Football

It’s started to be an annual tradition: the Bazungu v. the local league. Highly anticipated in the day between its announcement over the town loudspeakers and the 5 pm game time, the Bazungu v. Baganda soccer/football game attracted a huge crowd last Thursday. Next time we want to hold financial literacy classes, we should lure people to the pitch (field) with promises of funny Bazungu running around flailing at footballs.

You know it’s a crowded village when you can front an entire 11-person team made up of aid workers. We should have had 3 SACCO interns, 2 Engineers Without Borders kids (also Duke affiliates), a returning SACCO intern/visitor, a Peace Corps Volunteer, a Red Cross Volunteer, an International Institute of Tropical Agriculture employee, and a physical therapist. Sadly, a few people were out of town, and that only would have added up to 10 anyway. We filled in with a few honorary Bazungu, including the SACCO manager and a few volunteers from the opposing team. By halftime, our team was definitely more local than foreign.

I was one of the people who got kicked out at halftime (this could be a reflection of my poor soccer skills, Ugandan disbelief that women would want to play soccer, or the fact that I wasn’t very secretive about the fact that I don’t know how to play soccer). Until then, I had played position #7. I don’t know what that translates to in American soccer terminology, but it wasn’t defense, the position I played in day camp when I was 10. #1 is goalie, and as the numbers get higher, so does the amount you’re supposed to be running around.

Though our original average soccer skill level was pretty low, between the friendly nature of the game, a large halftime infusion of skill, some luck, and the fact that we legitimately had a few pretty decent players, we tied, 3-3. I didn’t really watch the game very closely after exile because something far more exciting was happening offstage: adorable children were mobbing me!

I joked that I was going to kidnap one, but after the game he led me to his house and I began to joke (mainly to myself, because he couldn’t understand me) that I was the one being kidnapped. We had 3 words in common: Mzungu, yes, and ball.

The game was great fun and a success. Even if we can’t manage to hold another this summer so that those who missed the first one entirely can join in the fun, Nkokonjeru can look forward to another next year!