Uganda Oyee!

Saturday we went to the football (soccer to us) Big Game: Uganda Cranes vs. Nigeria Super Eagles. Here’s the deal about the game: in March, the same two teams played and Uganda was behind 1-0 until nearly the final second when it scored the tying goal, but the referee claimed it was invalid. The whole country went nuts, and still was until Saturday’s rematch. The last time Uganda beat Nigeria was in 1978.

This is a pretty laid-back place, but beginning early in the morning you could feel the energy in the air. Horns were honking, and matatus, bodas and assorted trucks sported Ugandan flags – and frantic fans.

We had been warned that we needed to go to the stadium about mid-day, though the game didn’t start until 4. The traffic would be in what they always call “a jam” though this time it would be worse than usual (and usual is totally unmanageable). We could take a boda, or wait in traffic forever – or walk. (Actually, there was also a train, newly refurbished for the event, the first time in 14 years the train actually worked! But it wasn’t practical for us since it left from downtown.) We decided to walk because it wasn’t that hot a day, and it was about 4 miles, easy-peasy for us Northwest hikers.

It became a mzungu parade when our young friends Anna and Jon, and their three friends who are working in Rwanda joined us. We walked through neighborhoods of mud houses and little vegetable stands, and then onto the main road toward the modern Mandela Stadium. Kids waved and people gave the victory sign along the way – Bill and I were wearing our new Uganda jerseys, and some of the others had paper hats made out of New Vision newspapers (sound familiar, Seahawks fans?). As we got closer, the crowds grew, until we finally squeezed our way in and found seats.

It was noisy. Uganda fans blew long yellow horns and whistles, had painted their bodies yellow and red -- which, along with the black of their skin, are the national colors - and cheered just like at home. A couple of things were different, though: no beer or alcohol is allowed in the stadium, a good idea since a year or so ago several people were killed in riots as they left the stadium. And the president came into the stadium with no fanfare, just an entourage of guards. “He should sit in the cheap seats,” I told Bill, but of course no dice (I guess that isn’t different after all!)

Nigeria made the first goal, and there was depressed silence. Then in the second half, after two penalty kicks, Uganda won! We were wondering what would happen next -- riot police in flack jackets guarded the door to the locker rooms, and the crowd flooded onto the field, people turning summersaults and rolling around on the grass in euphoria. Jon said, “We should get the hell out of here.” But we didn’t want to miss the action – Those still in the stands (like us) yelled “Uganda oyee!,” which is like “Yay Uganda,” only more fun to say. People bumped knuckles in triumph, jumped on each other, waved flags – you know. We finally made our way out of the stadium, and then we could see what was happening in the city!

Crowds lined the roads, yelling and cheering as the stadium-goers paraded by. People, matatus, bodas, bicycles – everyone was on the move through the people lining the streets. Eventually the walkers had to move to the side, single-file along the crumbling shoulders, but the parade continued, all the way back to Bugolobi and, I’m sure, everywhere else. But the seven mzungus walking, some of us in our Ugandan sports gear, got special attention. I was in front in my yellow, red and black, Bill behind me in his Cranes shirt and then the others, all trying to navigate the potholes and deep pits along the road, at the same time as yelling like true fans. Some people laughed out loud when they saw us, and then cheered. (Thomas from Boston thought they were making fun of us, but they weren’t – they love mzungus. As our housegirl said this morning, “They weren’t expecting mzungus to be walking like everyone else.”)

Little kids ran out to high-five us, women and men gave the victory sign, or ran to bump knuckles with us. Everybody cheered at us, from the roadside and from trucks and cars, with some yelling “Weebele!” (Thank you.) We had no idea why they were thanking us, but lots of people also yelled in English, “Thank you for supporting Uganda!” It got darker, but still the people lined the road – there were some bonfires of celebration, which we veered around. Little oil lamps lit the tiny shops and houses. There were so many kids the roadside looked like an orphanage. “Uganda Oyee!,” “Yay, mzungus!,” “Hey Mama mzungu" (that was to me), “Marry me" (that was to Anna).

We finally got close to home and settled into a beer garden to recover. We touched so many hands as we walked along, it was like we were royalty – or, as Anna said, “It was like Beatlemania.”

We will never forget the Big Game, but mostly we will never forget our walk home, where we felt firsthand the pride of the Ugandans in their country. Oyee!