Friday Night No-Lights

After my first week, I was ready for a break. I had been introduced to the health center, to the nurses, and began to get a sense of the work that I would be doing. Even so, there was little I could actually accomplish besides reading old government reports and messing around in Excel. When Friday afternoon rolled around, I was pleased as punch.

Government policy mandates that all organizations, including NGOs, must allocate office time to “sport”. Friday afternoon is when our team participates in sport. On my first Friday, we played soccer with the staff from Ruhengeri Hospital.

I threw on my new Warrior Kung Fu’s (for a light touch), a Dartmouth rugby t-shirt, green mesh shorts, and high socks.
“You look like a moron” said Zack, as we arrived at the field.
“True,” I obliged, “but I’m a celebrity here – I say what’s cool.”
“Keep telling yourself that…”

The soccer field lies near the center of Musanze - it’s more a stadium than a field. The complex is surrounded by roads on all sides, which makes it feel almost urban. The complex contains a full sized soccer field, a track running around it, and stands on one side. On the other side of the field is a large open, grassy space, presumably for practicing, and a small basketball court, at the end of, set back from, and perpendicular to the soccer field.

As we walked down into the stadium, I looked around. Two teams faced off in a scrimmage on the field, with about 20 spectators along the near sideline, away from the stands. Another thirty people kicked around soccer balls on the open field and others milled about. In total, the complex felt full, but not crowded. The rest of the CCHIPs staff waved to the group on the basketball court, the Ruhengeri Hospital staff.

The hospital staff looked to be mostly in their late 20s and 30s, all male, with varying degrees of athleticism. I stepped onto the court, shaking hands and exchanging “we-don’t-speak-the-same-language" smiles. I was pumped to go, though on the basketball court were about 20 people.

The overcrowding was resolved by making three teams. My team was the first to sit – figures. While we waited, one of the Ruhengeri Hospital staff led us in drills. Are you kidding me? I thought. Here we had the CCHIPs staff, all of us more or less adults between 23 and 45, kicking a soccer ball back and forth and running laps. It was surreal, like a middle school gym class.

After a short wait, we were on. It was me, Consolate, Monique, and our coach, who I nicknamed Earnest, versus Zack, Jean D’Arc, Gabby, and Rene.

Long ago, when I was 8, I played in my first ‘travel soccer’ game. Back then we played six against six and the fields were small – speed wasn’t a factor, just a light touch and a good sense of direction. I was very good. As time went on, the field got bigger, speed mattered, and my skill set slipped out of relevance for competitive soccer. Fair enough – eventually rugby became a more than adequate substitute.

But on the basketball court, four on four, I was back in my element. I dribbled around Jean D’arc, around Gabby, and passed off to Earnest. No problem – light, easy, fun.

The game continued, back and forth, with no one scoring for five minutes. It was time to shuffle the teams again. Those that didn’t really want to play, like Jean D’Arc, turned in for good at this point, and two permanent teams coalesced.

As we began to play, the game picked up tempo and ferocity.

The goals were the base of the basketball hoops. The hoops sit on a box frame, with two poles lined up with the court. The goal was small, but so was the court. I took a shot and the ball sailed between the posts. “No goal,” said Rene. What!? “You have to hit the post, not shoot through them.”

It actually made sense, given the size of the field and lack of goalies, but I had to ask, “Why haven’t I been told this yet?”

Over the next 10 minutes, as my team continued to put pressure on the other while they tried to bring the ball out of their end, I shot the ball through the posts two or three times. Damnit, I guess I just need to keep shooting, I’ll get the hang of it.

As my frustration grew, the momentum also shifted. Despite Consolate’s heroic efforts, Zack’s team effectively exploited our “guys on offense, girls on defense” strategy. They pinged two quick goals.

I quickly realized something key – on such a tiny field with unorganized teams, we’re not playing soccer, we’re playing basketball with our feet. Soccer is all about setting up the perfect shot. You hold the ball and move it slowly down the field. Territory matters because the field is large. Possession is important because the opposition can quickly kick the ball away from shooting range. But on a basketball court, shooting at poles, the key was just to rip off as many shots as possible. You could set up shots quickly, and every shot was low probability, including the ‘perfect shot’.

With that thought in mind, I began to push the ball down the court every chance I got.

Finally I scored my first goal. “Mmmmm, that tastes goooood!” I yelled at Zack as I ran by, “I’m gonna get me some more of that.”

After a few more minutes, some of the guys from Ruhengeri Hospital had had enough, and I invited a couple of the local kids to step on. They were probably 14 or 15, but built like soccer players and wearing cleats. Though the cleats made them slip around a bit, they were quick and talented additions to the team.

Quickly we began to lay it on, scoring a couple goals. The kids on the sideline laughed whenever I would compliment one of my local additions on a nice play.

Zack grew more and more frustrated as members of his team disappeared. By the end of the game it was 7 on 3, and – among other feats of bravery, strength, and skill – I had scored a header from midcourt (mostly due to the lack of numbers on the opposition).

Finally, it was too dark to go on and we called it a night. My shirt was wet with perspiration, my brain flush with exercise- and winning-induced endorphins. I shook hands with everyone whole-heartedly.

I looked around the stadium in the twilight. I was happy and felt accomplished. Though the air was thin in the altitude and my body weak from nearly two weeks since seeing the inside of a gym, I had a great time and impressed the locals with my Muzungu talent.

Sport is great – in a two hour period I rode a narrative arc that I will hopefully replicate in my work and life over four months. (Though I expect my competitors will be malnutrition, poor access to healthcare, and poverty instead of friends and colleagues.)