No tags yet.
The roosters wake me up at dawn as the sun begins to rise. I slide out of bed, slip on my running shoes, and right outside the front door, my training ground awaits. I wait for the cows and goats to pass before starting a light jog down the narrow clay pathway, stretching in either direction as far as I can see. On my way I watch the children fulfill their morning duties; carrying buckets of water on their heads; sweeping the dust patch in front of their mud huts; hanging clothes on the line to dry. These kids do this every morning. and here I am patting myself on the back for getting out of bed at the crack of dawn to go on a jog. If I’m being honest, I would use any excuse in the book to escape the confines of my mosquito infested room.
The kids once hard at work, are now intrigued by the new "muzungu"(white person) running by their homes.They look interested, so I wave them over and they emerge from all directions. Soon enough a large pack of barefoot, toothless toddlers with shredded t-shirts that barely hang onto their famished bodies, are standing under me. They stare up at me, studying my face. I must be the first of my kind in their community-White skin speckled with brown dots, blue eyes and light hair. No words spoken, my swahili is limited- just curious innocent minds, probably wondering what I am and where the heck I came from.
The oldest girl looks to be around nine with the very youngest of the pack, wrapped in a colorful cloth around her back.
I pick up a stick and wave the children behind me as I draw a horizontal line ahead of my feet in the dusty dirt road marked by hoof prints and tire marks. The hopeful anticipation is painted on their faces, peeking out from behind their upturned lips. I crouch down into sprinter stance on the line, and point to the finish line; a naked tree standing lifeless about one-hundred yards in the distance. The children crouch down, following my lead. I look down the line into each pair of smiling eyes as white teeth emerge through dusted faces.
“ON YOUR MARK” a row of impatient children inch forward.
“GET SET” More and more tempted to take off as the seconds pass by.
“GO!”
(They can't understand a word i'm saying...they humor me anyway.)
And we’re off! Chuckles of laughter fade behind me as I lose sight of them in my peripherals. A huge smile breaks through on my face when I hear their little bare footsteps trailing mine; giving every last effort to keep up. I slow down at the tree, and turn to find a stampede of joyfully determined boys and girls gunning it through the finish line. I high five each of them as they pass, and we wait for the last two to shuffle in. We clap. and we cheer. Because running 100 meters with your baby sister on your back deserves extra recognition. Once wasn’t enough for them though. They wanted more. and more. and more. 12 times may have been too many if you asked the girl carrying her sister all twelve hundred meters, but I couldn’t have stopped them if I tried.
Every morning I walked out my door the kids were outside waiting for the “Mazungu” to wave them over. They loved running with me and I still don't know who had more fun. I felt like I was 10 again. It brought me back to the days of stubbed toes and bloody knees. The days of catching fireflies in water bottles and racing up treetops, only to realize that getting down wouldn’t be as easy as getting up. The days of early curfews and sharing a bunk bed with my sisters; giggling through the night until our eyelids got tired and finally fell. The days of ignorance and bliss. When the only thing that really mattered wasn't the color of your hair or skin or what you had underneath your clothes. The only that that mattered at the end of the day was how fast could you fall asleep to do it all over again tomorrow.