Running in Rwanda

Sunday morning, 6am.

Health, and its means, is a burgeoning idea in Rwanda. Thus, jogging is a bit of a novelty. As in many other circumstances, you work with what you have. For example, if you only have one pair of shoes, and that pair happens to be what you wear to work, then you're running in loafers. Furthermore, if you only have trousers and a collared shirt, you do your 30 minutes of cardio and then head to church, no attire change needed. Honestly, there were women running in slippers, sweat pants, and a traditional head wrap.

So, there I am - shorts, t-shirt, running shoes. There is a road that encircles a nicely wooded area on top of a hill. Since any open space, let alone one that includes grass and tress, is scarce in Kigali, this loop attracts a fair amount of runners...more like "shufflers." I'm running along this scenic route and feeling good. Without any bang from a starter pistol, the game started. The game, played primarily by the children, was called, "Who Can Keep Up With The White Guy?" They would run alongside for a few seconds, or bolt ahead, but most often had to stop to collect a shoe. When they're 4 sizes too big, equipment failure is inevitable.

Then I saw him. About my age, wearing a Dallas Cowboys jersey, number 8 - "Aikmen." He was moving at a good pace and I slowly gained and passed. He, apparently, was aware of the game and an avid partaker. He sped up to catch. I matched his speed and we settled into a rhythm that neither one of us would have maintained if solo.

After about 2o minutes, he started to peel away. We made eye contact and smiled. He gave a fumbled, "Thank you," and I butchered a, "Merci."