It makes a soft clicking sound as I close the reflecting west against my chest and start adjusting the straps to fit my body. It’s a classic Tuesday evening - my running shoes are laced tight and my motivation is high. “Let’s warm up” I hear our coach shouting and people start forming a circle. We are around 30 people today, a rather small group. As we stretch in the hot, humid air, car headlights glare into my face and the honking reminds us that we are standing in a parking lot. After letting the car pass, we walk up the dirt road towards the gate that leads us to the public road. We start with a slow run, but the energy builds up as people start shouting, screaming and singing. I prefer to save my breath and concentrate on my legs for now. We take a left into a small road and leave behind the wide roads and its traffic. Soon, I hear a whistle blow twice - the signal to pick up the pace. Unlike most roads in Abuja, these narrow and winding streets are well lit. The reason is obvious, it is one of the wealthiest areas in town and home to many embassies. Only they would pay to have their generators lighten up the streets during the many power cutoffs. I just passed a gate with a South Korean flag painted on it and can already read the road. As I reach it, signals the end of the sprint and I ease into a slower pace. “Circle Back!” I hear the coach shout and several runners echo it so everybody gets the message. The first in the group turn and head back towards the end of the line to catch up with those on the end. It is one of the rules of this running club. “We run together” is its motto and they mean it. This running club was the first place in Abuja where I felt part of a community, a feeling that’s essential when you start a life in a new place without knowing anybody. While passing by, I take in the diverse architecture of embassies from around the world, but slowly I feel my stamina waning.
Tuesday is interval day, so we alternate between sprints and a slower, more relaxed pace to catch the breath.
We're halfway through the run now and more and more people are walking during the slower phases – the training is intense. “Stay bouuuuncy!” – several members shout, encouraging the walkers to keep holding up a running movement instead of a walk. While everybody runs at their own pace, the sense of community drives empowerment and some form pairs to push each other. We have reached a stretch of road that now indeed is dark and I challenge myself to push away the fear of tripping over something. Honestly, the condition of the roads justifies my fear – mudholes are part of reality, even in the nicest areas of town. I glance up and see the moon shining down on us, reminding myself to be grateful for having the chance to be outside – a rare opportunity here, where it’s often unsafe and complicated for me to spend time outdoors.
As I lift my feet just a little bit higher than the usual, bracing for any surprises on the dark road, I hear what might be a whistle blow - or was it a bird chirping? Nature is so present here, even in the heart of the city. Somebody runs up beside me with a flashlight. Now I can see clearly perfectly that my fear was a bit overblown. Apart from the drainage ditches, big and deep holes by the side of the road, ready to take in the masses of water when the rains come, the road looks fairly decent. “How far?” my new well-lit campanion asks. The very first time, I would answer a number of kilometers I think we have left. By now I have learned this common expression in pidgin English. “I’m alright. How are you?” I answer correctly. “Well done” he answers me and rushes off with the sound of the next double whistle. A moment later, I notice another person speed past me like a lightning - it’s the photographer, sprinting ahead to capture shots of us all in action. Soon after, he calls for us to gather under one of the streetlights for a group photo. Once done, we enter the last stage of the interval running and my new running friend taps on my shoulder: “You ready?”. For the last 30-second sprint with everything we’ve got left. He laughs when the whistle blows, and I shout, “Hallelujah”. Sayings from both religions part of everyday language here and it seems like I am unconsciously adapting.
As we make our way back to the parking lot, I voice thoughts: “I wonder why we are so few people today”. Some runners explain that there is a deadline of a big donor organization this week. Many of the runners work in the NGO sector and are probably still sitting in their office finishing reports. It seems to me that both Nigerians and internationals with a particular mindset tend to join this run club. Exercising, especially outdoors is not common here. It’s mostly a certain group of the elites who have the time, energy, and interest in this kind of activity. While the cars in the lot show that not everyone here is wealthy, it’s clear that most of the runners share a modern – some might even say Western – mindset. My friend, who drives me home after the run, tells me she lives together with her mother - a rather unusual arrangement for a woman in her late twenties here. I tend to skip asking if they’re married or have kids, as it’s generally taken for granted here. It is refreshing to see this crowd of people seeking for community in this space. My friend also mentions that she values the people she meets in the running club, as most of her usual contacts are from church. The running club provides a space to meet others and focus on a common goal rather than on differences. Maybe, in a way, it’s even an example of peacebuilding, I think to myself, and I’m reminded that exploring how to build peace is the reason I’m here in Nigeria. I never expected to find it in a running club, but life has a way of surprising you.
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