I had told Kemboi, the man that flagged me down on Saturday, that I would meet him to run on Monday at 6:00 AM. I hadn't done any morning runs yet because it was dark outside, and I wasn't sure whether I should feel better or worse that rather than just going running out in the dark I was going out to meet somebody in the dark. I have to admit that I was reasonably nervous as I took off. Running down a side road toward the hills in the dark in a foreign country where I was seen as extremely rich, I had to fight the survival instincts that told me this was a bad idea and I really should turn back. It was interesting to me to be trying to unlearn some of the basic safety rules that had been ingrained in me as a kid as far as talking to strangers and going unfamiliar places, and I could feel those rules pulling at me every time I did something that wasn't completely safe. But this trip was all about meeting strangers and going unfamiliar places, so I pressed on in spite of the nagging fear. The road was rough enough that I had to pick my way carefully in the dim light just before dawn. Kemboi had told me to me him at the matatu "stage" the main intersection in the gathering of houses up the road before you got to the fields. I underestimated the time it would take to get there, and arrived about five minutes late, but given the lack of punctuality standard for Kenyans I wasn't worried about it. Kemboi wasn't there though, so I asked around with the matatu conductors a little bit and decided if he wasn't there I'd just do my shakeout on my own. I had found since Saturday some skepticism had gathered in me about if Kemboi was as good of a runner as he claimed to be. I headed through the houses and up to the dirt road. A couple of high schoolers started running with me, and one ran with me all the way until I turned around. It was explained to me later that the high schoolers who were walking to school or catching the bus were generally the poorer ones because most students would board at the school if they could afford to. We chatted about why I was here and how school was, and he mentioned that it was a struggle paying school fees but God willing he would get through. I can't remember how it came up, but another interesting comment he made was that sometimes he wished he "could grow wings and fly to your country". The run back was really nice in the gathering light, and the mosque on the way back looked even more beautiful with the sun rising behind it.
Monday was another pretty relaxed day at school, and today I brought my laptop so I could spend some of my time writing, which was good because I've had a pretty tough time keeping up with everything that's been going on. Even then though, I can only write so much at a time without it feeling like I'm cramming to finish a term paper, and I don't want to give a crammed term paper type description, so I usually just drop it right there and wait until later to write more. I don't mind writing, but this blog is starting to feel like an assignment just because of the volume of writing. Still, I can't bring myself to write any less because every time as I'm writing a whole list of things I want to make sure to include pop into my head. I got a call from Kemboi asking where I'd been, and I told him I must have just missed him and that I'd try to show up tomorrow morning. I was surprised at his persistence in wanting to run with me, and it made me somewhat more skeptical of whether he was actually an elite runner because it seemed to me that people of that caliber wouldn't bother to follow up with a random kid they met on the street that said he'd be up for going for a run.
On my run that evening I explored one of the side roads back into the fields a little bit and then came back to play some soccer with the high school guys at the field. The roads back in there really do seem to be endless, sometimes narrowing down to not much more than a two track and looking like they will dead end at a grass hut that actually serves as a farmhouse, only to emerge onto another dirt side road that disappears into the distance. The bugs were worse than usual, and I got a decent number in my mouth and my eyes. I came back to play soccer with the high schoolers at the field and played just about until dark, feeling comfortable enough with the route home to wait longer to take off than usual. I played pretty well and was happy to be able to keep up and hold my own again. The guys didn't seem to me to be going easy or treating me any different, including once again wordlessly allowing me to enter the game, which I was very grateful for. I think there might have been one or two new guys who hadn't been there before when I played, and they seemed a little surprised, I think as much as anything by the fact that the others didn't take notice of me. In my whole trip I don't know that there's been a group that has treated me with the equality that these guys have, and the exact reason is because they didn't go out of their way to welcome me or encourage me. I know that sounds a little cold, but to be treated (at least from my perspective) as one of the guys that doesn't warrant any special treatment was great.
This trip has greatly raised my opinion of soccer. I already enjoyed watching and playing it, but being here it has been one of the strongest unifiers I've seen, and I think that would be dramatically more significant in a country where I couldn't speak the same language as the people. Soccer is one of the only sports I know of that is nearly universal and that kids play over most of the world, and in much of the world, including here, it is the primary sport that kids play and follow the professional leagues. Despite all the cultural differences I could step onto a soccer field anywhere in the world and play with them, and share some kind of bond with them in that way, regardless of if we couldn't speak a word to each other and didn't understand each other's cultures.
No comments:
Post a Comment