Sports Competition

You know that feeling of when you were in elementary school and you were going on a field trip… that feeling of excitement, not having to do school work all day, getting to visit a new place, waiting around for the bus to come…that was the feeling. It threw me back to sixth grade when we all went to six flags as a class, and I held hands with Wesley Schmidt for the first time, even though we had been "going out" for over a month.

The children could hardly be contained. We lined them up at 8:20 and were out of the gates by 8:40, flag bearers in front. Walking all the way down to Bumwalye field (30 minutes of trekking at a good clip) was a stream of red and white gingham, and little shaven black heads bobbing up and down. I felt like we were in a parade, with all of the villagers sitting outside of their houses along the road, waving as we passed. On to victory. We were competing against 12 other schools that day, and of course we would lead. We'd been training for 2 weeks. Which I thought was no time at all. Apparently no one else even trained at all.

After crossing a very sketchy bridge and hiking through the banana leaves we finally came upon the open field. Incredible, I thought. The "track" was a painted black line in a not so oval shape around the field. Who knows how they ever measured that. High jump was two wooden poles pounded into the ground. Short sticks driven through drill holes in the poles held the bamboo shaft to jump over. Tilled earth served as the landing pad. For marking the spot where the shot put, discuss, and javelin (all owned by AAH by the way) they used small sticks with pieces of paper that marked the athletes name. A good eyeball and half of a guess and that is where we are pretty sure your discus landed, so here goes your name into the ground.

Those who weren't athletes were fantastic cheerleaders. They even sang songs in the vernacular saying something like "keep running! Because at the end of the race there is tea and bread with butter on it". I guess that is kind of the same as "we're number one, you're number too, we're gonna beat the whoopee out of you", right?

On your marks, set, WHACK – the slap of two pieces of wood hinged together and they're off! Some ran in button-down shirts and pleated shorts. Some ran in ragged clothes, holes everywhere. Some ran without shirts (even girls). All ran without shoes. Shoes would just be a hindrance. They only have money for one pair. And that is the pair they wear to school everyday, black, hard soled shoes, not good for running. Barely good enough for walking. And that is if they have shoes at all…

It was interesting for me to see other schools there, and their uniforms. I understand better how much more the kids at AAH have. I think I'm getting used to seeing raggedy clothes on every person I meet, legs almost ripped off of pants, shoulders ripped out of shirts. I even saw one girl who wore a sweater where the entire right arm was missing but for the cuff at the wrist and a bit of fabric below the shoulder. Why bother? I don't even notice it anymore. It's part of what makes me love them.

Order is more or less absent at all African events. Our teachers tried to make the situation better, but it was hopeless. No one was timed, but that's not that important. The important thing was knowing who actually came in first, second and third. Apparently there were a few discrepancies…and some cheating…but you can find this in any country. They marked laps by taking a bundle of sticks – as many sticks as laps – and then dropping a stick for each lap. I never knew sticks could have so many different uses. They even use them for toothbrushes!!!

One thing I can say is that African's are incredibly resourceful. Nothing goes to waste, everything has 20 uses, and you make do with what you have. You use the flattest and biggest piece of land you have, make a crazy track around it, don't mind the herd of cows passing through in the middle of the race, or the matatu that drives up on the middle of the field, or the bicycles passing through on their way to town, or all the wasted bits of chewed sugar cane littering the track and field. It made me smile. They are not so different here than we are in the West. Vendors (a boy with a plastic basin full of some treat his mother had cooked that morning) popped up like snack stands. Sugar cane was selling like cotton candy, fried balls of rice and beans went like popcorn and hotdogs. It felt like a real sporting event.

AAH did well. The girls led in almost every race, discus, and shot put. Boys did really well too – over all we came in third and we have quite a few people going to County on Friday.

We finally fed the kids lunch at about 6:00 that evening – rice, beans, meat – brought to the field from AAH on bicycles. Julie and I served the kids. I like being able to serve them.

One of the teachers commented that she doesn't like walking around with us because of the press of children that follows us wherever we go. I've just accepted it as a fact of life. And maybe it really is true that they have never seen a white person before. I mean, that would be something to stare at for the first time. At the introduction 2 weekends ago, I saw a man that was black and white at the same time, like he was wearing a spotted mask over half his face. I wanted to stare. I can understand how they feel.

This just in: One of the schools was having secondary students competing as primary students. CHEATERS! Good lesson to teach all your kids. About 4 students from one school were found to be imposters. I'm still confused as to what this gains them – but it would be like having a junior competing against a 6 ^th grader. Not fair at all… Everyone is up in arms about it at AAH, and they want to take some of the incriminating pictures I took of the various culprits to court. I'm not sure that will ever happen, but everyone is pretty excited that I actually have evidence.

I loved watching everyone, cheering with the kids, taking a billion photos, talking with locals, sitting in the shade with a group of AAH girls just hanging out, and being a support in general. Apparently the way I cheer is really funny to everyone in Africa. But I went on cheering anyway. It was fascinating to see how things ran…or didn't… and to see how you really can make something out of nothing with a bit of imagination and ingenuity. And it works just fine. Make do with what you have, and be grateful and happy about it. A race is a race whether you run it barefoot on grass or if you run it in high-tech Nikes on a track. There is still a start, a finish, a winner, and a feeling of excitement as your team pulls into the front. Sometimes Americans are not so different from Africans, I think. We are all members of the human race, and that counts for more than we think.