Hanging In the Balance

Yesterday I had a frightening reminder of how dangerous road travel is here, and how precariously life is always perched on the edge, needing almost nothing to push it one way or another. On the way over the mountains, we came to a line of vehicles waiting, and we were told that the Kalita (the coach bus that connects Bundibugyo to Kampala) was stuck. Well, not only was it stuck, it was teetering on the edge of a sheer drop, having spun its wheels on one of the muddy corners and slid toward the edge. One back wheel was off the edge, but it had come to rest, tipped at a terrifying angle, perched precariously above a long drop. There were probably about 70-80 people on board, all of whom escaped without injury. Another foot or two to the left, and I doubt any would have survived - it was hard for me to guess where the bus would have stopped rolling.


A sobering thought for me was that I had contemplated taking the bus yesterday. A couple weeks ago, as I considered my travel plans, I thought that Kalita might be a good option. In the end, I opted to hire a car, a decision that I now consider to have been a very, very wise one. But it reminded me how little control I am in and how quickly life can change. The threat of accident or sickness striking at any time is a constant backdrop to everyday life. As recent events all over the world testify, this isn't unique to Bundibugyo or Uganda, but it does seem more obvious here than in many places.

football pictures

A few more pictures from the tournament. I hope to get Scott's at some point, but these will have to do for now.

A goodbye party

My time in Bundibugyo is winding down, a sad realization, and one which forces me to think about how to say goodbye and how to communicate to people that I really care about them, even though I am walking out of their lives. The fact that I'm going to school makes it easier, I believe, as everyone here is eager for the chance to pursue studies, and just about everyone I've talked to assuress me that I'll be coming back here once I'm a doctor. Apparently about half of Nyahuka town is praying for this. What odds do I have against such petition?

As part of the goodbye process, I had a lunch party for a bunch of friends today, kids and young men who I've been involved with and gotten to know. I really do love many of the people in this group, and these are some of the ones who it will be truly difficult to leave. I was counting on about 25 people coming, but of course, with food is involved, about twice that many showed up at my house, many of them rather peripheral kids who I've seen but don't know. I bought spoons and plates this morning, but wasn't prepared for the numbers that came. A woman who prepares delicious Ugandan food did the cooking for me - if you thought I would be cooking Ugandan food for 50 people, you would be crazy. I've probably only cooked dinner for teammates abotu 10 times in the past 2 years. It was delicious, a big spread that was a treat for all involved, but even with chicken, beans, g-nut sauce, cabbage, sombe, and 22 cups of rice we had to carefully ration, and ran short of food by the time it came down to Vincent and me. The kids watched a movie (probably the main reason they like me) while some of the older guys helped me clean up, but the real fun started after that.

The sky grew dark as rain clouds rolled off the mountain, just as we were starting to kick a football around in front of my house. The rain broke as we set up the goals (reeds stuck in the ground about 2 feet apart), and we embarked on an epic, hour and a half long game of barefoot mud football. Vincent and I squared off against each other, joined by other kids between the ages of about 8 and 15, and laughter was the word as we slipped, slid, and fell all over the place. Face plants in mud puddles. Smooth slide tackles. Defenders falling flat on their butts. Sliding, fist-pumping goal celebrations. It was great to just run around in the rain, laughing, playing, having a good time. At the same time, we managed to play some decent ball, as a few of these kids are going to make some very nice footballers in a few years. By the time we were through my yard was left with about half the grass that it started with, and for the first time in 2 years I was about the same color as everyone else around me.

It was a fitting way to begin saying goodbye to these kids, as football has been a big part of my time here. Food, football, and laughter - all things that I have loved sharing with them in my time here.

The National Tournament, part 1

I'm back in Bundibugyo after 8 days in Masaka for the national secondary school football tournament with the Christ School boys. It was an experience to remember, without doubt. A week of contrasts; smiles and frowns, excitement and discouragement, sun and rain, joyful celebrations and maddening frustrations. I’ll put some pictures here, but the best ones will be those that Scott took, which I’ll post later.

We left Bundibugyo early in the morning in pouring rain, leaving me to worry for everyone’s safety on the tortuous road over the mountains, but despite sliding around a fair amount, we made it safely to Fort Portal and paved roads in reasonable time. Right as we left Fort, there was a sobering reminder of the danger of road travel, as we came upon the scene of a very recent accident, the mangled car lying upside down in a ditch, passengers still stuck inside. We pulled over and ran back to help pull them out, and based on the condition of the vehicle, I thought it was likely we would have to pull a dead body from the car. My first thought was to call an ambulance, only to remember that there is no ambulance. I was thinking about waiting for EMTs to arrive, to make sure that we stabilized peoples’ heads correctly, only to realize that there could be no such considerations. While there was a lot of blood, everyone was alive and we got them out quickly. Most had head wounds and were probably concussed, but we got them in a minibus that would take them to a hospital in Fort, where the driver would be reimbursed for his ambulance service. As we got back in our minibus and pulled away, I looked at the driver and reminded him to drive us carefully. All this, and we had only been gone for 4 hours.

The tournament itself was a good experience and a time of incredible frustration. The organization left plenty to be desired, but after two days all the schools had their players screened and registered. Two of my starters were not cleared right away, owing to slight discrepancies in their names on various documents, but after petitioning the disciplinary committee and meeting with them, the boys were cleared to participate. (In Bundibugyo, names are very fluid, and a person’s name can easily change over time, and additional names can be added or can fall into disuse, making these sort of procedures difficult. One of my players used three names on his primary school leaving exam, but now only uses two, almost getting himself disqualified in the bargain.)

I was accompanied by two Christ School staff members: Ajeku, an assistant coach, and Bwampu, the games master (and a former CSB footballer himself). Alex, the other coach, couldn’t come because his wife was in the hospital waiting to deliver, so significantly more responsibility fell to me. I sat in the meeting where we drew the teams into groups, and I randomly drew us into a group with the host school, St. Henry’s.

A word about the host school. St. Henry’s Kitovu is a massive boys secondary school, rolling in money from the looks of things. 1000 students, many dorms, dozens of classrooms, three football fields, flush toilets, three canteens (stores to buy food and supplies), and acres of space. I saw their O-level test results: 91% of their students scored in division 1, and only one person scored as low as division 3. To put in perspective how hard that is to achieve, it was a major accomplishment the first time that a Christ School student scored as high as division 2. St. Henry’s is also culturally on the inside, as Masaka is right in the middle of the Baganda people, the country’s largest and most powerful people group. In effect, St. Henry’s is the opposite of Christ School. It is old while CSB is young, it is wealthy while CSB runs on a tight budget, it is from an empowered place and an empowered people while CSB is from a forgotten district and a marginalized people.

All of this set the scene for a remarkable turn of events, as the organizers announced that the tournament’s opening match, occurring at the end of the opening parade and ceremony and attended by all other participants (and TV cameras and radio stations), would be played between the host school and Christ School Bundibugyo. My eyes got big and I turned to look at Bwampu, and we both burst into laughter. We were excited and nervous - excited at the opportunity on the big stage and nervous at the prospect of getting humiliated on it, emotions that seemed to be shared by the boys when we told them. It was a veritable David and Goliath (physically too - their players are a lot bigger than ours). This was the sort of story that movies are made of.

On the day of the game, the Coca-Cola banners went up, the giant inflatable Coke bottles were inflated, the Coke marching band played, and at the end of the ceremony, my boys walked onto the pitch through a big red Coca-Cola tunnel, with young children holding their hands, just like the pros do. There was a gleam in their eyes; they realized this was a once in a lifetime experience. I was a bit of a phenomenon, the only white face among thousands of Ugandans of all shades, and as I walked to the coaches area the cameras clicked the people chattered.

Well, no movie will be made of this story. Usually, the David doesn’t beat the Goliath, though you tend to hear about the times that he does. This was not one of those times. We came out strong, controlling possession, passing well, dominating the game to an extent that after 20 minutes, I thought to myself “We’re going to win this game.” Eventually, however, the greater experience of the other team paid off, in combination with our lack of exposure to high quality competition, and they exposed weaknesses in our defense that teams in Bundibugyo hadn’t. We were down 2-0 at the half, but I was still confident and the boys were still upbeat. The game ended 4-0, but the game was nowhere near as lopsided as the score suggests. Of course we were disappointed, but I walked away with my head up, and so did the players. Based on our solid performance, one good but moody player came up to me and said excitedly, "Master! We can win!" I think it was a moment of realization and confidence that, though we were from a backwater place, we could compete on the big stage.

Before I could leave the field, however, I was grabbed by several reporters from with video cameras and microphones, setting up a comical situation in which I could barely walk twenty feet without being grabbed for another interview. I guess I have now had my 15 minutes of fame. The match was broadcast on the radio into Bundibugyo, and while the scoreline wasn’t flattering, Bwampu began getting many calls from people who had listened and who felt like, from listening, our boys were doing very well and had the better of possession. I think that it was a moment of pride, even in defeat, for many of the players, realizing that they were representing their district and that people back home were following them and proud of them.

More to come when I have more time to write…