Pineapple Paradise

40 minutes on the back of a boda-boda and 100 smiling "Muzungu!!!" salutes from villagers, landed me in  pineapple country. -- Kamuronko, where Stanley is principal of a primary school. He is father to Comfort, the incredibly talented artist who was my cameraman last visit. When Stanley invited me to do a volleyball demo at his school, I accepted, of course, unaware of the gorgeous valley and the wild reception that awaited me.
  The long road to Kamuronko wound through the most verdant lands I've seen in Uganda, a lazy river winding through dairy country where black and white cows graze in belly-deep grass. The soaring hills feature eucalyptus and pine, and patchworks of banana, papaya and eventually vast fields of pineapple as the land flattens. A small dam that had brought electricity to this removed area, had been dead for a decade, but was sputtering back to life in recent weeks. And the huge storks, cranes and eagles that paralleled my path kept my head spnning.
  Dennis, my driver, urged his moto up the rocky slope to the open grassy hilltop featuring a ragged drooping net between eucalyptus poles, flanked by long classroom structures with windows full of faces instead of glass. A moto, strange, and a Muzungu, even stranger.
  Stanley greeted us and presented me a guest book to sign, a ritual I knew well by now. Novel, however, were the mountains of freshly sliced pineapple on two plates brought in by his smiling secretary. We attacked them willingly after the long lunchless ride.
  School ended and the 500 kids, clad in olive green, hastily assembled around the court, dutifully obeying Stanley's command. They were absolutely silent and attentive as I introduced myself and spoke of brotherhood through sports, and Todd Rogers' gold medal, and my family at home who taught schools full of children like them this very day. Stanley translated into Ruchiga, and the kids oohed and aahed in unison at my revelations. They erupted in screams and laughter when I ended the speech with a decent skyball, sent up only after confirming the absence of overhead airplanes. I just wish that Dana Camacho had been here to really give them a thrill.
  With 10 on each side, including teachers and rotations of selected students, we played for an hour. Dozens scurried after the ball that left the dense grouping at courtside every 3rd or 4th contact at first. But as skills improved and rallies lengthened, the group began to say "boom" at each play, until someone would finaly win to wild cheers. I'd set Stanley often, who could sling it downover the low point of the net to a terminal kill. I'd roll up his sleeve , amazed at his bicep, and 500 voices would howl.
  When we finished, all settled about me for my final address. I thanked them in Ruchiga for the afternoon, and presented the school with the ball that Dillan Bennet had given me, after I inscribed it "a gift from the students of Santa Barbara"