An Accidental Encounter

Right now it is raining, and by raining I mean torrential downpour that has left people scuttling down the street with bright cloths over their heads in a futile attempt to remain dry. The rain came suddenly – just an hour ago it was sunshiny and lovely, and now dark rainclouds shadow the sky. And already the blue sky is beginning to peek through again. By the time I finish this letter the rain will have stopped, and the only sign of the downpour will be soggy clothes and muddy feet.

Today has been a strange day – the morning began with the single most embarrassing thing that has happened to me in Kenya. As I was on my morning run, dodging children on their way to school, chickens, trash pits, and students sweeping the compound with their brooms made of sticks, I managed to run into a bicycle. One that was moving. With a man on it.

You are probably wondering how I managed to accomplish such a spectacular feat so early in the morning….I was running next to the tarmac road on the dirt path where the children walk and the cows graze. There were students to my right, staring at me as usual while I ran by. I could see a cyclist coming and I veered slightly to the left (onto the tarmac road) so as to avoid running into children, and then veered right again after I passed them. Unfortunately, the cyclist also veered right, and there was a spectacular crash as his front tire hit my left shin.

I fell to the ground, hitting the soft dirt with my palms. I think the man riding the bike managed to jump off, because he was standing by the time I whipped around to apologize profusely. I do not think he understood me. He had this glazed, kind of scared look on his face. It was at that moment I realized I do not know the Kiswahili or Kigiriama word for ‘sorry.’ I flailed for a minute, trying to communicate with him but I think he was in too much shock to comprehend anything. I checked his bike to make sure that it was ok, put my iPod buds back in my ears and kept running.

The children were stunned; I don’t think they quite knew what to make of the whole thing. Neither did I for that matter. But I kept running. By shin did not hurt too bad, and I was only on my first lap. Great.

I have managed until this point to avoid the hundreds of children that flood the school compound every morning, but I somehow could not manage to avoid an old rusty bike.

I have another souvenir from Kenya now – a beautiful swollen bruise in the middle of my left shin. Africa has left its mark on me.

As I predicated, the rain has stopped and the sky is blue. It is time for me to leave the office.