RUN! Just scatter to the nearest safe haven whenever you heard this during the COVID times (the lockdown time). Either the police have ambushed you, or someone is just scaring you – but go with the flow. RUN!
Uganda has had the longest lockdown, and maybe we have earned our place once again in the World Book of Records after being formerly featured as the country with the highest unemployment rates among the youth. With these lockdown(s) reinstated a week or earlier before the former lockdown is done, a lot has been affected, and sports has definitely faced it rough. Leagues were canceled, fans were banned, players rusted, and Federations slept!
Anyway, the approximately two-year lengthy lockdown placed a ban on sports during specific lockdown periods, which seemed like centuries. Efforts to follow the trend of the Head of States jogging in his office made no progress as our home spaces are small enough to be covered by just a few strides. Soon the police were arresting those jogging on the streets as people had resorted to jogging for transportation means to their lovers. Games like basketball that demand consistency in work out tested one’s self drive to weld a substandard rim and place it at the extreme outer wall at home. It all got boring, and soon we hit the streets.
By 2:00 pm, the concerned informed parties would begin their trekking from their different homes to the rendezvous point. Imagine the distance between Naalya and Najjera/Kira, but we would move all the way through the mastered “panyas” till our point of play. Even playing basketball was about who knew who; the Naalya spot was word of mouth selected few Old Boys (Don’t ask me how I got to play there). Just an added invitation to the only select players, we were all chased from using the premises. Yet another couple of weeks, we were stranded. A young man from Ntinda, Minister’s village, had just erected his hoop in the slanting compound, and he needed company. On day one, just a couple of us showed up. We were tasked to tip just two or one people to join us, but the swarm of athletes that flocked his compound for almost a week before being chased by the granny seemed like we had run an ad on YouTube. To remind you, public means were banned, so we walked from our areas of residence (Kira/Najjera/Kireka) to Ntinda and walked back in the evenings. As you played, you had to keep in mind that you have a whole 6 – 10 km to walk back home.
Minister’s Village basketball hotspot during lockdown.
A popular spot in Ntinda, VCC (Victory City Church), was all about who knew who to let you play from their vicinity. The next resort was Kyambogo, where the punishment lives up to date with the hoops still lying in the storeroom. All players seemed to have turned this into their safe haven, but the LDU camp within the area wasn’t an easy one. Let alone the police that came at leisure, and depending on their moods, they would scare you away or just warn you. These scared no basketball warriors, but the numbers grew steadily. The police had to do something. Random day X out of the 1000 days we have persevered, we returned to empty boards as the hoops had been taken down. This was the blow that was needed. You joke with ballers! Someone quickly offered to weld a ring that was tied to the board as we played. Dunk at your own risk! The continuous raids by the police felt like raids in History class as soon we were weakened and divided to go hunt for other courts.
Bulindo. The famous hidden court became the one-stop center for all athletes. This seemed safer, and all was flowing well until the higher power in charge of the facility felt uncomfortable by the many athletes at the court. Access to the facility was denied. Again we spread far North and South. Kireka courts attracted masses when the Nakawa Institution based court was also cut off. The struggle to play was real.
With all these escapades taking place, it would take two or fewer weeks for someone to mention that there is a court in location x. I used that time to grow fond of our neighbors, and we would play soccer in the dusty compound of the house under construction in the neighborhood. Someone took an interest in training me to grow my handling skills, which saved me from court mongering. Kyambogo became the place, whether with a hoop or not.
Basketball pastoralists. For the love of the game!
Why all this struggle? The distance we used to walk to access these courts almost outnumbers the distance one covers as they play. We didn’t tire the search for a court each time we were displaced from any court. COVID seemed distant, and I am grateful none of us was diagnosed with it or succumbed to it. The pandemic was such a memorable time for me. I wonder how other athletes managed to keep fit and grow in their fields.
We grew in the sport, had the thrill we desired while having fun.
Basketball is life.
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