Friday, April 16, 2010

Fearing Like a Man

My hands are soft. I notice it most when cooking. People will grab the thin metal saucepans right off the fire with their are hands, unfazed. The first time I saw this, I assumed that the pan was not very hot, and picked it up to move it elsewhere. You can guess how that worked out, and the painful burns left me wondering how he could have handled it so easily. Occasionally, when a pan is really hot, I've seen someone grab a leaf or two and use them as insulation, I would still burn through the leaf.

The other day I was eating at a friend's house, and was in the little kitchen building with him and his sister in law, marveling at the toughness of her hands. A saucepan of boiling water sat on the crackling fire, to which she added maize flour to make posho (think grits). Posho, however, requires a lot of vigorous stirring, and these saucepans have no handles, so she firmly grabbed this blazing hot pan with one hand and began stirring with the other. Occasionally she would change her grip, probably for a break from the heat, but her hand was usually down on the side of the pan, basically among the flames that were licking around her fingers from below. She didn't flinch, didn't show a hint of discomfort. I told my friend how amazing this was to me, and he told me that women here have much tougher hands than men.

He told me about a saying that women have. When multiple women are together cooking, if one of them reaches for some leaves to protect her hand from the scorching heat of the pan, the others will ridicule her, saying, "Why are you fearing fire like a man?" Cooking is so much a part of the identity of women here, that one can be shamed for not having that food-preparation toughness, and resorting to the soft means of protection that men use.

I'm guessing it's callouses, and nerves damaged due to repeated burning, and simple toughness. One way or another, women here are tough. This discussion leaves out the fact that, before building the fire, women collect and carry the firewood. I've seen women who must be 70, tiny, frail looking, and hunched over, carrying on their backs massive loads of firewood that must weigh 60 pounds or more, bent almost 90 degrees at the waist, looking at the ground, slowly putting one foot in front of the other as they move up the road. It's incredible.

So here's to tough women who provide for their families, who spend most of their days doing the mundane things like hauling and splitting firewood, peeling matooke, and taking hold of blazing hot pans - and who don't fear like a man.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Champions!


Christ School is the champion of Bundibugyo district! Yesterday, we met our biggest rival in the district final. Our first half was brilliant, and the boys did everything I asked of them: keeping their heads in a high-pressure game, possessing the ball, keeping it on the ground, good passing, organized defense, and a high work rate. The only thing lacking was our finishing, and we went into halftime up 1-0 when it should have been 3-0. Nevertheless, I was upbeat and pleased.

I could never have guessed what would follow, as the second half was absolutely horrible. We lost control, the boys lost their poise. I was screaming to my players, "Keep the ball on the ground!" Their coach would then immediately scream to his players, "Don't let them keep the ball on the ground!" One thing I love about soccer is that it is a player's game. The coach can train and prepare, but once the whistle blows, it's up to the players. There's no micromanagement from the sidelines. That aspect of the game drove me crazy in the second half. I was screaming, pacing, shaking my head, my heart pounding, my head in my hands, powerless. Coaching is an entirely different game than playing.

However, we held on for the 1-0 victory, and a wonderful celebration ensued. It took me a couple minutes to transition from my angry coach mode into victory celebration, but it was a lot of fun. One young player in particular impacted me. He's a good kid, very hard working, the kind of player I like to have, and one who will go on to be a big player for this team. He had come on as a substitute to give us a little more defense, and was injured late in the game on a nasty tackle from an opponent and had to be carried off the field, grimacing in pain. As soon as the whistle blew, his arms went in the the air, fists pumping, head back, with pain and joy in his eyes. He looked to me like he might start crying. The emotion in his celebration helped me realize how big this is to these boys. Some of them are orphans, all of them endure a lot of challenges, all of them come from a forgotten corner of this country. This victory which makes them champions may be one of the most meaningful and positive things to happen to them. And now they have the chance to represent their district at the national tournament. There was a crate of Mountain Dew for the celebration, and the boys opened them and shook them like champagne, a fun and happy sight. I helped carry the injured player over the the middle of the celebration so that he could join in the Mountain Dew shower.

Many of these boys have never been outside of Bundibugyo, and I'm excited to have the chance to go with them to Masaka for nationals. We'll meet taller, more skilled players. We'll meet schools with a lot more money. But we'll get to represent Bundibugyo - these 20 boys who get to go on a huge adventure, the biggest opportunity of their playing days. Seeing a new part of the country, opening their eyes, traveling, feeling good about themselves, camaraderie, confidence, learning, growth. That's what I hope for, and I believe it will be a good opportunity for me to invest in them and to show them that I care for and believe in them, even as I prepare to return to the US.

After the game, I told the players that we have a lot to talk about on Monday (not happy things, mind you), but that now was the time to celebrate. And that gave me some freedom to celebrate too.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

CSB 1 - 0 Bumadu

We prevailed in the district semifinals yesterday, against what was probably the other strongest team in the district, and we now advance to the district finals where we'll meet Simbya, our arch-rivals from just up the road, with a place at the national tournament on the line.

The match wasn't pretty, despite a beautiful diving header goal in the early minutes. I was missing two of my best players through injury and suspension, and despite the depth of the squad, we felt their absence. Our opponents, a team from Bundibugyo town, are the first team I've seen that also tries to play a similar style to ours; keeping the ball down, passing, control - as opposed to the fast, frantic, wild, and almost random kicking and chasing that prevails here. We didn't do very well at sticking to our game plan, as we seem to sometimes have trouble keeping our heads in big games, but we still managed to maintain better possession and keep a strong defense. The hard-fought match boiled down to a tense last few minutes, but we held on for the 1-0 victory in the fading evening light.

It was wonderful to see the excitement of the students and staff - people I've never spoken to running up to me congratulating and thanking me, dancing in celebration of a major win, one step nearer to the glory of being district champs. The sunset also seemed to celebrate with us, a beautiful sky from horizon to horizon, the orange light hitting the mountains, intense gold and bright yellows in the west, with pink clouds overhead and reaching over the mountains in the east.

We have a lot of work to do and a lot of improvements to make to be a really good team, but it was a good win and an encouragement to the boys that they can win even without some star players. I was proud of my boys, some of whom were asked to play positions they don't usually play, some of whom had subpar performances but fought hard anyway. Back to the training pitch we go, with confidence from a win, but with an awareness of weakness as well.