On Problems

Due to the below-mentioned medical situation, I’ve needed to reduce my normal level of exercise. In an attempt to move a little, while not putting unnecessary strain on my leg, I’ve taken to going on long walks around Naguru, the area where I live. Now, the decision regarding whether to walk with or without music is a crucial one. Strolling with music blasting from my headphones makes it difficult for me to hear approaching cars; thus, as there are no sidewalks, I’ve more than once genuinely thought I was going to be hit by a moving vehicle. (As an aside, there are likely people reading this with whom I’ve been on the phone during these encounters, and I sincerely apologize for any stress or concern I've caused.) On the flip side, walking without the ability to zone out to the tunes on my iPod leaves me vulnerable to the type of encounter I describe below.

Last Tuesday morning I woke early to embark on one of these lengthy walks. After sipping a cup of coffee while I wrote a few emails, I threw on the oversized red Cornell t-shirt my brother kindly brought me from his alma-mater and my black mesh shorts with paint stains all over the behind, a remnant from a service expedition in New Orleans this past spring. Popping on my now red-tinted sneakers (Kampala is largely composed of a maroon colored dirt that gets very dusty when it doesn’t rain), I headed for the door, sans music. Note that I’ve said nothing about combing my hair (or doing anything with it for that matter), washing my face, brushing my teeth, or any other form of basic grooming/maintenance. When I go for my morning walks, I put zero thought into looking attractive.

After walking for about forty-five minutes and working up a decent sweat (Naguru is very hilly and it gets hot quickly), I turned down the last, fifteen minute stretch towards my house. On the opposite side of the street, a man was walking along in my same direction, unaccompanied. About fifteen seconds after noticing me, this young fellow said, “Hello! How are you?” Not wanting to be rude, I turned and said “I’m good, thank you. How are you?” The response: “I am good. What about you?” Instantly identifying the cyclical nature of this scintillating conversation, I decided to see how long it would last. “I’m doing well,” I said, “and how are you?” The response: “My problem,” admitted the man candidly, “is that I love you.”

Well, that brought our circular chat to a screeching halt, as I was surely not going to respond in kind. Amused by the absurdity of his comment, I smiled. Bad move. At this slightest of encouragements, my new found friend promptly crossed the street and walked along beside me. “Ah,” I said to him once he arrived by my side, “that certainly is a problem.” “Do you love me too?” this man asked, hopefully.

“Well, you see, I’m married,” I started, then glanced down and to the left at my obviously naked ring finger. Note to self: become faster at relocating ring usually situated on left middle finger. “I have a very serious boyfriend,” I offered, consolingly, “and I care about him very much.” After a couple of questions aimed at determining the veracity of this statement, including the location of my boyfriend, and if I loved said boyfriend more than him, my new friend fell silent for all of about three seconds before inquiring optimistically, “do you have any sister?”

Though I did question fleetingly how this man’s love could have moved so quickly from me to my potential, unmet sister, I quickly realized the absurdity of this entire line of reasoning. Instead, my thoughts went directly to my sister, Katherine, to whom I happened to be writing a lengthy email and who had been on my mind through much of my walk. “Yes, I do have a sister,” the first truthful thing I’d told this man so far, “but she is not here; she is in the United States.” Taking it one step further, more for my amusement than anything else, “you would have to have a long-distance relationship.” This of course, was JUST what Katherine needed (on top of the other stresses in her life right now): a long-distance Ugandan boyfriend whom she’s never met. I smiled at the entire concept. For the record, I don’t think my friend found the concept too appealing either; I’m doubtful that a long-distance emotional, non-physical relationship with a young woman he’s never met was really what he sought.

After contemplating this idea for a minute or two, his step slowed and he started to lag behind me. “It was nice talking to you!” I said, and smiled. He smiled back and said “good day”.