(Written about 6 weeks ago)
I’ve arrived back in Uganda to a highly excited 13-(soon to be 14)-year-old. Jaz (my son) is about to head off to compete in the U14 Boys at the Uganda National Kids Athletics Championship. He and about 24 others from Buliisa District making up the U12 and U14 teams.
He’s excited. They’re setting off at 7.30am. The bus (25 -seater) is collecting students along the way as it traverses across Buliisa District.
Our conversation goes something like this:
Me: “What about running shoes?”
Jaz: “Oh Mum, we don’t run in shoes. They are too heavy for our feet.”
Me: “What are you going to sleep on? Have you got a mattress?” (No such thing as fancy hotels – local schools provide floor space!)
Jaz: “No, mine’s too big.”
Me: “So what are you going to take to sleep on?” (Me trying – not very successfully – to refrain from being an overbearing helicopter parent. I HAVE bitten my tongue and not asked about his clothing, though I did inquire about the number of pairs of undies packed! And gently suggested that soap and a toothbrush and toothpaste might be a good idea.) (I’m quite impressed. He actually had those covered!)
Jaz: “Well, I have to take a mukeeka (local grass mat).” (We compromised on my gym mat, which had been unused for the last two years).
Me: “Pillow?”
Jaz: “No thanks”
Me: “Do you want to drive up with Fausta and I in the car?”
Jaz: “No thanks, I’ll travel with the team.” (On a dodgy bus? On a road full of atrocious potholes? Okay then.)
So he’s heading off in an hour. Fausta and I will travel up (in the car!) later today with another teacher. (It’s school holidays, so we can both go, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world!)
There won’t be any slick running tracks. Or perfectly plumb hurdle bars. Or fancy, aerodynamic sportswear. It (probably) won’t start on time as they await teams bussing in from all over the country. (No-one will arrive by plane, although there’s an airfield nearby.) (Perhaps the Sports Minister might!) I’ll be allowed to wander onto the running track. And position myself at the edge of the triple-jump pit to snap some pictures.
And then there is the age-verification process. Last year it was changed at the last moment to a height/weight ratio criteria (too many participants couldn’t prove birthdates), and Jaz missed out based on his height. This year they’ve been selected by birthdate, as most of the students are now registered on a digital database. But who knows, the rules could change at any time!
And me? I’m a bit surprised at my son’s responses. And I’m learning from him.
I’m learning that I don’t need to feel guilty that I’m not ‘exposing him’ to the myriad of sporting opportunities he would get if we were based in Australia.
I’m being reminded that the ‘western (monied) trappings’ are not necessarily needed to make life fun and successful.
And I’m being reminded that I need to trust God – that God has us right where He wants us. Here in Uganda. That God knows what is best for my son. That Jaz is learning resilience in a way that is unique to him, and in a way he wouldn’t in Australia.
And I’m at peace with that.
Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight. (Proverbs 3:5-6, NIV)
Postscript: They didn’t head off til the following morning. And yes, they arrived a bit late. And no, due to some organizational hiccoughs towards the end of an otherwise well-run meet, they didn’t get through ALL their events. (Each child has to compete in every individual event except the relays and cross-country). BUT they had a ball. They competed on equal terms. They spent quality time with the 2 Amari teachers who went, and with each other. Jaz won some races. And bummed out in shotput. And I had a blast.