Morning Ritual

I had myself a long distance relationship while I was in Tanzania.

Each day a bus would take us to work, following the same route. These were some of the worst roads I've seen. It took us about 30 minutes to go what was probably less than 5 miles because of the deep dirt ruts. The people we drove by all wore flip flops. The women had an extra piece of bright patterned cloth, called a kanga, tied around their waists.

Near to our worksite was a petrol storage place with giant round tanks. Each morning a group of men gathered at that corner.

That's where I met my boyfriend.

He waved and I think I just smiled that first day from my bus window, maybe I did a farmer's nod in acknowledgement. I make it a point to return waves, especially to children, though I rarely initiate them. This man--or perhaps it was my coworkers--made me shy, however.

My man always waved, day after day; some of his friends did as well, but not with the same level of dedication or enthusiasm.

One morning I ended up on the wrong side of the bus. Until this point, I felt our connection was private, personal. Those waves were mine. But now that I wasn't positioned correctly, I had to tell my coworker who was in my seat, to prepare her. We could see my man stand up as he saw our bus approach, to ready himself for the morning ritual, which was also increasingly accompanied by jumping. You could see he was looking directly at the seat I always sat in, that his efforts were meant for me. I stood from where I'd been forced to sit that day and waved largely so he wouldn't miss it. That was the first time I really made an effort and that's when our secret was out. My coworkers laughed, perhaps aware of this man's dramatics for the first time. They followed our love affair closely after that.

I managed to keep my seat from that day forward and faithfully returned his greetings. When I boarded that bus, I wasn't going to work; I was going toward that wave. It brightened my day. I was reminded of the Bob, the old crossing guard near our high school--my sister and I knew it was going to be a good day if he waved to us. On the other end of my Tanzanian workday was a cute older man at our hotel gate. He wore an oversized guard's hat and uniform and unnecessarily pointed our bus in the direction of the hotel (there was only one way to go). He was the Tanzanian Barney Fife.

As our departure from Tanzania drew closer, I thought about the sadness my man would have when I suddenly just stopped coming. I knew I needed to mark the occassion of my last day and share my appreciation with him.

I picked two red flowers from a bush at the hotel, not sure I'd have the guts to do what I wanted to in front of my coworkers. Encouraged by my two colleguages from Ghana, I decided I had nothing to lose. And every romance needs an appropriate ending. As he waved that last time, I threw the flowers to him from the bus window and shouted good bye.

The only words we ever exchanged.