To feed into obsession and maintain my mental sanity, I have been playing rugby with a few of the local boys here, both with the Busoga University team and Nile Rugby Club in Jinja. On Mondays, I stay close and practice down the road at the university. The boys are hard-working and determined. Without a formal coach, a few of the more experienced members run various drills before we conclude with an hour long game of touch. A number of the boys are fast and try out various plays involving one-handed passes, switches and grubbers. Some of the boys play in tennis shoes or no shoes at all.
This past Monday, I got there right on time, 5:00, a feat for anyone who knows “Africa time”. A few of the other boys were already getting warmed up and stretching, a few were still doing laps around the field. I was already kitted up and ready to go, having only brought a few notes to get home, my cell phone, and a water bottle. The field is relatively flat and expansive, with only a few minor bare patches located in what would only be described as the try areas. I started jogging around the field, noticing a few sore areas from last practice. There were a few cows that were grazing off to the sides that I had to avoid, their owners languidly sleeping in the grass beside them. After we stretched and worked on a few kicks, we then ran a few hand drills; simple passing drills, pick and go’s, mauling and the like. I happened to notice that not all of our passes were the best nor was every one caught. The boys shouted words of encouragement and reprimand in Swahili (most of the team is Kenyan). I found myself being drawn into a coaching position once again, stopping drills and explaining our focus, there is so much potential and talent on this team that just needs to be directed and encouraged. I miss coaching a lot.
As we got ready to divide our teams, partnering up into X’s and Y’s, I heard the first far off rumble of an approaching storm. The air was saturated already with humidity, it now buzzed with a new static tingle which we all ignored. I couldn’t help but notice that Romeo, Tosh, Terminator and Manu were all on the same team and I was on the other, the majority of the forwards and a completely new guy. I guess the whole X and Y partnering is a little rigged…
The first rain drops fell with a fat splendor, splashing into my hair and eyes. My only regret being that I still haven’t purchased pleather cleats from the market yet, knowing I was five minutes away from slipping into the anthills-turned-mud castles. The rain fell steadily at first, Romeo jogging beside me, “See? I didn’t have to bring a water bottle,” he told me, opening his mouth to the sky. He shook his thin dreads and ran off to join the action. The rain fell harder and harder, the size of the rain drops just as big as the beginning. I was soaked. The sun was setting then and disappearing into the clouds. I looked around, our plateau giving a 360 degree view of the surrounding fields and countryside. The smell of the rain, the dirt and the verdant life filled my body. My side was losing badly. Good runs by Terminator, fast passes from Tosh to Romeo who broke through our defense and quick restarts by Manu easily exploited our team. It looked like we needed to step our game and start motivating each other. The rain made our already slippery ball almost uncatchable, high steps and fake moves ended up being wet muddy disasters and I found myself bent over, trying to catch my breath from laughing so much.
How many times can you say you played rugby in the pouring rain in Uganda?
