For the past twenty years, the nonprofit


SportsOutreach has been using sportsmin- istry to serve “the poorest of the poor.”Most of their work takes place in eastern and cen- tral Africa, places where civil wars have raged, social unrest is rampant, and aids is an everyday part of life.The organization’s goal is to train and equip people with the skills to survive and thrive. Everything Sports Outreach does, fromoffering vocational training to working with people who are hiv-positive, is focused on empowering them, not doing it for them. Learning of these atrocities triggered a vis-


ceral response inme to act and awakenedmy need to serve. I had been doing a great deal of soul searching. I was prepared for a funda- mental change about who I wanted my children to have as a father. As the women’s soccer coach at LynchburgCollege,much of my identitywas that of coach. My legacy would be about howmany games I won and lost. I did not wantmy life to be defined that way.My chil- dren were eight and four at the time. I wanted tomodel serv- ice and compassion tomy children. Aftermuch planning,


Lynchburg College and the women’s soccer teamhosted an event called “Gifts forGulu” inMarch 2007.The project was sponsored by SportsOut- reach to collect used athletic equipment, and we collected thousands of dollars worth.We raised awareness about what was hap- pening inUganda.Most importantly,Gulu got undermy skin. After the event, Imet with SportsOutreach to learn how Imight


usemy background as a coach and a trained epidemiologist in public health to aid theirmission.They immediately seized onmy unique skill set. I could use sport as the vehicle to disseminate information on public health to the victims of war. I was invited toGulu on a public health fact-findingmission. Just threemonths later, I flew to Kampala,Uganda, andmet the


SportsOutreach staff.They tookme into the slums of Kampala to prepareme formy journey north toGulu.Driving toDulles Airport and seeing the opulence of our society and then being exposed to the most squalid living conditions I had ever seen really shockedmy senses.This was just the beginning of sensory overload. When we told people that we were taking the road toGulu,many


expressed concern for our welfare.The road had been occupied by rebels fromthe Lord’s Resistance Army (lra),Ugandan soldiers, and bandits.My host assuredme that the lra had been honoring a peace


32 LC MAGAZINE Fall 2010


Living in these slums is no different than living in a landfill.Water is drawn from boreholes, and latrines are often adjacent to water sources, making daily health a game of “Russian Roulette.”


agreement for the past severalmonths.Nevertheless, I called home to upgrademy life insurance policy. After a difficult six-hour van ride, I arrived at the SportsOut-


reach Kirombe Center inGulu. Even the slums of Kampala did not prepareme for the depravity of the idp camps.Thousands and thousands of people are crammed intomakeshift communi- ties. Families of ten andmore live in government-built, grass-


roofed huts about the size of an eight-by-ten shed.Water is drawn fromboreholes and latrines are often adjacent towater sources,making daily health a game of “Russian Roulette.” Children by the hundreds stood placidly throughout the camps with blank eyes, protruding bel- lies, and flies sucking on oozing sores. I was overwhelmed by these conditions, but I realized that I was in the right place. Imet doctors running clinics, community public health leaders,


chairmen of the idp camps, and anyone who could giveme informa- tion to assess the healthcare needs of the people inGulu. I was able to participate in a feeding programfor children. I played soccer with children who have aids and others who had been recruited by the lra as child soldiers. I helped clean the streets ofGulu.Most impor- tantly, I was constantly enveloped by children.We held hands; they rubbed the hair onmy arms; they heldmy legs; they touchedme, fig- uratively and literally. After another exhausting ride back to Kampala, I flew toNairobi,


Kenya, where I visited theMukuru slum. It seemed as though each stop onmy journey was worse than the one before.


Page 1  |  Page 2  |  Page 3  |  Page 4  |  Page 5  |  Page 6  |  Page 7  |  Page 8  |  Page 9  |  Page 10  |  Page 11  |  Page 12  |  Page 13  |  Page 14  |  Page 15  |  Page 16  |  Page 17  |  Page 18  |  Page 19  |  Page 20  |  Page 21  |  Page 22  |  Page 23  |  Page 24  |  Page 25  |  Page 26  |  Page 27  |  Page 28  |  Page 29  |  Page 30  |  Page 31  |  Page 32  |  Page 33  |  Page 34  |  Page 35  |  Page 36  |  Page 37  |  Page 38  |  Page 39  |  Page 40  |  Page 41  |  Page 42  |  Page 43  |  Page 44  |  Page 45  |  Page 46  |  Page 47  |  Page 48  |  Page 49  |  Page 50  |  Page 51  |  Page 52