A Play Of Light And Shadow

"At the end I didn't feel tired," said Akii. "At first I thought it wasn't the final. I had energy for another race."

He sat back from the table and folded his hands over a pushed-out stomach. "Now I am resting," he said. "Enjoying."

We strolled around downtown Kampala. Perhaps two of every five people we passed raised a thumb or eyebrow at Akii, usually with a deferential greeting. Ugandans don't seem to care about autographs. Akii's adulation is therefore far less oppressive than it might be.

"It is good you came when you did," he said. "In two days I am going to Addis Ababa, and then to Paris."

"I thought you were resting."

"Oh, I have no races. I am just going...." He laughed and got his arms, elbows, wrists and fingers tangled together in a child's gesture of shyness. "I am just going to be famous."

"How much has your life changed since the Olympics?"

"Oh, very much. The changes have been coming since 1970, when I first represented Uganda. My promotion was based in part on running. In the last two years I have been able to support my family...."

"Wait a minute. I forgot to ask. Are you married?"

"I have a fianc�e," he said. "And a baby, one year. But when I say family I mean my mother and brothers. I have eight brothers in school. American colleges offer me scholarships, but I can't afford to go because my brothers need me."