Yesterday, a place I love was attacked. Yesterday, people of all nationalities were killed while watching the World Cup Finals in Kampala, Uganda. One of the places that was bombed was a place I know well. In 2008, I sat in that very same rugby club and watched the opening ceremonies of the Summer Olympics with people from all over the world. Everyone cheered as their respective nations walked around the stadium and I will always remember how happy I felt at that moment. They served good food, they had comfy couches, everyone who came there had a smile on their face. That night in Kamapala, Uganda at the rubgy club was one of my happiest. And now that place is gone. In the last ten minutes of a thrilling match the world split apart for those in my favorite rugby club as well as those at a nearby Ethiopian restaurant.
I don’t understand this kind of disrespect for human life. I simply can’t comprehend this type of hate. Honestly, at this point I don’t care who perpetrated this attack and why- it won’t change what has already been done. Later, I will wonder and speculate. Today, however, I just want to remember that place as it was and send all my thoughts and prayers to those who are in hospital recovering and the families of those 74 who will never recover. Today, the attackers will not occupy my mind- they don’t deserve first thoughts- first thoughts are reserved for those whose pleasant and happy night was brought to an abrupt and violent end.
One of my favorite Ugandan hang-outs is gone but I won’t ever forget the way it was. My memories will not be tarnished by hatred. I will not be afraid to travel back to the place I love, the place where I have found some of my most joyful moments and experiences. Despite last nights events, Uganda will remain in my mind as one of the most peaceful places I have ever visited. A place where I not only witnessed peace, but where I found my own.
I Have a Fever and the Only Cure is More World Cup!
For those of you who may not know me, I am a huge HUGE fan of football(or soccer if you aren’t so pretentiously European as I am). I have been following football for a while now and the World Cup is pretty special to me, not just because it is such a major competitive arena, but because of the memories it brings back.
Picture it, Nsumba Uganda 2006, the World Cup hosted by Germany had just begun and I was living in a village without toilets much less electricity and television. Nevertheless, with the undefeatable African spirit, the Men in the next village somehow acquired a generator and a (maybe illegal) satellite and began charging 300 shillings to watch the matches on a white bedsheet (which is a surprisingly good screen). I began walking to the next village everyday after work, grabbing a piece of roasted maize and a bottled coca-cola on the way, and then watching match after match for 300 shillings each. The sense of camaraderie was amazing especially considering I was the only female in the room. It didn’t seem to matter though and we all slapped each other high-fives when our teams would score and yell at the referee when he made a poor call. It was really electric and exciting. Until the US played Ghana. That’s when things got a bit sticky. I was cheering for the US. They were cheering for Ghana. When the US scored I leapt up from my seat and turned to high-five whoever was next to me. What I found was men, still in their seats, staring at me without expression. Something had changed. A few of them laughed at me in a good natured way to let me know we would still be friends when this match was over. Anyway, Ghana won so they were happy.
Fast forward a few weeks to the final match of the 2006 World Cup. France v. Italy. I was now living and studying in England and was crammed into a pub with about 300 other people. My favorite footballer of all time Zinedine Zidane was playing his final World Cup match. Then he headbutted Marco Materazzi (who totally deserved it) earning Zidane a red card and expulsion from the match. The pub went mad and there was beer flying all over the place and general chaos. I loved every second of it. After the match, which Italy won, the madness flooded into the streets and people were singing and cheering and honking their horns and it was just such an amazing thing to be a part of and I will never forget it.
So now, finally after 4 long years of waiting, the 2010 World Cup is upon us and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Although the 2006 World Cup will always hold a special place in my heart. Unless the US actually wins- then this one will totally take that special place in my heart and dominate it. Happy watching everyone!!! Support your teams!!!!
It has become apparent to me, in the past couple of weeks, that my life is a series of random events that are seemingly unconnected and unrelated to one another, and yet they make up this bizarre and typically pleasant life of mine. My paths are not really paths. The road isn’t a road at all.
I had a devastation a few days ago. A complete and total devastation that resulted in two days of crying and a box of donuts. And then, on the third day I was somehow saved quite unexpectedly. It hasn’t necessarily lessened my sadness over what happened before, but it has acted like a balm on my heart and soul. I feel so unusual. Happy and sad at the same time- I’ve never experienced that. It’s surreal but a soft satisfying kind of feeling. If it was a color it would be lavender. If it was a sensation I would say it was like hiking in a hot and humid forest all day and then slipping into a cool and clean pond of water- completely silent and still but full of life.
I feel like I’m looking at my life in a completely different way and yet it’s the same. I can see all the not really paths and not really roads and they all connect but in unexpected and unique ways. In my imagination I picture them as the dirt roads and paths I loved so much in Uganda (and these certainly qualify as not really paths and not really roads). Somehow, I love it.
Oh! I also wanted to say that I think everyone should listen to the following bands because their music is sublime and sees me through life’s devastations and joys.
I find myself thinking more and more of Uganda lately. It’s been two years since my last trip and almost four since my first. I miss it dearly and as it seems I won’t be able to travel there for another year, I am thinking about some of my most cherished memories of my time there. The following happened in 2006 during my first trip to the Pearl of Africa.
It was my first solo trip from the village where I lived in Nsumba to the nearest town with internet access and chocolate, Mukono. I was a bit nervous because I had never navigated the taxis and wandered around Mukono on my own before that and it was only my second week in Uganda. The nerves were for nothing though, as I had no problems at all finding my way to Mukono, using the internet, and grocery shopping. I was sitting in the taxi on the return trip, (I say sitting but it was more like perching because though the taxis are only supposed to hold 14 people this particular one had more like 23 and there was very little room for sitting properly), daydreaming away as usual when I realized we had made one of the many stops taxis make along their routes. At this particular stop vendors would come up to the windows of the taxi and sell things like roasted maize and roasted sweet bananas. A little boy sitting between me and his Mother reached into his worn trousers and pulled out a couple hundred Ugandan shillings. With a hundred shillings you could buy one roasted sweet banana, he bought two. I smiled at him because he looked so proud to be buying something with his own money. He smiled back and offered me one of his roasted bananas. I was shocked. He had just spent all his pocket money on two sweet bananas and he wanted me to have one. Perhaps it sounds silly but never in my life have I felt more honored. He continued to insist that the Mzungu next to him should have one of his purchased sweet bananas. His Mother looked at me and smiled and I could see the pride she had in her generous and tender hearted son. I accepted the banana, the first I had ever eaten roasted. It was delicious. Every bite tasted better than the last and as I finished it my heart felt like it would burst from the emotion I was feeling. Here was this little boy who was growing up with so much less than I ever did and he wanted to give something to me. I remembered my groceries at that moment and realized I had two large bottles of coca-cola. I offered him one. His Mother refused and told me it was too much but I insisted. She accepted the bottle from me and opened it with her teeth, which I though was particularly impressive. She handed it to her son and he took a long drink. His eyes lit up and he thanked me over and over again. Wa bali nyo. Wa bali nyo. The little boy’s Mother told me he had never had Coca-Cola before. In my entire life I have never felt so connected to this world as I did then. In that moment, which took almost no time at all, my entire being felt peaceful and blissful. It was the absolute perfect exchange of cultures. Roasted sweet banana for a Coca-Cola. We didn’t speak the same language, didn’t even know each other’s names but in that moment we were so connected to one another. That sweet child gave to me without expecting anything in return and I don’t think he could ever know exactly how much it was that he gave me, it was so much more than a banana. Whenever I am having a dark day I think about that moment, that brief beautiful moment, and I feel the shadow of what I felt then and it is more than enough to keep me going. To this day there is nothing that tastes so sweet to me as a roasted banana.