Soccer, Stitches, Shabbat

All week while walking through the village people would come up to me asking if I was ready for Friday, the day the muzungu (white people) would play football (soccer) in a game with the local people, including Jews from the local Abayudaya community and Muslims and Christians. We also have had the pleasure to bring with us 18 soccer balls donated by The Sanneh Foundation and the Forman family.

After a beautiful concert in the morning and observing the preparations for Shabbat, we headed off to the field to play. Our big moment was upon us, Ben and I were ready to play in a competitive game of the sport we love in the middle of Africa.  We were guided up to the field and greeted by the couple of teammates who were expecting us, the rest of the team was very confused at these white people who expected to play. The coach questioned whether or not we were prepared to play on their field, a pristine pitch filled with rocks and bumps. I was to start in goal and Ben was coming on as a substitute. Looking around me, I took a second to realize just how beautiful of a location we were in and how lucky I was to be playing the sport I loved there. It was a unique experience, with a motorcycle and rooster whizzing through the field, assistant referees using tree branches instead of the typical flags and goats among the intrigued onlookers. It was interesting knowing the fans surrounding the field were talking about me, but still having no idea what they were saying (Ben did learn that muzungu was not only used for white people, but for bad soccer players, “you’re playing like a muzungu”). When I would make a save the fans would hoot and holler in excitement and surprise that a muzungu could actually play. At half we were winning 1-0 and my team seemed very happy with my performance.

(all photos credit Curt Brown)

Shortly after the second half had begun my unique and crazy soccer experience in Uganda took a turn for the worse. I came out to head the ball out of my box and an opposing player headed me right in the face. After getting up I realized that I was gushing blood and the whole team had surrounded me. I thought it was a bloody nose, but after walking back to the guest house through a barbed wired fence, accompanied by a small army of little kids, we realized I had a big gash in my lip. Isaac, our trusty guide, ran to get the car and we were off to seek medical care. It was at that Jewish Clinic (the Tobin Health Center) that my multi-faith team of nurses (Hakim the Muslim and Barbara with cross earrings) gave me 12 stitches amid many power outages and with the help of a headlamp brought by big sister Kenzie. After the procedure was done, we took pictures and Hakim told us the cost: 20,000 Ugandan shillings or the equivalent of about $8.

Me and my nurse Hakim after he stitched me up.

We returned back to the guest house, exactly two hours after the incident, to learn that the Rabbi had told the whole congregation at services that evening one of the Americans was in the hospital. We were also happy to hear that Ben had successfully played twenty minutes at the end of the match and only suffered an eight-Band Aid abrasion on his left leg. An unforgettable experience and one I will truly remember forever: The muzungu had played football with the locals, for what probably was the first time for them and for us was definitely the last.   

Off to paint the synagogue 

Zac Brown