While at the Kyambogo court, I made friends with another guy, JP (not real name), who coached at a school in the city, Naalya. With all the essential people lists flying around the country during the lockdown, I managed to get myself in good books with a small closed basketball group through JP's recommendation. There was an army general who loved basketball and had a small, intimate circle of friends he would allow to pick up at the school. I was introduced to the circle, and as always, this time, I was the only girl. We were approximately ten people in total. Just like JP and I used to walk from Kyambogo to Najjera-Kira every evening, we now had to walk to and fro Namugongo (10 miles total). Public transport was still banned. With the efforts to return public transport, prices had quadrupled, but in which economy were we, the consumers, expected to make that money? We would walk through every shortcut route we could map out to ease our distance. Our small, intimate circle soon grew, and the administration decided we were becoming a threat to ourselves and everyone. We had to disintegrate.
A new commercial court had just opened up in Kireka and was using free entrance as bait to attract people. We would walk from Najjera through Namugongo, Naalya, before crossing the crazy Northern bypass highway to get to this court hidden behind the ghettos of Kireka. I wanted to play basketball and would do anything to be on that court. In less than a few weeks, the court was busted regardless of the COVID-19 protocols at play.
Our small pick-up group in Naalya.
Time passed before a planned kid living in Naguru opened his gates to a few friends. Word spread like wildfire about his home court. Nothing big, just pavers with a court marked off and a very substandard hoop as high as the top part of any house! Half a loaf is better than anything at all. It had stopped to occur to me that I was always the only girl in these basketball groups. All I wanted to play was basketball.
COVID-19 eased a bit, and I returned to Rwanda, but my school had shifted to a rural area far away from the common courts I could pick up from. We had a court by a steep slope, and half of my time shooting around was spent running up and down the hill to pick the ball from the bushes below. Thankfully, the government instituted another lockdown, and we were again required to return to our home countries. Story for another day, but if I told you I boldly went to the Embassy of my home country to request a document to allow me to travel back home by road, and they looked at me like a crazy woman, you won't believe me. The land border had been shut for nearly a year, and the pandemic had worsened the situation. I desperately wanted to go back home. The ambassador must have wondered what "balls" I had. At least I had basketballs! Nevertheless, I managed to find a way back home.
Standing third from the right. It stopped occurring to me that I was always the only girl in these basketball groups.
Let's rewind. While back in Uganda (1st lockdown), I had started a blog about women in sports. This blog was initially called Women in Sports but changed to BigFoot Stories to accommodate stories like this. At that time, I met a random lady on Facebook who picked interest in my basketball stories. She wasn't offering me anything but wisdom. On our first call, we talked literally for about two hours. She is a Ugandan who is vibrant in the US sports industry. She never said, "Liz, I can get you here" or "Liz, come to the US." She listened to my dreams every day of playing college basketball. Being a young athlete whose mind is transfixed on becoming a college athlete, every option B advice offered slips through one ear and out. She knew I couldn't afford the SATs, but I was still practicing and hoping to be able to take them one day. This was nearly two years after my first incident. She went out of her way and paid for my SATs. She also paid for my application to Harvard! She is a sports person who is strongly academically oriented. I expected to get into Harvard then (jokes on me). I was rejected without mercy or pity (insert as many laughing emojis as possible). But on the brighter side, my SAT score was ready to be shoved around any school. I again tried applying to ten colleges, all rejecting me and two offering me half a scholarship. Do you know what half a scholarship in the USA means? The student must cover a balance of 27,000 - 30,000 USD per year! Oya, what good was that to a peasant's daughter?
Part 4 is coming soon. Follow my mini-book series on What Goes on in an Athlete's Mind with a Season-Ending Injury. You can subscribe to the blog to get direct updates.
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