Walk Like a (Wo)man

Gutembera is one of my favorite verbs in Kinyarwanda.  Literally, it means to walk, but that's just what the black and white pages of some dictionary know.  Gutembera is to walk, to stroll, to amble, to lallygag, to hike up steep hills and slide on your butt down muddy slopes, to have feet stained red with dust, to hop on rocks across trickling streams, and to practice coming back from market with a bag of avocados on your head.
Rwandans like to ask me "where are you going?" every time I leave my house.  The beauty of gutembera is that you don't need a destination--you can just go.  There are some wonderful hiking trails, perfect for an afternoon gutembera, and the various conversations that ensue:

"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to walk.  I like to see the hills."
"Yes, very."
"Mmmmmmm."
"Mmmmmmm."

"Katerina, you are walking."
"Yes.  You are washing clothes."
"Yes, my child's clothes."
"Mmmmmmm."
"Mmmmmmm."

"Katerina, you are walking."
"Yes.  It is a good day to walk."
"But you have not for many days."
"Mmmmmmm."
"Now you are fat."
"Very."
"Mmmmmmm."
"Mmmmmmm."

"Katerina, where are you going?"
"Nowhere."
"Where are you coming from?"
"Over there."
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing.  I'm just walking."
"Mmmmmmm."
"Mmmmmmm."

The best gutembera is one that shakes me out of my daily monotony.  The best gutembera is one with a quirk, a twist, a little glimpse into the unexpected, or an unexpected reminder that life is beautiful.  One of my frequent gutembera encounters is with Goat Man.  He's one of those classically Rwandan character that is difficult to explain to anyone that hasn't lived in this country for awhile.
Goat Man wears the standard old guy uniform--tattered suit jacket, baggy blue pants, dusty orange foam flip-flops.  He's choses to forego the usual fedora; instead, his wiry hair sticks straight out, the odd gray strand providing a sharp contrast with his deep brown skin.
His eyes don't quite focus and his hands tremble, but his grip is like iron.  Handshakes with Goat Man end if and when he chooses.  The only English he knows is "Good Morning" and "Come Here," both of which he will shout at you while capturing your hand in a death grip.  And wherever he is going, he always leads two goats on a tether.  He scared the living bejeezus out of me the first time we met, but now I begin to to worry if I go a week without seeing his blissfully smiling face and faithful goat companions.
So friends, come gutembera my mountains with me sometime! You never know what you'll find...I'm sure that somewhere out there, there's a Rwandan with a story about how he was out walking in the hills and met with an orange-haired strangers wearing pants and picking daisies...