Day One

I have no odometer to measure so I must rely on time to gauge my distance. Normally, I run two miles in 12 minutes each, but the heat here is prohibitive so I figure I will do it at 13 minutes/per mile. I am to be accompanied because a Muzungo running attracts attention. We don’t want attention. We also must vary our route each day so people in town don’t try to mug the Muzungo. That would be bad.

Evidently people don’t run as slowly as I do. I am mocked as we run through town. They yell “run faster, faster,” then cackle out a laugh as I pass. I also have a crew of students running with me as we run the 13 minutes out before we turn around. They giggle as they run close enough to my heels to trip me or to get kicked by my large Muzungo size 11 running shoes. I don’t like them behind and beside me but I don’t have the heart to deprive them of the fun of mocking me. I say it’s time to turn and they continue on their way home.

I turn to return to the school. I am hot, sticky and sweaty. Thank God I have my water with Propel in it. My saving grace. And who knew I liked grape? Once again I am mocked through town and Godfrey, the school’s headmaster assigned to ensure my safety, says something in Lugandan. It can’t be complementary. The white sign welcoming folks to BPS is my start and finish and today it is like a beacon signaling that I may stop, catch my breath and stretch. And perhaps curl in a ball and die. Day one, finished.