Читать книгу My Maasai Life - Robin Wiszowaty - Страница 11

5

Samuel

After a couple of weeks, I mentioned to Mama my plans to begin running in the mornings. At first she resisted the idea and couldn’t understand why I’d want to waste time running when there were so many responsibilities to manage. A leisurely jog wasn’t exactly a typical Maasai way of greeting the morning. But at home I’d always been in the habit of playing sports and exercising to ease tension; running in the mornings could be a way of enjoying one of the comforts of home while still maintaining the duties of my new life.

With a bit of pressure, Mama gave her approval, though she didn’t want me out in the wilds alone—you never know what, or who, you’ll encounter, she said. She secretly contacted a friend of the family, Samuel, a young man about my age from a boma more than a kilometre away, and asked him to accompany me on my runs.

So one rainy Monday, Samuel arrived with my brothers on their return from school, then stayed for dinner. Afterward, as we all sat around the fire, we talked as best we could, despite our limits in each other’s language. Samuel’s home was near the water source, so we’d met before in passing, but had barely spoken. He was tall and muscular, with a quiet demeanour. Yet he was also quick to relax into laughter, and he listened intently to others when they spoke.

The next morning, after Mama, Faith and I had woken, fetched water and cooked tea, we sat together in the kitchen. Dressed in old basketball shorts, I began putting on my running shoes, when Samuel appeared wearing a red T-shirt and basketball shorts instead of the traditional shukas. He announced he was going to escort me on the run.

My eyebrows shot up. On one hand, I was glad to have him join me; running on my high school track team had shown me it was always more fun to run with someone else. But on the other hand, I didn’t know why Samuel, a boy I barely knew, wanted to accompany me.

I looked to Mama, and she gave me a slight nod that told me he could be trusted.

“Sawa sawa! Tuende! ” Okay, I said. Let’s go!

Clouds overhead threatened rain as we headed down the footpath toward the dirt road beyond. As we ran, I periodically glanced back at Samuel, still unsure about his intentions. I hadn’t been in Nkoyet-naiborr long enough to know what to make of Maasai boys.

Samuel seemed to sense my slight apprehension and gave me my space, running in silence behind me. Samuel wore the traditional Maasai shoe—with soles made of recycled tires and a crossover strap tacked on with rusty nails. Yet his breathing remained even and his pace steady, almost elegant compared to my clumsy steps and panting breath; I was still getting used to the thin oxygen of the region’s more than 2,000 metre elevation.