The entire secondary school local football (soccer) season was compressed into a single week in Bundibugyo. Our sports committee planned it this way, perhaps to spend less of the fees they extract by paying referees and security for fewer days? 21 schools entered boys' teams and were assigned into 5 groups, and 8 schools entered girls' teams assigned into two groups, so that the plan was one day for simultaneous group stages (4 teams each play each other in six slightly abbreviated games), one day for quarter-finals for boys and semifinals for girls, one day for finals for girls and semis AND finals for boys. If that sounds impossible in a district that is in the grip of an East African heat wave (90+ degree weather making playing multiple games per day unhealthy), and in a place where transportation and communication and regulation-size pitches are in limited supply, and in a place where an 8 am start is considered timely if it happens by 10-11 am . . . well you have the picture. Nothing went quite according to plan.
We have spent most of the last week either cheering our teams on from the sideline, waiting hours for referees or officials, or trying to follow the late changes to schedules and teams. As usual, two teams were disqualified for having hired non-student players (the only two our coaches raised questions about . . . no doubt there were others). As usual, we were often the school to beat, the school to cheer against, because we are the top academically and have a long history of sports success too, plus we have the nicest pitch and campus, and the most outside help with things like microscopes and computers .. . we stick out, which is hard in a place that values conformity. As usual, there was a tense morning where students from another school disagreed with a referee's off-sides call and stormed the pitch to attack the ref, and even the coach physically pushed a ref (that team was NOT disqualified, but when they didn't get their way they took a forfeit in protest). Our western rules-based cultural values, and values around planning and timeliness, made us feel self-righteous this week. But in a place where power is an antidote to fear, winning is a sign of safety. And in a place where so little can be controlled, people don't expect a schedule to predict reality. So, this is just football. It generates deep reactions.
We field actual students, and our coaches are actual teachers. Our teams had no real "season", only the 3 group-stage games and the playoffs. Our boys went to semi finals where they lost a very close game, honestly they played very well with better passing and control and strategy than the old days, but any team can lose on any given day. Our girls went to finals where they also lost in a close game .. . but since two teams get to go to regionals, they will move to the next level in spite of not winning the district. It's probably good for football that four different schools progress, St. Mary's Simbiya and Bumadu Seed for boys (both government-funded schools); Haven and CSB for girls (both private church-based schools).
Everyone would rather win, and win big, and feel powerful and competent. I would too. But being immersed in this intense little season has me thinking about Football and Easter.
The value of the sport for these kids? Physical exercise and skill, community effort and teamwork, learning to listen to a coach and follow rules, feeling the delight and admiration of the crowd, the fun of being outside, belonging and identity. But also the way sports become a microcosm of life, because all of that does not add up to sure-fire winning. They have to struggle, and often meet injustice in the form of adults making harmful choices for them, or using money to subvert the fair play. They have to face failure and disappointment with character, own up to mistakes. They have to trust that they are loved whether things go their way or not. They have to choose whether to obey rules or to react with violent anger. They have to give up some comfort and ease and rest to stick with their goals. As do we all.
Certainly even though Jesus told his followers repeatedly that he was going to be handed over to harm, that the way to victory involved costly sacrifice, that sitting on his right and left was a path that passed through death . . . we still find it hard to grasp that the painful sorrow of Good Friday was the redemptive path towards the grave-exploding norm-shattering joy of Easter morning.
So, we head into "holy week", the Palm Sunday to Passover to Good Friday to Easter Sunday stretch of remembering the turning point of history. Giving up winning . . . the way to glory.
The trophy we didn't win
Bonus for reading this far, we have had some hard days in the last couple weeks, and not a lot of time to keep up the blog. But we also had some great joys last weekend:
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1 comment:
Thankful for your perseverance, your perspective, and your willingness to hunt for plums in mud pies. Praying for you in Canada.
Deborah
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