In 2018, Mushaga Bakenga, who last represented Norway in 2014, believed his footballing career had come to an end. At just 26, he had been battling a series of injuries, the most recent being a ruptured Achilles tendon in his foot, which required surgery. Only a year earlier, he had undergone the same procedure.
Just before he was ready to call time on his career, his mother’s eldest brother asked to meet him. Of course, Bakenga agreed. This was not just any visit, and his uncle was no ordinary relative.
Denis Mukwege, a pastor and gynaecologist, founded the Panzi Hospital in the city of Bukavu in Eastern Congo. There, he specialises in treating women who have been raped by armed rebels during the brutal civil wars that have ravaged Congo since the 1990s. Throughout his career, Mukwege has treated tens of thousands of women subjected to sexual violence. In 2018, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for “his efforts to end the use of sexual violence as a weapon of war and armed conflict.”
“When he came to Oslo for the award ceremony, he invited me to come with him, and there we had a conversation. He was receiving one of the biggest awards in the world, but he asked me, ‘Your mother told me you are quitting football. Is it true?’” Bakenga recalls.
“I said, ‘Yes. I’ve had enough of the game. I don’t enjoy it anymore, and now that my Achilles has ruptured for the second time, I’ve lost my speed. That was everything I had.’ He said, ‘Okay, so what are you going to do?’ I replied, ‘I already have a job.’ That was true because I had been studying sports management and was almost into that field,” Bakenga explains.
“He told me that wouldn’t be the best use of my abilities. He said I could accomplish much more in my current path. He then pointed out one of the women doctors who had accompanied him to the Nobel Awards in Oslo. He told me her story. She had been raped when she was a child, and here I was feeling sorry for myself after two surgeries on my foot! This woman had undergone 20 surgeries.
My uncle had treated her when she was just 13 years old. Eleven years later, she had studied and become a doctor herself. She was now working with him, helping women navigate the trauma she had once endured.
Then he looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’m not saying you have to think the same way, but don’t give up living your life because you’re feeling sorry for yourself,’” Bakenga recalls.
Six years after that conversation, Bakenga is still playing football. He currently plays as a striker for the table-topper Punjab FC in the Indian Super League. However, inspired by his uncle, Bakenga is doing much more than just playing football.
Award winner
Bakenga was on his way to a training session in New Delhi a couple of weeks ago when he received a call from a friend who worked at FIFPRO — the global union for professional football players.
His friend wanted to know if Bakenga was available the following week to attend the World Football Summit in Sevilla. He informed Bakenga that he was going to be presented with the Marcus Rashford Award, which recognises athletes who have promoted initiatives and efforts that bring about positive change in their communities.
The award was presented to Bakenga for developing a school for an orphanage of over 1,000 children in the Democratic Republic of Congo, called College Namugunga — named after his grandfather, Samuel Namugunga. Jabez World, the organisation Bakenga founded, fundraises and supports the needs of the school.
Until then, the 32-year-old striker had no idea he was even up for the award. Although his professional commitments in the ISL meant that his sister collected the award on his behalf, he is grateful for the recognition. “I didn’t even know I was nominated. It was a big surprise, but I felt a sense of pride. I hope this award will help to shine more light on the cause I am working for. I really hope it brings more people to come and help me,” he says.
While the Norwegian international now hopes to bring more attention and resources to his project, there was a time when he wanted very little to do with the country. Bakenga comes from an educated family — his aunts and uncles are doctors, politicians, and pastors. His mother worked with UNICEF, and although he was born in Trondheim, Norway, he would visit Congo during school vacations. When he was four years old, a civil war broke out. The First Congo War claimed a quarter of a million lives and displaced many hundreds of thousands more.
“At our home in Bukavu, I had a stuffed teddy bear in my room. I had to leave it behind when we were fleeing. One day, I was able to return home and ran back to my room to see my teddy bear again. But I found it riddled with bullets. I get goosebumps every time I remember this. ”
Targeted in civil war
Bakenga’s family in the city of Bukavu, in eastern Congo, was among those affected by the conflict. The experience left him with mental scars that are still healing. “I remember all that happened, but for a long time, I repressed it. It’s the kind of thing a child shouldn’t see or experience,” he says. “As a family that was educated and outspoken, we were always targeted. We were constantly hiding from soldiers, sometimes in the forest. For two years, all we did was try to survive. I remember one episode where my family was in a school building. All of a sudden, we learned that the fighters were almost there. They were literally coming in tanks. We went from laughing and playing to hiding in these small spaces we had created. I was just four years old at the time. We had babies and children even younger than me. I remember my mother covering my nose and mouth with her hand so I wouldn’t make a sound. I was so quiet, and I remember how close those soldiers came to finding us. I could see their feet and hear their voices. They were looking for someone to shoot or kidnap,” he says.
While his family escaped on that occasion, Bakenga’s father was eventually captured for ransom. “He was held for nine months. During that time, we had no idea whether he was dead or alive. When he eventually returned, he had lost nearly 40 kilos. As a child, I couldn’t even recognise him for two months after he came back because he didn’t look anything like my father,” he says.
However, Bakenga’s most traumatic memory wasn’t the violence he or his family experienced, but an incident that symbolised the loss of his innocence. “At our home in Bukavu, I had a stuffed teddy bear in my room. I had to leave it behind when we were fleeing. One day, I was able to return home and ran back to my room to see my teddy bear again. But I found it riddled with bullets. I get goosebumps every time I remember this. It wasn’t the most violent thing that happened to me, but it was the one that hurt me the most because it felt so personal,” he says.
Bakenga says the few moments of happiness he experienced during those troubled days were found playing football. “Whenever we were in a place with some security, we kids would make a ball out of discarded plastic bags tied up with rope and play football with it,” he recalls.
In 1998, Bakenga’s mother, who worked for UNICEF, was evacuated along with the rest of his family back to Norway. He grew up facing his own challenges — he recalls playing football while parents of his opponents used racial slurs against him. While it hurt, Bakenga rationalises it. “At least no one was shooting at me,” he says. His obvious talent in football eventually marked him out as one of the country’s top prospects.
Unfulfilled life
His performances in the youth team of SK Nationalkameratene, and subsequently in the age group setups for Norway, attracted interest from Bayern Munich and Manchester City. Premier League club Chelsea invited him for trials and even made him an offer. However, Bakenga says he wanted to stay close to his family and ultimately chose to remain in Norway.
Even as his career blossomed in Norway and later in Europe, where he played in the Belgian Pro League (Cercle Brugge and Club Brugge) and the German second division (Eintracht Braunschweig), Bakenga says he felt a lack of fulfilment. “A lot of people think that when you escape a situation like mine, you should just focus on yourself. I was playing at a high level. I was making millions of dollars as a top-level player. Why should I care about Congo? But I felt a lot of guilt. I didn’t understand why I was so lucky, while so many in Congo weren’t. I wanted to do something about it. I couldn’t live my life as if I was the only one who mattered. Football is important, but it has to be a way for me to help others,” he recalls thinking.
Bakenga initially thought of setting up a football academy in Congo, but he realised he had no oversight of where the money would go. Then in 2017, his grandfather suggested he open a school instead. “There are people who can’t afford to spend even a dollar a month for education. I felt this was a way to actually make a difference,” he says.
When he initially set up College Namugunga, Bakenga expected to house around 300 students. He was taken aback when nearly 1,000 showed up at its opening. “I couldn’t turn them away. But I also couldn’t pay for everything from just my earnings. That’s when I decided I needed to set up a trust. I also got my family — my sisters and brothers — to help with running the school,” he says. “Since 2017, we’ve helped this village a lot. We’ve also started self-help groups where we’ve set up farms for women to grow rice and potatoes, and fish farms so that mothers can make extra money. A portion of this goes to the school, so the children can eat for free,” he says.
Bakenga has also used his name as a footballer to draw funds from sponsors. He convinced the Norwegian government to ship used furniture to his school and initiated a programme in which Norwegian schoolchildren could send their used school bags (all schoolchildren in Norway receive a new set at the start of the academic year).
For all the work he does, Bakenga admits things aren’t always easy. “When I first started going back to contribute, I received death threats, and there were attempts to kidnap me because people knew I was making money playing football in Europe. So now, I don’t make an announcement when I go back to Congo. I go quietly, do my work with the school, and then leave,” he says.
He continues because he feels a responsibility. “There’s so much to fix in Congo. There are so many children who have nothing. I can’t express the feeling of knowing that some child’s life is worth nothing just because they were born in the wrong place. Every child deserves a fair opportunity in life,” he says.
Inspired by his uncle
Bakenga’s activism might seem to be inspired by his uncle’s, and indeed, some of his teammates have joked that he’s trying to win a Nobel prize of his own. He readily admits this isn’t the case, saying that his work is just a shadow of what his uncle has done. “My uncle is probably the greatest human being I know. He’s incredibly sharp. He can meet you today, and even if he sees you again five years later, he’ll remember your name, your family’s name, and your entire history. If you visit his hospital in Congo, he’ll meet a woman and know exactly when she came to the hospital, who is left in her family, and how many surgeries he performed on her. It’s both scary and impressive, but it also shows how much he cares about everyone he meets. The work he does is emotionally draining, but he still knows how to be funny. I talk to him at least once a week, and we just joke around and have fun. He’ll say the smartest thing ever, and then go back to joking. Before I came to India, I spoke to him about playing football here. He was very happy for me. He likes Indians a lot because he’s worked with many in Congo. He told me, ‘Yeah, they are very smart, and you will love them. They are very similar to us’. He joked that I should have grown up in India’s heat instead of Norway’s cold because he says the cold has made me a ‘white person’,” says Bakenga. While his uncle convinced him to stick with football when he was on the verge of quitting, his words also encouraged Bakenga to explore the world in a way he hadn’t before. “I was happy playing football in Europe, but after our conversation, I started to consider exploring the world. That’s how I ended up going to Japan to play in the J League. It’s also why, when I got the chance to come to India, I took it rather than going to yet another country in Europe. I’ve never been here, and I wanted to see the place. I want to earn money to help run my school, but I also want to experience new cultures,” he says.
This isn’t to say Bakenga only sees his time in India as a way to earn money. “I’m someone who gives 100 per cent to my club. I really want the team to do well. If I’m in India, I want to make a mark here. This doesn’t mean I have no interest in football – it’s a part of my life too. My goal here is to help the team as much as I can. Every day, I talk to the younger players on the team and try to help them personally and professionally,” he says. However, Bakenga admits his ultimate goal will eventually take him back to Congo. “Football is important, but I see it as a tool for a greater mission, which is to educate children. Right now, what gives me the most happiness in life is the work I do with the schools. Compared to my football career, that brings me far more joy. I love going back to Congo and seeing how I’m able to change the lives of these kids. Already, some of the children have gone to college. Several have come back and are now contributing to the community. I expected they would want to stay in the big cities, but instead, they’ve returned to help and improve their villages,” Bakenga says.
“I know I’m a small person who has accomplished very little compared to what my uncle and others in my family have done. No matter what I do, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to match their work. It’s just something I have to accept, and I’m fine with it. As long as I can make a difference in one person’s life, that’s enough for me. I’ve been blessed in so many ways. I don’t know if I deserve it. When I think about it, it doesn’t make any sense. The least I can do is pay it forward,” he says.
“I know I’m a small person who has accomplished very little compared to what my uncle and others in my family have done. No matter what I do, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to match their work. It’s just something I have to accept, and I’m fine with it. As long as I can make a difference in one person’s life, that’s enough for me. I’ve been blessed in so many ways. I don’t know if I deserve it. When I think about it, it doesn’t make any sense. The least I can do is pay it forward,” he says.
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