Vienna Days: Some memories refuse to stay quiet

Some memories refuse to stay quiet.

Chisamo on the left

By Chisamo Elisha (Chisa) (Class of 2024)

At Vienna, my year collected more than its fair share of unforgettable moments. We left school unbeaten in our final year, attempted a “spirit week” that lasted exactly three days, and once watched a classmate accidentally send a complaint email to the administration signature thoughtfully included. I could go on. But lately, I’ve found myself returning to two moments that say more about belonging than any trophy or headline ever could.

The first is the farewell derby: Year 13 versus the rest of the school. It is a match wrapped in myth, governed by the quiet assumption that the final game of the leavers is never meant to be lost. That year, I was still in Year 12, unexpectedly selected as the goalkeeper for the school’s select eleven. The Year 13 side was stacked Songa, the school captain, alongside Ray, Solo, Leroy, Alberto, and others whose reputations preceded them. Mercenaries, some called them. Talented, undeniably.

But the atmosphere was the real spectacle. The Year 13 girls filled the air with chants, my classmates answered just as loudly, and the pitch transformed from familiar ground into contested territory. Bragging rights were at stake, and legacy seemed to hover over every touch of the ball.

The match ended in a draw. Unsatisfied, we pleaded with Coach Ssentamu for penalties. He agreed hesitantly, and with conditions. What followed still feels unreal. I saved three penalties. When I stopped the school captain’s shot, the entire school erupted. It was the closest I have ever come to feeling like Superman. Our skipper, Ebo Shadrach, calmly converted the winning penalty, and just like that, the myth held at least for that year.

What that moment left me with was something quieter but more lasting. It taught me that until the final whistle is blown, there is always a chance to win that leadership sometimes looks like persistence, and that belief matters most when the odds suggest otherwise. It is a lesson I have carried well beyond the pitch.

The second memory is quieter, but it stays with me just as firmly.

At Vienna, birthdays mattered. People dressed to themes, songs echoed through Thatch, and everyone at least once a year was made to feel seen. In my year, we took it further. We lifted the celebrant into the air, declaring them the main character for the day. It sounded nice in theory, though in practice especially for the boys it was something you secretly hoped would skip you.

It didn’t skip me.

By then, we had developed a habit of fundraising as a class to buy birthday gifts. On my final birthday at Vienna, my classmates went beyond anything I expected. They bought me a phone. I remember holding it, searching for the right words, and coming up empty. I wish I had cried, just so my gratitude could match the moment. But sometimes appreciation sits too deep for easy expression.

When I look back now at the videos of the derby, at that birthday, at all the chaos and care in between I feel grateful. For teammates who gave everything, classmates who showed up, and teachers who trusted us enough to let the moment breathe.

Some moments pass. Others stay. Vienna gave me plenty of the latter.