In Uganda, a soccer tournament shows a kingdom’s power
| Kampala, Uganda
Ugandan soccer fans are used to following the English Premier League, where the game is played at the very top international level. But the competition that gets fans in Kampala, Uganda’s capital, really worked up is a local, amateur affair known as the Masaza Cup.
Eighteen teams compete for the trophy; what sets it apart is the competition’s organizer – the Kingdom of Buganda.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onWhen is a soccer match more than a soccer match? In Uganda, when it reminds people of their roots and binds them closer to their historical identity.
Before the British imposed colonial rule, Buganda was the state in the central region of Uganda; today it survives only as a cultural institution. And yet it commands fierce loyalty from its 7 million people, for many of whom the kingdom conjures a deeper sense of belonging than the modern state.
The kingdom’s most visible face is as a cultural power broker. It owns much of Kampala, runs radio and television stations, manages businesses, trains coffee farmers and organizes blood donation drives. Tens of thousands of participants flock to an annual fun run to celebrate the birthday of the king, known as the Kabaka.
And they flock to the Masaza Cup final, too. “People have been disappointed by the government,” says one of the players. “So they seek consolation from the kingdom. They see the kingdom as putting in place all the things that bind people together.”
The fans of the two teams arrived at the stadium hours before kickoff, crowding its grassy banks and perching in trees behind the corner flags. The final of the Masaza Cup is one of the biggest soccer matches in Uganda and they had come in their thousands to celebrate the occasion.
Supporters beat traditional drums and blew plastic vuvuzelas (horns). Hawkers sold merchandise branded with the names of local clans. One group of friends arrived in bark cloth, a material used in burials, because, they said, “we are going to put [our opponent] in bark cloth after defeating him”.
Like soccer tournaments all over the world, the Masaza Cup is tracked by talent scouts and backed by corporate sponsors. But the amateur competition carries a special resonance for players and fans because of who organizes it – the Buganda Kingdom.
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onWhen is a soccer match more than a soccer match? In Uganda, when it reminds people of their roots and binds them closer to their historical identity.
Before the British imposed colonial rule, Buganda was the state here, in what is now the central region of Uganda. Today it survives only as a cultural institution, with no power to collect taxes or make laws. And yet it commands fierce loyalty from its 7 million people, who make up around a sixth of Uganda’s 45 million citizens. For many of them, the kingdom conjures a deeper sense of belonging than the modern state.
Those passions were evident on March 4 at the Muteesa II stadium in Kampala, the Ugandan capital, as fans of Buddu and Busiro arrived in team jerseys declaring their side to be “kuntikko” (“on top”).
“We don’t watch other football,” explained Doreen Nalubega, a businesswoman who had traveled from out of town to attend the game. “We are supporting our culture, Buganda culture.”
“I watch the Masaza Cup because it’s part of me,” said Ronald Busuulwa, a decorator, who had traveled two hours to reach the game. As the players ran onto the field, he stood on the touchline, pretending to film with a replica television camera that he had fashioned from wood and mirrors.
A tangled history
Ugandans love soccer, but they are more likely to follow English clubs than their own national league. A glance at the local table offers one clue as to why. The current leaders are the Kampala Capital City Authority, a government agency notorious for arresting street vendors and demolishing roadside stalls. The army, the police, and the tax authority all have teams.
The Masaza Cup, by contrast, is contested by the 18 masaza, or counties, of historical Buganda. Their names – Buddu and Busiro, Ssingo and Bulemeezi – bring to life a geography obscured by modern district boundaries.
“That sense of attachment makes it more popular,” said Bruce Turyamubona, a sports journalist at Radio Simba, a private station which broadcasts in Luganda, the language of the kingdom. “You go deep into those … villages and you find there are thousands of people lining up to go and watch the game.”
Ugandans’ complex loyalties emerge from a complex past. In the late 19th century, British imperialists subjugated Buganda, the most powerful kingdom on the northern shores of Nalubaale, also known as Lake Victoria. Then they violently annexed dozens of other peoples into a new state, sometimes with the help of collaborators from Buganda. They called this country “Uganda,” even though it stretched far beyond the lands of Buganda itself.
The British meddled in Indigenous kingdoms and ruled through compliant chiefs. But after independence the Buganda Kingdom was drawn into a power struggle with nationalist politicians. In 1966 the army stormed the king’s palace and the following year kingdoms were abolished altogether.
Then, in 1993, Buganda made a comeback. President Yoweri Museveni, who had fought his way to power from a base in Buganda, tried to shore up his support by reinstating four historic kingdoms. There was a catch: The kingdoms were to be “cultural institutions”, barred from involvement in politics.
Today, the country is still led by Mr. Museveni, who is 78 and has been president for nearly four decades. His government rules with an iron first, but it has little popular legitimacy.
The Buganda kingdom, by contrast, is popular but has little formal authority. The two have sometimes clashed, most significantly in 2009, when Ugandan security forces blocked Baganda leaders from visiting a disputed part of the kingdom’s territory, killing more than 40 people in ensuing protests.
That crisis showed the dangers for Buganda in pursuing political power, says Apollo Makubuya, a lawyer, historian, and adviser to the Kabaka, or king. “The kingdom then chose to take the path of mobilizing more on a social and economic foundation,” he explains.
Today the kingdom’s most visible face is as a cultural power broker. It owns 536 square miles of land, including much of Kampala. It runs radio and television stations, manages businesses, trains coffee farmers and organizes blood donation drives. Tens of thousands of participants flock to an annual fun run on the Kabaka’s birthday.
And, since 2004, it has organized the Masaza Cup, whose final this year was played in a stadium named for the present Kabaka’s father. The tournament is an important showcase of young sporting talent, says Henry Ssekabembe, the kingdom’s sports minister.
And also, he adds it “unif[ies] the king’s subjects.”
More than a game
The day before the final, Buddu – the defending champions, trained on a patch of grass in the shadows of central Kampala’s high-rise office buildings. Players juggled balls and skipped between cones with quiet purpose. The Masaza Cup excludes footballers from the top Ugandan leagues, and many of the Buddu players were hoping to be spotted by a big national club – still the best route to making a career in the game.
The next day, excited crowds thronged the streets. Young men sped past on motorcycles garlanded with leaves. Women sold snacks, soda, and traditional drinks in painted gourds. Many people who could not afford a ticket had gathered outside the stadium, hoping to catch a glimpse of their king, although he did not appear.
Out on the pitch both sides started nervously. Busiro scored first, a few minutes before half time, before Buddu’s young winger Denis Kalanzi equalized with a looping header. The fans danced deliriously, tooting their vuvuzelas to the sky.
The match seemed to be heading for extra time until Masuudi Kafumbe slotted the ball into the net for Busiro with one of the last kicks of the game. “I’m very, very, very happy,” he said, after the players had danced with the trophy on the pitch.
Perhaps Busiro had received a bit of divine assistance, since the Catholic archbishop of Kampala had prayed for them the day before. Perhaps they had a helping hand from Indigenous gods, after some of their fans burned offerings during the match. Or perhaps it was simply their smart tactics, as their coach explained.
For Buddu, the result was heartbreak. And yet the match had been about much more than the final score.
“People have been disappointed by the government,” said one of the Buddu players, who asked for anonymity when discussing politics. “So they seek consolation from the kingdom. They see the kingdom as putting in place all the things that bind people together.”
