There's a very distinct smell that I associate with East Africa. Two parts burining garbage, one part equatorial sunshine; I have come across similar smells while traveling in Southeast Asia or while driving around the sleepy beach towns of Sao Paulo state. Last night, stepping out of the Kilimanjaro airport, the smell filled my nostrils for the first time since my time in Kenya alomst seven years ago, and that's when I knew that I'd finally, after two nights in Johannesburg and three plane rides, arrived.
This morning I went for an easy two-mile run to loosen up before tomorrow's race. Dressed in running shorts and a tank top, clothes that would have been strictly forbidden during my entire semester abroad in Kenya and Tanzania, I felt naked running past women in their ankle-length sun dresses and men in slacks and T-shirts despite the heat.
Little kids I passed waved, saying, "Ha-lo" in thier sing-songy voices, the more daring of the bunch adding "Mzungu" (a not-so-polite word that is used to signify fair skinned foreigners) to end of their greeting. When I called back to them in the little Kiswahili I remeber, "Jambo, habari gani," (Hello, how are you) they giggled and replied, "nzuri" (fine), making me realize just how much I have missed being here.
My almost-new Asics are now coverd in a layer of red-brown Tanzanian dust. With this finishing touch, I am officially ready to face all 42 kilometers that await me tomorrow morning.
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