Days 13-15 (Post 2): Soccer and Hiking
This will be a sort of patchwork blog recounting our experiences the past three days in Bududa.
Friday March 25, 2016 – Futbol and the Reality of Opportunity for Ugandan Youth
After one of my most memorable futbol experiences back on Wednesday at St. Jude's Academy, in front of a crowd of 350+ students the crew was informed of a planned match hosted by the Bududa Vocational Academy. The only differences, a crowd one-tenth the size and the fact that we would all be on the same team rather than split up with the local Ugandans. We were utterly doomed. Dressed in matching green uniforms fit for ten year olds, we were quite the spectacle. Only a few minutes in and they slotted a goal past Ben. This was going to be a long game. The sun was already out and draining us entirely of energy. And then came a lucky break. With a juke Dave split two defenders and laid a perfect pass to the top of the eighteen. With one touch the ball slotted home past the keeper. 1-1. We were still in this. Feeling the momentum swing our way we attempted to play an over the top ball to run on to, but with a tight angle the shot was inches off target. Within five minutes they scored on us. Within ten they extended that lead even further. In fact they were so far ahead they started showing off their skills, the home crowd cheering them on the entire way. Catlin Gabel’s futbol travel team took a nice L with that match. Some of the kids on the opposite team were quite good, the same as with the kids from St. Judes. Dash and I wondered how many of them would make the Catlin team.
The day after the game we were split into three groups of students to have a question-answer and storytelling session with the Children of Bududa (Orphanage group). Unlike most of the student interactions we had experience prior on the trip, none of the kids spoke any manageable amount of English and translating was quite complex. Nevertheless, after fifteen to twenty minutes we were actually able to get the translator to help us out and Ben, Miguel, and I managed to ask the kids a few questions. Perhaps the most interesting of which was “What do you want to do when you get older?” The students were all around our age, some even older, making their answers even more shocking to me. One by one they spat out answers ranging from NBA player to pro boxer to movie star. Sure, everyone of us wanted to be something of the same. I can remember when I thought that I would be a futbol player on the German international team. The only difference, I was about 10, and they were upwards of 17. Even more outstanding was the follow up question by Ben. “Do you think you possess the opportunity to do what you want to do?” In resounding chorus the students exclaimed yes.
Just thoroughly think about that. A 17-year-old boy who thinks he will play in the NBA yet has never touched a basketball. A 19-year-old girl who thinks she will act in movies yet has rarely seen a TV and zero occasion to act. Through this small session the massive disconnect between western and Ugandan culture was palpable. When talking to Greg later concerning this, he felt largely the same way. Through the limited familiarity with western, and in particular American culture, the people here apply those media construed perceptions to all of western society. What they don’t realize is that behind the picturesque outer layer there is tons and tons of learning, practice, work to be done to become somewhat adept at that skill. It is definitely quite sad wondering what those children could have accomplished given the necessary opportunities. But above all, that miniscule experience highlighted the extreme divide within a global world that we would like to believe is fully connected. This further leads to skepticism surrounding the future of central African nations, as they all aim to ‘leapfrog’ from instability and subsistence farming to a developed and modern state. Such attempts to simply skip a period of time in the process of development (largely what we refer to as the industrial revolution) might prove to work tremendously. However, drawing from past events, countries that attempt such a leap often break down due to the inability of the entire country (specifically the rural communities) to make that transition. I would love to believe that Uganda, Rwanda, and other central African countries could be the first to really surprise the western world. Skepticism nevertheless lingers.
Sunday March 27, 2016 – Painful Hikes in Bududa
Skipping our usual morning run, Ian and I woke at 6:00 to an assortment of Ugandan pancakes (more like crepes) prepped by Justine our dietary lifeline in Bududa. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but the outline of the banana trees dotting the hilly landscape was coming into focus. The group at the homestay arrived soon after looking feeble from their lack of caloric intake in the past two days. Keeping the pack light for the Easter hike, I dumped my rain jacket and sunscreen, and due to Dave’s constant reminder of the local culture surrounding shorts above knees, I sported some long and seemingly breathable pants (cuffed of course). After a short drive to the drop location we met our guide, Patrick (oddly enough everyone we came in contact with seemed to be called Patrick). But off we went, a pack of misfit Mzungos wandering aimlessly through the hills following a narrow dirt path. Taking the front, our guide Patrick and his nephew surged up the hill, leaving our group startled and weakened at the prospect of such a pace. After a few minutes I found myself with the company of Dash and Katie, and bored at the thought of sparking another political debate, we settled on some riddles to ponder. The best of which, told by Dash, kept our minds off of the sun that started to beat down on our un-sun screened bodies. For your entertainment the riddle goes something like this.
“Four people in red shirts are standing with their backs to a circular pillar, equally spaced. Each person can see the person to their right and their left and ascertain the color of their shirt. They are instructed to raise one hand, either hand, if they see one or two people in red shirts on their right or left. Then, they are told that the first person to say if the person across from them is in a red shirt will win. One person waits ten seconds and then says, “They’re wearing a red shirt.” How did they know?”
If you figure it out, and you should (although it did apparently take Dash an entire year to perceive), feel free not to post the answer in the comments section. So we continued on our trek through the infinite hills sprinkled over the landscape at the Uganda-Kenya border. Pushing a pretty strong pace, we continuously stopped to refill our tanks with some more or less clean water. As we passed by houses lining the trail, our cluster expanded to include local village children who appeared determined to outlast each other. Once again wearied of our expedition, Dash and I transitioned into a lighthearted melody that was pushing the top of the musical charts in Uganda.
“Dear _____, we see that you are here,
We are very happy to receive you,
BVA choir on the stage,
Ready to entertain you”
Simply throw in any name, object, or animal after Dear, and you have an everlasting melody that is sure to make everyone else in the group hate you.
The sun’s rays kept pounding our bare white skin. At a rural trading post on top of one of the hills, Patrick came in the clutch obtaining some freshly baked chapatti (12 bags in total, each bag had two chapattis, 7000 shillings for the entire venture, so around 300 shillings per chapatti, restaurant chapatti prices were 1500+ so Patrick was the real MVP). Revitalized by the food, the function pushed ahead again into the unknown depths of Mt. Elgon. We had been told that a 70-year-old woman completed the hike in six hours, and now five hours in Patrick told us that we were still three hours from the final point. With the group moral at an all time low, sweat dripping down my pants which seemed to only retain more and more energy as the hike progressed (I was also slightly aggravated when I discovered Dash and Sophie wearing shorts above the knee, thanks Dave), and H2O levels running low, I pulled out my last bag of Trader Joe’s dried mangos. As if by coincidence as soon as the first of the mangos entered our mouths, Patrick turned and expressed to us that it was actually only 30 minutes to the destination (dried mangos hold a lot of power). Rejoiced, we for the last time surged on and just before the rain began to fall in heaps, the other Patrick, our bus driver swooped in to pick us up. Many a spirits were broken on the hike. But then again, isn’t Easter about rebirth or something? Also if you somehow didn’t catch all the sun hints, I got sunburnt.
More tales of Easter dinner will be coming soon…
--Luca