You Will Do Wonders This Country Has Never Seen

The Race of Hope is a marathon-distance race up and down the tallest mountain in West Africa.  It takes place at the end of February each year and attracts runners throughout Cameroon and neighboring African countries.  It begins at a soccer stadium in the Southwest Regional Capital of Buea.  Runners have five hours to make it to the top of the mountain following a steep, rocky, somewhat marked path.  Many don’t make the cut-off time and I have heard that no one has finished the race under three hours, which is unusual for a high-caliber race such as this one. I learned about the race when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer but never considered myself strong enough to run the race.  Now that I am back and physically stronger, I am seriously thinking of participating.  However, after returning from my three-day hike up Mt. Cameroon in March I realized that if I was serious about doing the race I would need to find local training partners who knew the course and the requisite training.

A few weeks after I came back from hiking Mt. Cameroon I was walking back from helping Emmanuela weed her family farm.  In a providential meeting that seems to define my experiences in Cameroon, I met a man on the road who was wearing a yellow t-shirt that said Batibo Mountain Race.  If his physique hadn’t indicated that he was a runner I would have thought he was wearing another cast-off t-shirt from a race the person had no idea even existed.  Unlike some t-shirts I see people here wearing from Germany, France, Holland, and who else knows where, this one was written in English with a name of a Cameroonian village, another clue to me that this man was a serious runner.  I stopped him and asked about the race.  After much questioning I found out his name was Kasimo, has participated in the Race of Hope as well as many other races, and runs in the morning a couple to times each week.  I asked him if I could join him for his next morning run. 

A couple of days later I joined him for our first run together.  It was one of the most painful running experiences I have had.  This man is fast.  Kenyan Olympic Runner fast.  Disappears over the hills two minutes after leaving me fast.  Finished second in the Race of Hope fast.  Despite the pain of feverishly trying to keep up with Kasimo there are some great advantages.  Perhaps the best one is I no longer have to greet everyone I pass on the road.  And when you are struggling for your next breath up another steep, muddy hill, this is a cherished benefit. Everyone in Kumbo knows that Kasimo is a serious runner and there seems to be an understanding of the onlookers that he and his training partners are exempt from greeting every child, goat, chicken, mommy, old pa they pass along the way.

 After a couple of weeks of forcing my body to go farther and faster since my collegiate race days, I met one of his female training partners Carine.  I like Carine because she doesn’t run as fast up the hills as Kasimo, but I love her because of her encouraging words and statements about running in Kumbo.  She tells me, “You are a great hill climber and if you continue to run with us you will do wonders this country has never seen.  But you need to learn to open your legs so you can fly down the hills faster.” When I run with Carine and Kasimo we barely talk.  Partly because we have little in common and partly because I don’t have enough extra breath to say more then one word answers.  But when they do talk it always makes me laugh to myself.  Two of my favorite phrases so far are, “We cannot go that direction because the mud will worry us,” and “You need to get a track down suit (meaning running pants) so that the grasses will not be beating your legs.”  Such a true, vivid description of what running is like on the small dirt paths around Kumbo.

When I run with Kasimo and Carine I am struck at how runners are the same all over the world.  We swap stories of our best times, longest races, and aspirations.  We start every run with a dread of what is to come, but a determination to finish.  Yet I am also struck at how different racing is in Cameroon.  I have been warned that when I do the Race of Hope I have to be sure of who is giving me water because people will spike competitors’ water with pepe (the local very strong spice).  Kasimo recently told me about a marathon in September and asked me if was planning on participating.  I asked him when in September it would be and he said they haven’t announced it yet.  To that response my thought was how can you train for a race when you don’t even know exactly when it is?  If the race is at the beginning of September that makes a big difference for training then if it as the end of September.  Also, for Kasimo and Carine they are training to win.  Unlike me who is doing the race to have something to train for and to say I did it, they are doing it to make money.  Kasimo is a farmer and Carine is a mother of four and winning races is a much-needed source of income for them.   

Although we only have three out and back routes, every run is always different.  This is usually due the weather or the people and animals I see along the way.  Sometimes it is due to feelings about life in Cameroon or my own clumsiness, like today.  I was running with Kasimo and after 35 minutes of running up some very steep, rocky, slick hills I was ready to turn around.  He decided to go a bit further and then catch up to me.  About one minute after we separated, I tripped over a rock and fell hard.  I scraped up my knee and hand pretty badly and just sat on the ground for a few minutes fighting back tears, tears from the pain and tears from the realization that my running partner was gone and I didn’t know how I would make the five mile trek back home when I couldn’t even stand.  But in a way of things working out just like they always do here, a motorcycle came up the slippery hill a few minutes later.  Some of the women, who saw me fall while working in their farms, explained to him what happened.  The motorcycle driver dropped off his passenger and told me to get on.  He would take me back to my house.  As we were going up the last steep, slippery hill, the driver told me to get off because there was no way he could carry me up the hill.  As I slowly meandered my way up the hill, there came Kasimo running up the hill.  He had turned around and came back as fast as we did on the motorcycle.  Granted the motorcycle was going slow because of the slick mud, but it still was a machine with a motor!  Kasimo checked to make sure I was ok and I said yes, it is mostly just scrapes and the motorcycle driver will bring me home. We agreed that if I was feeling better we would meet Wednesday morning for another run.  I suppose if I want to do wonders this country has never seen at the Race of Hope, I will meet him for another training run.  

Kasimo and Carine in front of my house.  Check out their track down suits that prevent the grasses from beating their legs and their well-washed shoes to be rid of the mud that worries us.