Soul of The Fire

Since arriving in Mozambique, I’ve fallen out of shape. Like to the point that I’m slowly transforming into an amorphous blob. It’s really not the best. Several friends have kindly offered advice. Why not try running? To this I normally respond that it is too hot do so unless done in the wee hours of the morning. I know volunteers that run, but I cannot motivate myself to get up at 4 every day to go running. That very well could be a vision of hell.

So instead, Adam and I have continued (really begun in earnest this year) playing basketball with a handful of other teachers and students. It’s quite wonderful on so many levels – it integrates us with teachers and with students that we don’t personally teach, it provides us with a workout 1-3 times a week, and it provides a competitive outlet.

But it is taxing. We play in the late afternoons, when the sun is not so intense, but the air has a sultry feel to it. By the end of shooting around, I’ve already broken a good sweat, and after about 10 minutes of playing, my shirt looks like I’ve gone swimming. I’ve never experienced perspiration ever like I experience here every week.

But despite the pounds of salt that I sweat out in a two-hour game, I wouldn’t trade my basketball time here for anything. It maintains my sanity. For someone who has been immersed in physical activity and sports, it gives me the athletic outlet I desperately need. But as someone whose competitive streak runs too deep erase, it quenches my need to excel. I never thought I would say that basketball allows me to excel, but it is just that. My soul needs competition, and basketball provides a relatively tame release for such a fire.

And such a competitive release is finding a stronger foothold. The group of teachers and students with whom we play have decided we ought to travel and play other secondary school around Nampula. Look out Moz, two highly competitive Americans are about to bring the fire.