Uganda Roadwork

Don't be deceived when you hear someone speak about roadwork in Uganda. Your first impression will entail hopes of large scale construction where groups of six men stand around while one fixes the sea of potholes known as roads. Tone it down a bit! In fact change the tone completely. Uganda's roads are a lost cause at this point and only CHOGM could motivate any improvements. But now that CHOGM passed (CHOGM is the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting which was held in Kampala in 2007 - even the Queen came), Uganda's roads are once again going to pot.

Anyway, when one says roadwork, forget the roads and think exercise. Yes, roadwork is synonymous with jogging or running.

Villagers in Uganda aren't too keen on exercise, and rightfully so, considering that most of their daily work is physically exerting. The only time people ever ran was when a car was coming (get off the road completely in that case), when preparing for circumcision, and when training for football (soccer).

I already stand out; there's absolutely nothing I can do about that. But imagine what a sight it is to see muzungu running. The first couple times Ruth and I went for a jog were in the late afternoon. Bad idea - everyone sits in front of their houses after work. We were quite the spectacle.

One time, we had a trail of about 12 children behind us. All the kids wanted to spend time with us, even if it meant running (usually in their bear feet). As soon as they spotted us, they joined in. Here is Ruth's telling of this experience:

"One evening Charlee and I collected a posse of at least eight kids. As we ran down the dusty road, kids just kept joining in from the sides, running down from the banana trees and out from their houses. They effortlessly kept pace with their bare feet, and looked up at us expectantly. “We go to play football?” one asked. “No,” I managed to pant, “just road work.” He shrugged and kept rolling along. The age range was probably six to twelve. It was all a big game to them. The sun set and it was getting darker and darker. The trees were a black outline against the sky. At one point Charlee started humming the Chariots of Fire theme music, and the kids picked up the tune. We cheered and clapped and did high-knees and made sure everyone got out of the road when a matatu roared by. On the downhill approach to the guest house, we decided to do a little sprint. I went for it, all out, as fast as I know how. A little something inside me wanted to beat the kids. Up came eight year old Joshua on my right. He had no shoes, he hadn’t broken a sweat, and his little legs were spinning like a cartoon character. He kept looking right up at me with a giant smile on his face. He didn’t beat me, because he wasn’t aware it was a race. He just stayed beside me and had a good time all the way home. At the entrance to the guest house we did a quick “Gooooooooooo running club!” and went inside to carbo-load. It definitely beat the hell out of a treadmill. "

OK, back to me:

Another time I went running in my short shorts. I never did that again. All the men in the village laughed at me and cracked jokes with each other as I passed by. I realized they probably thought I was running in my underwear! hahaha!

The solution we found was early morning roadwork - like at 6 AM when the sun started to rise. Fewer folks are out and the kids are headed to school. Initially, we definitely got the "what in the world" looks from the villagers. But they quickly grew accustomed to our morning roadwork and it wasn't a big deal any longer.

Now I'm home and I see people running everywhere. They're all geared up and normal looking. I even went for a jog yesterday, but people still stared! Before I left, I gave my running shoes to Jeniffer, our housekeeper. Without running shoes, I opted for my good old Chacos. I wore them EVERYWHERE (you should see the tan lines on my feet) while in Uganda, so I figure they should work fine for running here. I guess it is kinda strange to see folks running in sandals these days.