I lucked into the discovery of these magical mountains. I was safely ensconced in a post retirement life of plenty in a California beach town, nursing an ember of long-ago third world adventure. I’d been a traveller, not a tourist, for years of my early life, all over Mexico, Central and South America and Europe. I’d lived for years in Mallorca and lazed on the beaches of Morocco. But I’d ignored Africa.
When my best friend’s daughter was assigned to a Kampala hospital for medical training, we decided to visit her and see what was so dark about this continent. It was indeed illuminating.
After officiating a volleyball match in Santa Barbara, one coach who’d heard of my proposed trip, told me of her adventures with Edirisa, in a land called Kabale. So I grabbed my keyboard and a few strokes later had volunteered for several weeks doing who knows what, who knows where. As a 25 year English teacher, camp director, volleyball coach and professional TV and print journalist I had certain skills, but no idea how they’d be employed.
The warmth of Ugandan people ambushed me at the airport before I even entered the country. I told Kate, an awaiting passenger, my destination and she thanked me profusely for coming to help her people, the Baciga. She taught me common phrases in Ruciga and gushed about the glories of matoke and posho.
When we arrived in Kampala she had a wedding party for me to attend, a huge family to embrace and a friend to house me in this foreign land. It was a miraculous introduction to this country that would soon steal my heart.
Once in Kabale, the smiles and sincerity of nearly everyone I met allayed all fears and negative preconceptions of Africa. The exact opposite impression grew on me daily, and despite my white skin and 6’3” stature, I felt totally accepted by the many African friends that I worked with daily.
An hour long boda boda (motorcycle taxi) trip brought me to build a volleyball court at a remote primary school in Kamarunko. After construction, I spoke to the assembled student body and told them that this court was a bond of fellowship between worlds. I wrote on the new ball, “a gift from the children of America.” Stanley, the headmaster, had his prize student, named Gift, translate my words and accept the ball. As she did, I felt curious hands on my ankles.
The crowd roared approval, and Stanley proclaimed, “You can touch him now.” I was mobbed by these smiling rural kids who had never seen the hairy arms and legs of a Muzungu and wondered what it felt like. It was charming, if a bit frightening. We munched a mountain of celebratory pineapples and I loaded 5 more into my backpack for the folks back in Kabale.
During my weeks with Edirisa, I wrote small articles, worked on video productions (through regular power outages), built several more courts in villages with exotic names like Kashambya, and deepened my love of this amazing people.
The hospitality I’d first encountered at that airport was reinforced over and over as waiters, coaches, teachers and musicians I met invited me to their village homes to meet their families and dine with my fingers. I soon became a fan of that matoke and posho I’d heard about in the airport.
The common bond of sports and education and family is rich in the Baciga world, and I felt right at home. When I left I felt that the spirit of life I’d encountered in these lovely mountains and lakes and villages was a blessing — one that I wanted to share with my family and friends in California. And I have.
This blessing also proved seductive, and through the next 10 years I’ve maintained communication with the many friends I made. The severe financial trials of Ugandan life, the elation of new children, the heartbreak of deaths and injuries, the pride of accomplishments have all been shared. And I’ve shared my similar highs and lows with them — through the magic of the internet and four return visits to the Pearl of Africa. I’ve come back to work with Edirisa, visit new babies, and to show my wife this very different world, and she, too, felt entranced.
I’ve helped dozens of families in ways that I can, but they have helped me far more. I have found the fallacy in my preconceptions about Africa and discovered the glory of its ancient customs, values and lifestyles. In a dugout canoe unzipping the surface of Lake Bunyonyi, at a Rwandan school for the disabled, in a gorilla family in Mgahinga, on the glistening plumage of a sunbird—I’ve seen a continent’s true face and come to love it.
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