Running in the dark

As some of you know, I am posted in a rural ranching area in the southwest of Uganda. I have calculated a population of about 6000 (I counted all the children in my trading center's schools-- 3000-- and doubled it as children are half of the population, then I figured the kids boarding here from other areas make up for those not in school at all). I used to think that this would be like my grandparents' small farming town in the US, also with 6000 people (but far fewer children and more streetlights, pavement, a sewage system, and electricity).

I, therefore, began jogging down different roads and exploring the area, confident of my safety and of the population's purportedly amicable nature. (No matter what country you go to, Peace Corps sends you an "informational" booklet about your destination, which invariably starts with the words "The people of _______ are the friendliest people on earth!" and a picture of a random white kid with what looks to be a traditionally dressed country national.)
This was all in early 2010--- before the elderly watchman of our school was assaulted on his bicycle on my jogging path. This was before a different elderly man was killed by his daughter in law for his money (about $2,000)on another jogging path. This was before someone told my nuns that men were planning to assault me on my jogging path. Honestly, I wouldn't think much of it but my buddy in the hospital lab keeps telling me that a third to a half of the people he tests are positive for HIV. Then someone stole a motorcycle and a few motorcycle drivers ganged up, doused him with gasoline and lit him ablaze (he did not survive). Oh yeah, and then a fellow pcv was ambushed and robbed at rifle- point (they don't seem to have handguns here-- or maybe they are hidden under those huge polyester dresses-- no that's where the armored tanks are).
Following many rounds of P90X --and people knocking on my door only to find an inexplicably sweaty girl emerge at random times in the afternoon-- the athletics teacher from the nearby secondary school asked me to go jogging with him. Excited for an opportunity to jog again, I readily accepted. So what I originally thought would be two years of long, leisurely late afternoon jogs turned into fast paced, pre-dawn running through an extremely hilly course. It doesn't help that the BBC told me East Africans are genetically predisposed to and environmentally preconditioned for fast running.
When we met in Philadelphia for staging, before leaving for Uganda, my room-mate was jumping on her bed shouting that she was "Going to Africa!" I, already in chacos and a long skirt, said "This is going to be fun-- fun like a marathon." After the initial excitement and naivete of the first 7 miles has worn off, after you are used to everything falling apart, then things coming back together, and falling apart again, I now add "An extremely hilly marathon in the dark where you hope that you trust the guy next to you." At month 22, I wonder if I am close to hitting my "wall"-- then a wonderful surprise will happen, like the sun coming up as you break the top of the hill, or avocado season, or a new project-- ok haven't hit it yet.