Believing and Basketball

Senior One (2nd from the right) with friends

"Muhala we, yemuka osimula ekilahuli," (Young girl, wake up and clean the glass) says the bus driver. I was en route to school. I attended high school at Mt. St. Mary's College Namagunga in Mukono. I come from Kabale, which is also a question of my identity given that I bear names from the East, but I have lived in Kabale all my life. My journey to school always started the day before the actual day of opening. I would travel through the night using the night bus as any extra costs, such as renting a hotel room, would be avoided through this. By my senior two, I had gained total control of my journey to school.

My father, a surviving low-income earner, would have done his part of paying my tuition and filling my suitcase with scholastic materials as that is his trade with my mother. He would take me to the bus station on the road connecting to Katuna heading to Rwanda. He would bargain with the bus conductor until a fare is agreed upon. Then my journey would commence. At times it was beyond bargaining for the fare; he would have to beg for them to create space in the bus for me. This usually happened when we would miss all the buses leaving Kabale directly, and we are left with the option of waiting for the bus from Rwanda. These are strict buses that follow every traffic regulation, unlike our Ugandan buses, which can accommodate cows, goats, and chickens at once. On that particular journey, when I had to act as a turn boy, I missed a seat, and that was the condition given. So many journeying stories from Kabale to Mukono via Kampala.

Jersey number 15 while on the primary athletics team

Upon arriving in Kampala, I would nap with one eye open. I had to keep watching my property in the boot as some people would leave the bus progressively till morning. Even during the journey, I would often peep at what luggage was getting offloaded. I had my traumas. In my senior one, on the same trips, upon arriving in Kampala (at that time, my father still escorted me to school), we were shocked to find that all my luggage had been offloaded to another passenger. Even my school uniform was gone. I used to travel in casual clothes and would change into my uniform early in the morning while on the bus. We had to start shopping afresh, which most definitely meant only shopping the must-have essentials, and the rest I had to hustle my way at school.

One early morning upon arriving in Kampala, the conductor chased us off the bus as it had to be cleaned for the next return trip to Kabale. For heaven's sake, it was 3:00 am in the morning. All the money in my pocket has been calculated; 10,000 UGX for transport to Namagunga and buying a broom, and 30,000 UGX is my pocket money. I humbly compiled and carried my luggage to the balcony of Kisenyi Bus park.

Extreme left at the basketball court with the school team (the Titans) in high school.

I lay down and joined the people our parents most definitely would have warned us about. Some were smoking, and others were drinking. Out of all that, one guy noticed me, and a conversation sparked. They all joined in, and the least expected conversations flowed. These drunkards and drug abusers were telling me to focus on school. They told me about their high school days. Two had been at Mengo SS. I cannot vividly remember where the third guy had been. We chatted till morning, and when I informed them that I had to leave, one offered to carry my luggage to the taxi park. After all, the streets are not that cold every day! I would then board a taxi to Namagunga, which was a 2-3 hours journey or could even stretch to 4 hours, depending on the traffic jam. I would use this opportunity to nap, and sometimes I would request my neighbor to be my eye so that the taxi doesn't take me beyond Namagunga. If the traffic jam was too much, most times the taxi would seek a less jammed road which would be dusty and humpy. I would arrive at school looking like yesterday; my white shirt turned brown and pale like someone from swimming. Once at the Namagunga stage, I would board a boda with my property tied at the back and make my majestic entry into Namagunga. The last thing I wanted to hear once in a school was the bursar asking me when I would complete my tuition! Story for another day.

Candidates to be (Senior Five) after a Bible Study session,

Fast forward, I wasn't really the best student overall though I had my shining moments. My final year exams, commonly referred to as UNEB, were not pleasant enough to get me architecture on a government scholarship at the best university in the country, nor would I get it on private. I believe this was the first time I realized what depression is. I had a dream, though. I wanted to study in America! Poor Elizabeth. A peasant's daughter had a dream. I received rejection after rejection. I received thirty-eight rejections in total that year. The two that accepted me gave me a 60-70% scholarship, and the remaining 40-30% looked like 35 million - 70 million UGX. My parents would have to sell their toes each year to accommodate this. I finally joined ALU on a partial scholarship that left me with 1000 USD to pay. I joined because I wanted to be away from home and take time to regain myself. My parents' business was running down the drain. The Muhindi (Indian man) had opened up stores and supermarkets in town with cutthroat prices for the same products my parents offered. The top religious denominations, the Anglicans and Catholics, had set up bookshops that pulled all faith-based schools to work with them. People look at COVID - 19 as a curse. I look at it as a blessing. I came back to Uganda, and that is when I knew I was a true hustler. I sold sweets illegally in high school to make ends meet. But now, back in Uganda, I did all I could. I wrote articles for magazines, worked online for my school as we had student work opportunities, ran social media pages, sold sports clothes, and slowly paved through the years. My final year was filled with emails from the Finance and Registrar's office reminding me that I needed to pay my outstanding debt; otherwise, I would get locked out of my portal. Every single coin was saved to cover my tuition. Schoolwork was getting more challenging each day, yet I didn't have a laptop. I had one of the oldest Samsung tablets you will ever come across. It barely supports any other app other than WhatsApp. Through my sweat, I had purchased an iPhone 6 whose battery would swell every 4 months, and I would have to change it. It was my mini computer. Sometime in 2022, in Boston, Massachusetts, I received my first check. I immediately told my supervisor to give me an extended time off. I rushed to the bank and cleared all my outstanding debts. The moment I sat in the car back to the campsite, I wrote an email and cc'd almost all department heads at the university. I felt like I had conquered the World. Of course, the laptop and phone came next. Graduation is in June 2023!

In a group discussion during my first year at the African Leadership University

"Who am I, Lord?" "Who am I, Lord?" I asked this repeatedly as I was in line to get my student visa to the USA to pursue an education on a sports scholarship at St. Louis Community College. Indeed who am I, Lord? This whole process is a story for another day. Of all the flights I have been on, none has been scary yet most exciting as this one as I go to play basketball in a top system and study!

Thus how far basketball and faith have brought me. Let your children play sports!