Part 4
With the second lockdown in Rwanda, I returned to Uganda, where I kept working hard at my basketball craft. I believed the game would give me a reason to smile one day. It had been nearly three years now of soulless searching for a team. Sports was surprisingly no longer under the pandemic restrictions even though our academic institutions spent almost two years without kids stepping foot in a classroom.
Coach Lilly (not my real name) was interested in me to play for a top team in the country. I was excited that what I had been praying for was finally getting served on a silver platter. Guess what? After bursting myself off and leaving it all on the floor, the team management declared they didn't have money to spend on my signing. It was a complicated situation with politics involved, and this was on the verge of breaking my love for the sport. I longed to be on a team. I longed to wear a jersey. I wanted to play. I was thirsty for the court.
Funnily enough, while in Uganda, I had gone out of my way and invested heavily in making a basketball video about myself. I was hopeful some college Coach could meet it online and say, "She is the one." If wishes were horses, beggars could ride. Basketball seemed like a dead end to me. Nothing in sight with everything out of sight.
In the Summer of 2022, I landed an opportunity at a Summer Camp in Boston. Those seasonal jobs where you go and work without even blinking to secure the bag. It would be my first time coming to the USA, but as a seasonal worker, not to pursue my American dream. That summer heat burned differently when taking those campers on a bike trail. Woosh. I was a floater counselor, meaning I wasn't assigned to any cabin but swam through cabins to ensure counselors and campers had all they needed. I stood in for counselors at their time off. Oh my…I loved the camp, but I won't lie, the work was wearing.
A ride in the woods during the Summer in Boston
Anyway, even St. Paul says those who don't work shouldn't eat. I remained true to my ultimate goal in this full-day schedule. I was always the first person up in the morning jogging through the big camp. I saw many compelling things during these wee hours. One of the questions I asked out of my innocence was based on the location, Cape Cod, a White people's rich, high-end tourist destination in Massachusetts.
"Can I jog by the roadside, or will someone shoot me for infringing on their privacy?"
I would soon make it a habit to jog to the North Shore of the Atlantic Ocean every free morning hour. I would run through the sand and the water. As I said, push-ups have brought me far. I would head to the rocks by the bay and push up until my hands couldn't hold it anymore before jogging the 10+ miles back to camp. The days I didn't jog or run, I would spend them at the outdoor court under that summer sun, shooting and dribbling.
How we loved the beach!
I occasionally played one-on-one with the campers, which amazed most that a kid from Africa was good at basketball. I was like their god in the sport.
Once, a kid said, "Liz, if you ever go to play DI college basketball, please don't forget me."
That was sweet of him, but I didn't even have any coach looking at me. I had resorted to cold texting of coaches on Twitter.
I had reached out to an agency that had such a kind reply, saying, "No American coach will pick interest in you playing on such courts. You must have a good film in an indoor gym." Maybe they were right. Perhaps they were not. I had reached out to as many coaches as possible, and we barely chatted beyond the pleasantries of them saying, "I will reach out soon." The agency was probably right.
The summer heat in Boston.
I had a friend playing in a Junior College in Texas who reminded me daily, "You don't need to have 10, 20, 30+ coaches believing in you. You need one. Just one!" That was her anthem in our chat box. After many unsuccessful attempts, unresponsive chats, and dying hopes, a text from Coach Benedict came through on Twitter. He wasn't texting like the other coaches. He had written a long message talking about his program in St. Louis. He laid out any information I might need and scheduled a phone call. This could be the one Coach my friend preached about.
Part 5 coming soon. Follow my mini-book series on What Goes on in an Athlete's Mind with a Season-Ending Injury.
Comments