You are Making Sport?

The hills of Kumbo

Perhaps nothing exemplifies my life here better than my morning runs.  While running I am invariably asked the question, “You are making sport?” This phrase demonstrates how Pidgin English is a conglomeration of French and English as it comes from the French phrase, faire du sport and how Cameroonians make small talk by stating the obvious.  Thankfully, I have gotten used to this way of greeting and the sarcastic side of me no longer wants to yell back, “No I’m not making anything, I’m running!” Instead, I usually respond with, “I de try-oh!”   My typical route is out- and –back, usually lasting for an hour.  I meander through narrow paths alongside people’s mudbrick homes and farms.  The narrow path opens to a wide road that I follow up and down hills, through forests of eucalyptus and conifer trees, cross over streams, pass many goats, and the occasional cows.  I have moments of complete solitude and feel like I could be running in Ute Valley Park in Colorado Springs or Hulda Crooks in Loma Linda.  And then the silence is punctuated with repeated shouts of “White man!” or “Kimba” and transported back to Cameroon.  Kimba is the Lamso (the local dialect) word for white man.  These words usually come from small children as they are walking the long distances to school or outside their houses scrubbing pots and dishes from the previous night’s meal.  The only way to stop the incessant shouting is to yell back, “Good morning!” or “Black man!”  The latter tends to silence them faster as they sit in a state of shock from my unexpected response.  I pass older women, walking with backs hunched over and wrinkled faces after spending years planting and harvesting by hand, slowly making their way to their farm.  Occasionally they stop, look up at me, and clap their hands.  I greet them with a quick, “Ashia!” as I know the work I have to do in the coming day is nothing in comparison to what they will accomplish in their daily striving to feed their children and grandchildren.  Young men on motorcycles quickly pass me honking their horns warning me to move out of the way quickly.  Other people just stop and stare and usually a quick “Eranewa” (Lamso for good morning) either causes them to laugh or leaves them pondering at what I just said as I poorly attempt to speak the local dialect. 

As I am greeting everyone I pass, dodging motorcycles, goats, cows, and chickens I gaze at the hills around me and the path before me.  In the last week rain has fallen transforming the dusty trails to soft dirt.  Where I started running here a month ago I used to return to my house with ankles completely brown from the dust.  Now they are speckled with mud.  I reflect that in the same amount of time the loneliness I felt a month ago has been transformed to growing companionship from new friendships.  As I am running my mind drifts to various topics.  I think about my research and offer a quick prayer of thanks that we are moving forward and a prayer for discernment to know how to balance the needs of the community, the funder, my research assistants, and my doctoral committee.  I think about how grateful I am to have the health and the ability to be in this place, at this moment, living once again in Cameroon.  I think about my previous running partners, both physical and spiritual, that have accompanied me on runs in different parts of the world, and know that their strength is still with me even though not physically present right now.  I think about the new relationships I am forming here in Kumbo.  Such as with Doris, my housecleaner.  Her quick friendship, big smile, funny statements, and help in my house sometimes remind me so much of Eunice it brings tears to my eyes.  I think about how hard it will be to leave this place in seventeen months and pray that I may find the balance between my fear of the pain of separation in the future and my calling to be open and present in the here and now.

One of the favorite words in the Rule (Of St. Benedict) is “run”.  St. Benedict tells me to run to Christ.  If I stop for a moment and consider what is being asked of me here, what is involved in the act of running, I think of how when I run I place first one foot and then the other on the ground, and let go of my balance for a second and then immediately recover it again.  This is risky, this matter of running.  By daring to lose my balance, I keep it.

Esther De Wall, Living with Contradiction: An Introduction to Benedictine Spirituality