Downtown Kampala is exhausting. Too much dust. Too many people.
Painfully noisy. But you know what? It has its moments. Soccer season, in particular, brings a smile to my face. I know next to nothing about the game. I don’t even know when the seasons start or stop (or if they stop).
As far as I can tell, football games happen every hour of every day. And yet, certain matches have the power to enchant the entire city.
You can tell that something is going down because downtown Kampala feels oddly quiet despite the blaring sounds of hooting cars, stomping feet, and screaming taxi conductors; almost as if the city is holding its breath in anticipation.
Every so often, trains of youth painted head-to-toe in their team’s colors will sprint through the streets, blowing their vuvuzelas and howling in a manner that typically warns of impending violence.
Except that in this case, they are merely summoning the city’s army of faithful soccer fanatics and commanding them to do their duty, which, in this case, is to congregate around the nearest screen.
I have seen shop attendants eject shivering strangers seeking shelter in their doorways during heavy downpours, because of the security threat they pose, and you can’t blame them. Many Ugandans have lost valuables (particularly phones) because they offered a random stranger a seat on their porch.
The more people you permit to crowd your shop in the rain, the harder it becomes to track your belongings. But guess what happens when that first whistle sounds? Those same shop attendants are more than happy to throw their doors open to the hungry masses.
It takes mere minutes for thronging crowds to form around every shop with a TV, the threat of theft forgotten. And then a predictable pattern forms: long stretches of silence followed by explosive cheers or heart-rending boos as goals are scored and conceded.
Two hours later, downtown Kampala finally unclenches. The match is over, and the rhythm of normal life has, more or less, commenced. However, an underlying murmur persists as the city comes to terms with the results of the match.
You would expect a major loss to incite mourning, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Instead, an air of celebration lingers as Kampala’s soccer fanatics bask in the joys of their shared experience.
I notice those moments because the world is often hellbent on pitting nerds and sports fanatics against each other. To be fair, sports enthusiasts have a habit of dismissing geeks and nerds.
They don’t understand how we can dedicate so much time (and so many resources) to the fictional fandoms that consume our lives. After all, Lord of the Rings is not real. It takes those moments I highlighted to remind them of one inescapable truth: sports fanatics are just like us. They are nerds/geeks. Soccer does not matter.
The people playing football are real, but the game itself is meaningless. You can’t solve world hunger or end wars by kicking a ball on a field. And yet, these individuals are just as devastated by their team’s loss as I was when the toad sage from Naruto died.
We are all the same. Everyone is nerdy about something, be it fashion, telenovelas, music, shoes, cars, etc. We have made the mistake of applying that term (nerd/geek) to individuals with a passion for technology, fantasy fiction, and gaming, when it has a much broader definition.
Realizing that we are all equally obsessive with the things we like should make us more tolerant of one another’s hobbies. That includes hobbies and interests that seem silly to us.
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