Patrick Ngasirwa writes

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.

Patrick Ngasirwa writes