I was debating with myself on whether I should write about this or not. The late Micheal Makumbi’s death took a big toll on me. Sunday night, which was Uganda morning time, was when I saw the first post about his death. It took me by surprise just like death always does. It’s one brutal aspect of life we have to accept because the hour and time are never known and yet again, despite how many deaths one may experience, it still leaves the same hollow feeling of pain, terror, and hollowness. 

I had never met Micheal nor watched him play but I had seen pictures of him in the National team. I am confident that him representing the nation means he was a great player. In the picture, he had a genuine smile showing his well-aligned dental formula – teeth as white as snow – and the cheek smile lines curved out. There were twinkles in both eyes sharing in the smile. His eye buds had curved to the radiance of his face. His hands are held out to his jersey, just like most athletes do, to show pride for the team they are ‘repping.’ Looking at this picture sent pain and fear down my spine. Odd as it sounds, the next day when I got up, my appetite was so low. I had to call my sister and confess how a stranger’s death was greatly affecting me. I had so many thoughts and questions running through my mind as an athlete, international student, and someone who had just won a battle over a blood clot.   

I have had two knee surgeries (three if I am to count the manipulation surgery) in two years back to back. Every time I was to have the surgeries, my parents back home didn’t sleep. My sister who stays in the central region would also be waiting for her phone to light up with a text message from me. Every time I was to go in for surgery, my parents would tell me a story realizing I was dismissing their fears. The story is about a family friend who had knee surgery at Mulago and two days later succumbed to a blood clot. I tried to brush off their fears that all would be fine and they didn’t have to worry despite knowing that I also had my fears. When I tore my ACL again last year in November, and I was scheduled for surgery in January, I had this huge urge to not tell my parents. Not because of any selfish reasons but because of the worry and fear I impose on my old people who I would rather not have to go through that stress. I finally told them about the upcoming surgery, and as you can guess … they told me the story again. Thankfully, all three surgeries have been successful.

On the 3rd day after my most recent surgery, I developed a pain in the calf of the leg on which the surgery had been done. I told my host, “Every time I stand, it’s like blood is racing to rush to my foot. And every time I lay down, it’s like someone is pressing hard against my calf to the foot.” We concluded that it could be because I was less immobile and decided to change my daily routine. I would have to get out of bed every hour and trot around the house for at least ten minutes before lying down again. We also applied ice to the calf and hoped all this would help. Unfortunately, two days later, the pain was only getting worse. I didn’t want to take the drug – Hydrocodone – because of its potential to become an addictive drug (it’s highly marketable on the black market). 

Thankfully, I was scheduled to start my therapy on the 6th day. Once we arrived, I met my therapist to do an initial review. As soon as I lay down flat on the bed, she instructed me to turn to my belly. She lifted the foot up and at this moment the pain I felt when I stood up was nothing compared to this new pain. The blood was now in a tighter race to my thighs. I immediately told her to put my leg down. She pressed the calf and immediately said, “Fortunately we have walk-in services today. You need to see the doctor immediately.” What was supposed to be a day of starting therapy, brought a heavy realization to my heart, “I had a blood clot!” 

I cried and cried. When we were growing up, if someone was said to have a blood clot, we all knew that death had selected them. I was crying not because of death but because of the challenge after challenge situation I was in. I was immediately given a three-month medication plan. My initial plan was to keep this away from my parents because I knew it would also be a pressure point. But alas, my sister was also panicking and couldn’t take in the burden and chose to share part of it. 

Makumbi’s death felt so personal to me – an international student-athlete – who probably was making plans for the summer to go see his friends and family. He was such a young man whose future was robbed in a very brutal way. I heavily sympathize and empathize with his family. It’s so disheartening to bid farewell to someone at Entebbe airport and survive on faith and hope that the next time they are to return, you will receive a text saying, “I have landed” but instead they are left to wait for a call or text from the cargo carriers stating, “it has arrived!” My heart shatters at the thought of this.

I invite you all to join Micheal Makumbi’s family by supporting them through the GoFundMe App as they raise finances to bring him back to Uganda from Canada. Kindly donate through https://www.gofundme.com/f/micheal-makumbi Don’t underestimate the amount you will donate. Brick by brick – shilling by shilling or dollar by dollar, let’s bring Micheal Makumbi back home.

Eternal Rest Grant Unto Him Oh Lord, and May Perpetual light shine upon him. Amen.