—exercise for me, English practice for local kids and the endless amusement of the locals.