We take a break from our Africa 100 Challenge - Afriyea, Uganda

Our goal is to play 100 African golf courses, but we take a break from this challenge with 68 tucked under our belt at this point.  We’ve been travelling on the road around Africa for the past 10 months and are now finally in Uganda.

One might not really associate Uganda with golf, in fact what do we really know about Uganda as a country - I'd wager, not a lot!  That’s where we come in.

But we can’t do this alone so have teamed up with the Uganda Tourist Board- to show you more about Uganda and a fantastic charity, Afriyea.

We’ve been talking to Isaiah for a few years, we’ve met in the UK and I promised we would stop by, (as you do), in Uganda and see what Afriyea is up to first hand.

So here we are sat outside in the most beautiful office, Toro Golf Club, overlooking the first tee with the sun shining behind us.

Chatting with the Afriyea team, it’s obvious each brings something special to the charity, each team member has a purpose and a responsibility, whether that is coaching or running the social media campaigns - all with the single goal of bringing golf and all that encompasses golf to the hard to reach areas in Uganda; to the children of Uganda.

Each coach is unique and special and as a whole they make up a strong team - we actually didn't get to meet all of the Afriyea team on the day, such is the nature of availability of volunteers - and that’s what this is, a programme run by volunteers with an strong common undercurrent of passion.

George is a teacher, so has natural discipline when met with large groups of demanding children all vying for his attention, he just gets on with is without batting an eyelid.

Wycklyf, a young man himself is the Junior coach, always with a quick and ready smile and energy a famous fizzy orange energy drink could tap in to.

Derek runs the social media campaign and is in many ways the person putting Afriyea in front of so many others.

Michael is another coach ready with a smile and keen to help.

And the person that holds it all together is Isaiah, the founder and driver of Afriyea.

I asked Isaiah how the charity came about, and his response was quite surprising.  It started with sustainability in mind.  Now you’ve got to understand we’ve been driving for a long time and whilst Africa is a stunning continent, there is a fair amount of rubbish lying around, plastic bottles being burnt on the roadside and generally a bit grubby in places.  So to meet a young man with sustainability at the forefront of his mind was, in honesty, refreshing.  

The golf evolved as part of the project when Isaiah saw the need to help others, in his unselfish way.  A keen golfer himself, he saw the children weren’t getting an opportunity to shine.  In life some had had a tough time, losing parents and being adopted by other family members who themselves couldn’t feed their own families but took in their kin without hesitation.  Even those babes in arms didn’t have much and didn’t have much to look forward to as they grew older with the restrictions of lack of access to what we take for granted in the Western world and with a lack of funds, things weren’t set to change soon.

We were lucky enough to meet this cross section of happy, kind and unselfish children when we joined Isaiah and his team firstly at Toro Golf Club.  

They were late, and we waited patiently, but when those bus doors opened excitement all around as one by one they neatly filed out to their ‘golfing stations’, which had been set up beforehand.  Dotted around the golf course groups of children like marching ants take their place, no pushing or shoving, no bullying or vying for the front, they just took their turn and were swiftly divided up.  All with one common objective - to have a go at golf.   That’s partly what Afriyea does, it shines the light on golf for these children.

Lessons without being ‘lessons' were given and eventually we all gathered around to make a ‘living person sign’ on the ground.  Then as all children round the world, something more exciting caught their attention; a flying drone.  That was it! in sways like the ocean turning they were off, chasing the drone up and down the field to squeals of delight jumping higher than I’ve seen children jump before - so much so Steve had to keep a watchful eye on the height of the drone itself, just low enough to keep them engaged, just high enough so they can't actually reach it - but they didn’t really want to reach it, just chase it and have some fun- so they did.  They were being children.

Lesson over, children exhausted yet full of beans and a happy teacher bundled the children back into the school bus with enthusiastic waving goodbye.

Feeling very humble, we said our goodbye that night wondering how much golf we actually helped them with, but knowing each and every child had a great time, being part of something where no social boundaries mattered.

Next up, we’re driving to a village, loaded with the Afriyea motley sets of golf clubs, Isaiah and Wycklyf scrunched up in the back of the landrover which is only for 2 people normally.  Via a shop where school exercise books were bought along with a few other things to take to the village, and we start our long journey.  Isaiah told me that they normally get a motorbike, a two wheeled taxi, to the village - with all the golf clubs and sometimes more than one person on one bike, they try to get to the village every other week, but can’t always make that schedule with the location of the village being so far and the cost to get there.  So travelling in the back of the landrover crumpled in between our Africa adventure equipment for travel and camping, they were smiling and happy, although it really can’t have been that comfortable!

We arrive and its quiet.  Expecting a lot of children, this was a bit of a shock, so we take a short walk and when we return there they are, about 100 children from toddlers up to teenagers.  A bit in awe of us, a few just stared and others; the cheeky ones, smiled and giggled as we passed by with cameras in hand.  It took a while for some to warm up, but with the odd one drifting in as time went by eventually we ended up with near 150 children all stood in a circle clapping and singing, with Wycklyf at the centre encouraging and engaging. 

With hand-me-down golf clubs, an assorted set of everything people had discarded, Isaiah turns up at the village with a package which might contain clothes, food, books but the unseen gift, the one he can’t wrap up and hand out, is that of hope- it is this hope that radiates in each of those children faces.

There is no distinction between the school children who come in as part of their curriculum to learn golf and those children with barely any clothes hanging off their skinny shoulders.

 

It’s not often you’d see a golf lesson started this way and some of the older ones even had a balancing game that would be banned in most countries as dangerous - but these kids love it, and so did we for its simplicity.  Two sticks held by one person at each end, reaching right the left in a push pull fashion - with a child riding the motion balanced on top of the stick raised off the ground.  That's one way to teach weight transfer and balance in golf!  

Even a they tumble to the ground laughing at themselves and everyone else in peels of laughter at their antics, did the health and safely society we’ve been bought up in start to click in- but not too much!  You just can’t stop enjoyment, things are different in Africa, and in some ways easier and less complicated.

Asking them to get in line, and as quick as rabbits in front of headlights, they are in a nice neat line - no pushing or shoving and my heart burst as I watched children being children without any social airs or graces embracing each and every one, whether in rags or pretty dresses.

Discipline is part of their DNA, caring and sharing is another part - a huge part.  Even with so little they care about each other.

With limited clubs, a small group of children were taken from the line and given a quick ‘how to hold the club’ and ‘hit the ball’ lesson, and they were off, bashing the balls.  Just to note here, no training balls were used - these were all the genuine hard as rock golf balls flying about, and not one child (or adult) was hit.  That group finished and ran in delight to collect the balls, and the next group were taken and the same process was repeated.

Hold the club, hit the ball, run to collect the balls.  Next group..

No one tried to hit extra shots, no child took advantage, each child just had a lot of fun and then happily passed it on to the next child for their turn.  Delighting in their friends having fun too.

The children in their monotone brown hand me down clothes which had been washed and worn so many times no colour was left in them, but plenty of holes, also had the opportunities as every other child and no one child was ostracised or picked on.  

Pure unadulterated fun, and a sheer pleasure to watch.

We branched off and made up a make shift putting area by borrowing one of the girls cloth wraps and laying it on the ground.  The purpose here is to teach the children that whacking the ball isn’t the only way to play golf and that putting a ball is just as important.  It did take a while for some to get the feel, but they relished that exercise with gusto and then happily passed it onto the next child as they joined the back of the line again to wait their turn again.

With such a large group, with so little equipment and few ‘teachers’ I don’t think every child got to hit a

ball, the younger ones didn’t care - they were just happy to belong to a fun group.  A couple of the Mum’s had a go too - and who said they shouldn’t, no-one!  The inclusivity of Afriyea is a credit to all.

The older teenagers, too cool to take part but were really itching to have a go underneath.  Eventually their inner child gave way and they too took their turn, delighting in be included, delighted at being able to hit a ball and giving way to the younger ones when they had had their turn. 

One young man asked, do we have a football?  Not something we normally carry around, so we sent a couple with Isaiah for his next visit to the village working on the principal, if foot-golf gets them interested, then it might turn into golf at a later date.  But really being so pleased that we can add another person to the growing list of happy Afriyea students.

We’d bought lots of boiled sweet lollypops to give them out one at a time as the queued up.  The line was so long I began to panic we didn’t buy enough, but we did and each child walked away with blue mouths or cheeky red grins and even the mums were delighted to have one - with their matching blue mouths and smiling blue teeth.

Afriyea is there to give children a purpose in life, a purpose taught though the fundamentals of the game of golf, the discipline of golf, the self worth and the many transferable skills golf gives us and makes up multiple aspects of life outside golf.

Afriyea doesn’t just teach these children how to play golf, chances are many won’t even consider this fun afternoon as playing golf, and even more unlikely they will continue golf into adulthood, but it does teach these children that they count, that they matter too. 

And who knows, there might be one who comes through and is the next Ugandan champion, or it might just save someones life as they approach adulthood in a uncertain environment.

And it all stemmed from the man who had the vision for sustainability - which I guess in its broader sense is doing exactly that for the children of Uganda - through golf.

Sarah with Isaiah

Highway to Hell for a spell in Heaven - was it worth it?

Leaving Langebaan via Elandsbaai and Lamberts Bay, with the sea fret engulfing the edge of the world yet softening it at the same time, we head north in Andi the Landy.

A quick overnight at Kroon Lodge, a tight place of designated camp spots crammed in, but decent enough with its own sink area in each spot.  But with no one else there, we allowed ourselves to spread out and enjoy the facilities for this one nighter.  Before our next overnight stop in search of the promised land, was at Oewerbos, a sightly run down campsite, but next to the Orange River, it’s a great location.  Not quite believing our next country was just across the river, we saw a local boy jump in a canoe and paddle across multiple times - never having the fuss of passport control, let alone visas, carnet, insurance or any such thing we do when travelling around Africa in the landrover.

Driving through some pretty baron areas; baron but stunning as you can but appreciate the many years of its evolution. The myriad of colours range from burnt orange to bland pale grey or beige shades to vibrant reds and purples.  Despite the plain bland colours prevailing, this didn’t detract from the sheer enormity and vastness of the land we were driving through.

Fairly good tarmac roads, some having had mini subsidence issues, as the road crumbles into oblivion, then just as quickly the road turns into a dirt road.

Sometimes you take advice on where to go, knowing its good advise, and knowing its the best place for you too.  On route we did take advise and with renewed vigour and a goal to reach the promised land; to camp in the Richtersveld by the Orange River - that was our only goal as we travelled along the Cape Namibia highway.

But having that goal also tested Andi the Landy to the extreme, something we didn’t expect!  

Tall mountains carved into like a pumpkin at Halloween, with its sides being blown away to make the road.  High sided canyons overhanging the deeply rutted road, a road that probably hasn’t seen the grader for a long time, or at least not since the last wet season.

The Orange River lush in comparison, weaves a green serpent through the baron lands, evergreen and plentiful for the first couples of meters either side before the deserted mountainous terrain takes over, stark in comparison.

For the most part, there wasn’t a lot more than rocks and mountains.  Sure enough at the right time of the year, the flowers are apparently spectacular but in this desolate landscape, you sometimes can’t see that, save the odd flower bucking the trend as it falters in its out of season presence, bowing its head in the ever so slight wind, looking around frantically for its flowering buddies and finding very few, before loneliness takes over and it shrivels back to the ground with a vow to appear at the right time next time.

Dead cars carcasses litter the highway, as if dropped from outer space and left to rot, yet they don’t rot away as they might elsewhere, they are somewhat preserved and easily identifiable.  They are just left to die, leaving a slightly rusty skeleton recognisable in its shape and with its own story to tell, a story that ends in neglect.

Small pyres of brick mark the graves of derelict houses of a bygone year, just crumbling away and being swallow up into the landscape.  This brutal landscape claims many a victim, and you can only but image the scorpions coming out and crawling over the man made obstructions in a sci-fi horror movie.

Turning around another gravely road the luna landscape is replaced by a more surreal scene - cairn stones, thousands of them as far as the eye can see.  Not high or ugly, just little piles of neatly stacked stones.  A moving moment, it felt like an ancient burial site and as such a bit creepy, but so impressive, piled in their thousands as far as the eye could see, almost indistinguishable against the background of the same colour.

All the time Andi shuddering along the increasingly stone clad and bumpy roads, bouncing left and right, crossing old water courses where rivers once flowed, and still we carried on the highway to hell in search of our slice of heaven.

Up and down hillocks , wondering if the next crest might produce something vaguely familiar to us; a human presence, an act of hope to break from this torturous road..  the sand colour road sweeping away as we cross over the precipice into an even more baron remarkable luna landscape.

A lone windmill, shining bight, but brittle in appearance as if made from a meccano set, seeking the water deep down.  More promises of flowers and more cars break up the monotony of this impressive natural landscape.

Then it opens up, the mountains disappear as the sand road melts into the dessert beyond, with only a small rise of sand acting as kerb sides, to guide the way for the road ahead.

Arriving at Sendelingsdrift, our chosen crossing to Namibia by ferry.  Small buildings with stones neatly stacked to mark the road.  Why not, they have petty of stone! Looking very much like a ghost town, we were surprised to see a small shop and people milling around.  Like discovering human life after years of isolation, we were relieved that one, we were on the right road and two, we had reached our chosen crossing point to Namibia.

All hopes shattered as we were told the Orange River is too high, we can’t cross there, but we could have a couple of nights at the promised land of water edged camping in peace and harmony - cue the music…  We plod on racing an Ostrich along the way who seemed incapable of turning right away from us, instead determined to race and it seemed have some fun he kept pace, and even overtook as we raced along, and he was quick.  At this point I must say, the road was pretty good.  Once ‘Ollie' the super fast Ostrich had finally been beaten (well he wasn’t really, he took a turn right to move away from us!) the landscape closed in again and we were met with mountains to climb more rivers to cross, bot dry and wet river crossings.

Then things start to get a bit hairy, the mountains were one thing, but being scattered with boulders larger than the front fender of Andi, it was a torturous, white knuckle ride.  Things started to scatter around the back of Andi, usually secured down, clothes, plates and a vast array of ‘essential’ things rattled free and came crashing down to the floor, Chairs, table and anything big was turned around and landed where they did, a huge pop from the car and still we carried on - we had to, heaven was waiting for us at the end of the road from hell - heaven can only be around the next corner. 

Then we were met with our ultimate test.  With adrenaline pumping we make our way up Domrog Pass and down Akkedis Pass.  A sign post for the hand of God rock formation did little to make us feel at ease!  With Andi’s nose pointing skyward, and with no sign of the road ahead or of land or rocks or anything other than blue skies we stare into oblivion waiting for the turning point, the precipice to tip us over the other side, and to see land once again.  It seemed to take forever to reach terra firmer but we did eventually pop over the other side, as things continued to shake in the back like a child’s rattle.

Andi seemingly nodding in acquiescence as we trundled along the rough roads, when we knew he was hurting inside, hurting real bad, we just didn’t know to what extent until later!

Over more rocks made for mountain climbing, not driving.  Huge individual boulders or multiple smaller ones stacked so high, one side of Andi was precariously balanced and teetering on the edge.  Mindful of the weight on the roof tent etc on top, it did feel as though we might fall over as we grip onto the inside bars, white knuckling as we did so.  But we did survive and we did arrive into heaven, De Hoop campsite.

Alone, dusty and exhausted we set about making camp, easy up Bush company tent, awning out and a gin and tonic poured.  Even a shower in ‘cold’ water which wasn’t the cleanest water of some places, but just as refreshing, we talked at great length about ‘that road’ as we settled down to make dinner and go to bed as the sun sets ever so quickly.

Next morning and the thought of the road ahead pending, we looked around Andi to see
what that loud pop was, and discovered the top of the shock of the absorber had broken off at the rear.  Whether that was the loud pop or not remains to be seen, it could have just have been a saucepan crashing down as we were shaken like salt and pepper on that road, but it did make us take 5 and assess any damage.  Now our broken landrover had a limp, something we needed to get repaired.

So whilst, Do Hoop, is a heavenly place to relax and while away that hectic drive on the banks of the Orange River, we decided that as we needed to cross into Namibia, and the ferry might still be closed, we left a day early to tackle that road slowly and with a little more knowledge - with a slightly broken landrover.  Plan B in force, we limped west for the picturesque Alexander Bridge to cross into Namibia.  Arriving quite late and no accommodation booked, we entered a location we didn’t plan to go to,
Oranjemund, Namibia.

Things we have learned :

1. Listen to people, but bear in mind their enthusiasm might not match yours
2. Make sure your vehicle is capable of the drive
3. Make sure your driver is confident enough to tackle that drive
4. Do your research before, not after!
5. Question yourself, by reaching Heaven, do you really need to go through Hell?
6. Research Landrover garages.
7. Know your vehicle
8. Have at least a little mechanical knowledge to mitigate damage or in our cause any further damage
9. Carry spare parts - as many as you can!
10. Do more research!

Next stop, Namibia.. and all that sand…plus...

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