Pole na Mazoezi

By Cindy Johnson

Pole (Po lay) is a Tanzanian expression that has no equivalent in English. It is a way of expressing sympathy for other’s work or difficulties in life. It is a wonderful and pervasive expression in Tanzania. It is a common greeting for roadside travelers burdened with a heavy load or firewood or water or for a friend whose car has broken down. It is a nice way of saying to someone, ‘I see you suffer from the inevitable burdens of life and I feel empathy.’

As I walk up the mountain toward my goal, the gate of Kilimanjaro National Park, I am greeted in many ways including “pole”, as villagers express empathy for my trudge up the mountain. “Asante, na wewe pia” I respond, and you too. The very idea that these villagers are encouraging me to keep trudging, gives me extra energy, but at the same time feels utterly ridiculous as I watch them also trudge up the mountain beneath a load of firewood balanced carefully on their head. Their burden is not by choice as mine is. I am exercising; they are working.

Exercising intentionally is something that mzungus (white people) do. We are joined by a small minority of Tanzanians who have similar positions behind computers or otherwise no longer have to harvest their food or fuel. Here on a college campus this includes many students, faculty and staff. But most Tanzanians have no need for physical exercise and must find it amusing to watch this mzungu professor marching up the mountain. They are physically strong with endurance that exceeds most athletes. Nonetheless they greet me warmly and offer encouragement.

I watch my fellow exercisers. A man pushes an old bike up the mountain laden with firewood that extends a meter in each direction from his bike. A young girl, no more than 8 years old, expertly balances a bucket of water atop her head as she heads for home. A woman squats while collecting forage; she is limber and flexible. This is what our bodies were meant to do, not run on treadmills.

I have never enjoyed exercising more than here on this mountain. Not only am I constantly encouraged and inspired by the many ‘pole’s I receive, but by the beauty of life. Walking (and running) has allowed me to explore my home on this mountain. With the assistance of students (lest I get lost!), I have explored villages, river gorges, paths that meander amidst banana plantations and stately coffee plantations. Everywhere I am greeted warmly and invited to partake in the local brew, mbege (millet beer). Most know me as the professor from the college. I am shadowed by children anxious to try out their English, wishing me ‘Good Morning’, regardless of the time of day. With few exceptions, I listen to villagers twitter and giggle with mirth as I pass; my Kiswahili is comical at best and I am happy to brighten their day.

Life as it exists here on the mountain is rich and full. Children, neatly dressed in school uniforms and in no hurry, walk home for chores and homework. A small boy dressed in winter ski cap slaloms down the mountain on his imaginary skis and his crude stick poles. A villager under the influence of too much mbege, calls loudly after the mzungu. Pods of women, sharing the day’s news, meander slowly up the mountain. Theirs is a sharing that has happened for centuries; burdens made lighter by comrades. An older man tugs at the lead rope to his cow, switch in hand trying to maneuver man and beast up the mountain. The butcher peers past the carcass that hangs from the ceiling of his small stall, watching and waiting for customers. Chickens skitter across the road and dogs sulk in the shadows. Blue Sykes monkeys perform wild aerobatics teasing me to watch their antics.

Omnipresent, is the mountain. My routes include up and down, both are inevitable. I can choose, up first and then down or vice versa, but always they come together. The mountain provides encouragement, inspiring glimpses of fresh snow contours or full throated cheers of magnificent clouds playing peek a boo with the summit in the colors of twilight.

It was the mountain that provided the inspiration, along with enthusiastic coaching from students, for me to enter my first ever marathon. Yup, a marathon…. Err half marathon. The Kilimanjaro Marathon is one of the premier African marathons that happens to run up the very road I live on at the college. Frankly, I have never understood why anyone would want to do a marathon…long training, boring and/or repetitive routes, hard on the body, etc. However, since I have been blessed with an awesome ‘gym’ on this mountain, I have found my excursions nothing but refreshing, inspiring longer and faster treks. I laughed at the first suggestion of me doing a marathon, but simultaneously and secretly made a promise to myself.

As it turns out, the Kilimanjaro Marathon is a big deal attracting over 3000 runners and 36 countries. There were more mzungus than I’ve seen in a while, but we were outnumbered by Africans of all kinds including those who sit behind computers and those who train professionally. Without contest, the fastest were Africans (Kenyans). Me, I coveted the beautiful medal and knew I could do it just to get the medal. Well 21 kilometers in 3 hours got me a medal, and a time only 30 minutes behind most of my students (1 minute for every year of age difference?). Heck it was easy…. Every few kilometers there was a stand issuing water, food and dripping sponges not to mention the Tanzanian music blaring loudly. It was a hoot, like a big moving party. I never expected it to be fun; hurt yes, but fun? My mostly solitary treks across the countryside had prepared me physically, but I simply didn’t anticipate the fun. Everyone was encouraging and friendly, how could one not succeed given such a huge cheering squadron?

My student coaches have all but signed me up for the next full marathon. Me, I am content to savor my one and only marathon medal (and t-shirt). I will keep trekking across this beautiful countryside soaking in life in its wonderful beauty, diversity and glory. To all you marathoners or marathoner ‘wanna be’, “pole na mazoezi”, I extend my empathy for your exercise.