Dar es Salaam-based political and social commentator
My master (goodness bless him!) once taught me that man shall not live by observing politics alone, and ever since I have not resisted straying into the multitude of the other things than man can live by, in conjunction, that is, with observing politics.
So, many years ago, I went into jogging, and jogged like mad, everywhere I found myself and in whatever weather condition except maybe rain or heavy snow – like I jogged in Moscow at -20 Celsius, finding it warm; drizzles I could handle most times because they reminded how we used to trudge to school back then.
I became so committed to jogging that so many a time I would forget something really useful for a traveller (like the toothbrush), but my ‘Nike’ sneakers – Michael Jordan was there in the 80s, yo!—and the flashiest tracksuit were part of the never-miss regalia. Part of the thing was exercise for sure, but part was showoff, which did no harm, as long as the basics remained in place.
I became so enamoured of the pastime that when Jimmy Carter, then US president became some kind of patron of the sport I started following him in whatever he was doing concerning jogging in his numerous conventions and other promotional junkets.
For my part, I started “collecting” streets I has jogged on/in. I would note in my diary that I had jogged on Rue Didouche Mourad, Algiers this date and in the following week it would say I had jogged in the Tunis ‘medina’, along the Champs-Elysee in Paris, on Tien an Men square in Beijing, or along Avenue du 30 Juin in Mobutu’s Kinshasa.
If I sound like I’m bragging, well, it’s because I am, because if one cannot blow one’s trumpet who will do it for one? But above blowing horns, there is something else: jogging was, in those days, something of a fashion, which in some cases took root, prospered and eventually died the same way other fads die.
The jogging clubs that always ended at the same popular “watering hole” at 10 in the morning and sat down to “digest” the jogging exercise till evening – consuming more carbs than they had shed, likely did not survive very long.
Also, some donor do-gooders may have corrupted what in some cases started off with the best intentions, by hijacking them (unwittingly, I suspect) by throwing at them “assistance” in the form of running shoes, caps, skirts and shorts in a Dar es Salaam based project dubbed “Sports for All.” I suggested to them they were maybe killing the spirit of “Olympism”, but I was not heeded: their embassy had this money and it had to be spent.
That particular project in Dar es Salaam died, though many other “organic” clubs, in the same city and elsewhere up-country, have continued to sprout and nurture enthusiasts—young and old—on the basis of doing sports for sport’s sake, because it is a beneficial exercise, without people expecting to receive free clothing from some donor organisation with excess money to disburse.
But, on the other hand, those who had occasion to visit our neighbours in the region have had occasion to witness street shut-downs on particular days to create car-free towns where people can walk or jog, or play volleyball, basketball, netball, or trot along absent-mindedly to recreate, that is to say, to remake fresh bodies and souls that have been partially damaged in the multifaceted bruises inflicted by life.
Such countries have seriously watched over all those spaces where children, youth and elders can exercise, organise juvenile contests or sit down as elders and read their books and converse in peace.
In Dar es Salaam and many other urban centres such spaces have been given over to what is called “developers”, to put up beerhalls and brothels.
Our town planners are without a job, because our towns plan themselves, without needing those ancient skills, basically because we live in glorified villages we call towns.
But if we needed town planners, we would have directed them to build our towns in such a way that we would have been able to walk and recreate, do a little exercise that would allow us to walk at least five kilometres a day without even talking about it. (Health ministry, does that concern you?)
Of course there is the question you may want to ask: Suppose we build all those paved and safe walkways and shaded parks and leafy alcoves, and the people preferred to stay in the bars, drinking? My answer would be thus: let them be, but soon they would all die out, and the emerging generation, seeing all these wondrous ecological creations, would ask what they had been meant for, and those still around would explain it to them.
No, I am joking, we can still save many of us from dying prematurely, and if anyone wants to start somewhere, I am a taker.
I won’t go back to those jogs on the “collected” street of yesteryear Chicago or Rome, but I suspect that even the chameleon was a sprinter in his previous incarnation, and the rest, as they say, is evolution.
Now, between that and our fight against non-communicable diseases, let’s do the done thing. And I will come back right here.
Ulimwengu is now on YouTube via jeneralionline tv. E-mail: [email protected]
