Rasta John

"How are you? Good seeing you again!" This was a standard phrase from people who I hadn't seen before. If not the first it was at least the second guy who approached me on the street with those words, trying to sell me a safari trip (again?). But this time it was different. I recognized the guy and we started chatting. He pointed out his craft store (again) and this time I agreed to venture in, but telling him right away I wouldn't buy anything.

At the beginning of a three-month trip there is still plenty of time to figure where to get things. So we walk over there and they are actually nice things there. But I only got some post cards. He introduced himself as John. I then asked about buying a used bicycle (I looked at new ones - they are around 100 bucks, but too small).

He agreed to walk me around. When we left his store a guy from the store on the opposite site came running out a mzungu always smells like business, I suppose. But it was interesting - it turned out to be the store that organizes the Kili-Man (open to women, too, btw). It's somewhat like the IronMan (open to women, too, btw). Climbing Kili, riding around it with a bicycle and then doing a marathon, although of course this is not a one-day event (http://kilimanjaro-man.com/). I am so close, yet so far away from it. It will happen again in February 2008, just after my return to Europe. Turns out one of the persons involved with it is a German. She will be back Tuesday and I may stop by.

So John and I walked around and checked out several places. Eventually we found one nice one, but it was twice the price of a new one (200 dollars) even though definitely better quality than the store ones. I will talk to the Kili-GerMan (who is a woman, btw) and see if she knows of any good cheap bikes. But eventually I will buy one. I walked to the office today (something like 45min to an hour) - not something I want to do everyday, even though it was interesting to (somewhat) blend in with the other folks on their way to school, work or just walking errands.

Anyway, eventually John and I parted ways. I told him I'll think about the bicycle some more and asked for his phone number. He tore out a page of his calendar, then borrowed a pen from someone (pens seem to be always rare here) and wrote: Rasta John - Tel: ....

We shook hands, then hit our fists against each others - very popular especially among the younger crowd. He then clutched his chest. Made me feel very special.