I kept turning in my bed for hours as I labored to catch some sleep, but it came in brief intermittent patterns. I can’t recall a time in the immediate past where I have had to struggle that much with sleep. The news of Allan Ategyeka’s passing in the early hours of the day was now properly settling in. The images were playing in my head, and it didn’t help matters that several of his videos were making rounds on social media. I made it a point to watch each one of them.
Yesterday,
Monday 4, 2024, the first message in our class WhatsApp group was a motivational
message that was shared by Flart. Nothing unusual about that because he has
done that every single morning for as long as I can remember. It came in at 5:14
am. At 5:35 am, Philo asked if anyone had heard from
Allan Ategyeka. Again, nothing unusual about this because Philo’s wedding is
coming up in less than a month and Allan being his treasurer, they were always in
constant communication. But that particular message screamed of uncertainty.
After almost 2 hours, Josh responded to his message at 7.11 am and
said, “I think his phone could have blacked out.” Exactly 5 minutes later,
George, who was Allan’s very close friend and who was almost always with him
everywhere, posted and said that Allan had been involved in an accident and had
been taken to Devine Mercy hospital in Mbarara. That message came in at 7:16
am. The next 5 messages were wishing him a quick recovery. And then, at
7:25 am, exactly 9 minutes after his first message, George delivered
a bombshell. He typed 4 words that we have all since failed to recover from.
“Guys, Allan is gone!” There was no missing it in what he said, it was all
clear. Everyone screamed “Nooooo”, and we asked that someone in Mbarara rush to
Divine Mercy hospital and confirm. We were hoping that at best George was
mistaken and had rushed to a wrong conclusion or at worst, he was playing a
dirty joke on us. But jokes rarely come on a Monday morning.
At 7:34 am, we got our second confirmation from someone else who
was in Mbarara. “Guys, I am at the hospital, and Allan is gone. I can’t post
his picture, but I confirm Allan is no more.” Bruce, his business partner still
couldn’t believe it, “Guys first confirm properly, let’s not rush.” I know, for
him, like for us all, we kept holding onto the last thread of hope. A motor
accident had snuffed out Allan’s very young life.
For
the people who knew him, the one thing that we share in our recollection of his
life is how joyful, lively, bubbly, high spirited, vibrant, and zestful he was.
I run out of superlatives describing the light (pun intended - considering how
dark he was) he brought with him every single time he walked into a room. His
mates usually joked that he was so dark that he was invisible and could only be
noticed by the sound of his laughter. Banter aside, when he laughed, it was
that deep, raucous, no-holds-barred kind of laughter. It would pierce through
the room and almost blow off the roof. He had the most contagious and genuine
laugh that you could find. He also had a specialty in coming up with jokes. He
would tell the same story in different ways that every single time you heard
it, you would think it new. Allan was so funny that at the funeral of his
father earlier this year, during his speech, all we did was laugh so much that
we forgot it was a funeral.
I
don’t know where to start about his love for TY Omujuma (his cohort team in the
Ntare Lions League). Allan loved the team so much that he thought it would kill
him one day. In September, the League Exco organized the inaugural Crichton Cup
that constituted the top 8 teams from last season. Omujuma was trailing in the
first game, a few minutes on the verge of exit, but managed to equalize and win
the game. He sent a message in our WhatsApp group and said, “I am in Mbarara,
but I am almost dying of pressure.” When the team got to the final, he sent a
message and said, “If we win this final, I will never attend any other final we
qualify for, I will definitely know I am cursed.” The team went on to win and
yes, there will now never be another final he attends, but I don’t think that
is what he meant. In the Kigali final at the start of the year, he was our commander-in-chief,
leading from the frontline as we bellowed out songs of support for the team. He
had led us in the same way, a year before, in Jinja. Both times we fell short,
both times he gave his everything. The saddest bit now that I think about it,
is that he never witnessed the team he loved most, win the thing that his heart
most desired; the Ntare Lions League shield.
After
that very close defeat in Kigali, when the team administration changed and I
was asked to take lead as Chairman, he spoke to me on phone for close to 2 hours.
He explained to me the problems I was inheriting and offered counsel on how to
deal with some. I promised him that the team would try and compete again. I remember
the last game he attended was at Kampala Quality, where we were facing our elders
Abashweki (one year ahead of us in school), a derby. He met me in the parking
lot, I was holding a carton of water. He shouted through his car window, even
before he had parked, “Chairman, please don’t carry water when I am here.” He quickly
parked, sprinted to where I was, and picked up the water from my hands. That day, with the rain coming
down, we came from a goal behind to win with almost the last kick of
the game. He ran into the pouring rain, jumped and celebrated like a little
child. These were the things that gave him joy, that made him wholesome, that
made his world stop. He would often say a TY Omujuma win is enough to push you through
the week. In the toughest of his days, the team at least gave him something to smile
about.
Now
that Allan is gone, I don’t know how our games will be like anymore. Our touchline
has been orphaned, our loudest voice has gone silent, and sadly forever. He really
loved the team, he loved the people, and he was loved by people.
In
one of the conversations that Allan had with a friend, here is what he said:
“As
long as we live, we can never truly and fully love. The true embodiment of love
is death, death perfects a person. Meaning, true love is impossible. You can
lie no more, steal no more, hate no more, abuse no more, kill no more, sin no
more when you die. You become love itself”
Like he always desired, he has become love itself!
As a very devout Catholic, I am sure the heavens are opening to receive him. May his soul rest in peace.
