Soccer, Waterbirds, and Mortal Men
Attending the 2005 CECAFA Soccer Finals in Kigali
Last weekend, the Rwandan soccer team - the Amavubi (Wasps) - advanced to the final round of the East African soccer championship.
For anyone who doesn't know, soccer is tremendously popular throughout Africa. During the week leading up to the finals, Rwanda's team enjoyed a winning streak in Kigali, their home city, by crushing Somalia, Tanzania, and Uganda all in a row. By the time Saturday evening rolled around, spirits were running high city and countrywide.
I was entirely unaware of the tournament until the preceding Tuesday night, when a sudden roar of people yelling and horns honking sent me running to a neighbor to enquire whether or not I should be concerned. Rwanda had just defeated Tanzania, I was informed, and had secured a place in the semi-final round of this tournament. Two days later, I was an old pro. When the entire city erupted into screams and babies started crying, I knew the Wasps had defeated the Uganda Cranes and faced a weekend battle with Ethiopia. Because I had never been to a soccer game before, I decided that this was the match to see.
Decorum at Amahoro Stadium
My catalogue of expectations included - but was not limited to - seething crowds, criminal behavior, and drunken riots. I am pleasantly shocked to report that no such madness was tolerated on this occasion. We arrived twenty minutes after the game had started - so much for "games never start on time in Africa" - and were speedily directed to front row seats with unobstructed views of the Ethiopian goal. The crowds were anything but unruly. I even saw several fans with loud horns chastised when they blew them too close to someone else's ears. No alcohol was served, so drunkenness was limited to pre-partiers and anyone with hip flasks. People cheered enthusiastically for their team and waved flags in a well mannered fashion. Good vibes in all directions.
Kigali's Amahoro Football Stadium struck me as clean, freshly painted, and organized. Contrary to other reports, the stadium has both a working scoreboard and decent PA system. The halftime marching band was excellent - except for the fact that they wore no microphones. I wish I could have heard the entire performance, but the powers that be decided to play a rave-beated dance track on the PA system as the band circled the field, so I only heard the live music when they were marching near my seat. In the center of the field, a troupe of acrobats dressed in fluttering orange robes tumbled, juggled, and made human pyramids.
A brief warning about the ticketing process from a person raised in a capitalist country. Security told us to purchase tickets from men outside the stadium who held bunches of two, five, and ten-dollar slips. Once we got in, however, it seemed like there were only two types of seats: seats on the plain concrete steps, and seats with yellow plastic cushions screwed into the concrete. I grew to suspect that the ten-dollar seats and the five-dollar seats were essentially the same, so I will clarify the issue before my next game.
The Confused Omens
Both teams were skilled, and both sides coordinated some impressive passing sequences in the first half. The ball, being chased furiously by a colorful cluster of men, rolled back and forth from goal to goal. The players on both teams were polite to each other, few yellow cards were handed out, and rivals helped each other up if anyone took a dive on the turf. No one scored in the first half, as all efforts to score were thwarted by skillful blocks.
Just after sunset, during the halftime show, two large herons flew over the stadium. Disoriented by the florescent lights, they flapped softly back and forth, completely illuminated. The crowds of people below them inhaled collectively at their presence and began to applaud. Eventually, the birds found their bearings again and disappeared back into the night. It was an omen. Everyone was excited for what the second half would bring.
Not luck for the Amavubi, as it turned out. The only goal of the game was scored very early in the second half. People were still trickling back to their seats, and the Rwandan trainers hadn't even reached their seats yet. I myself had been distracted by some children sitting next to me who had tired of waving a large Rwandan flag and slung it over the railing in a crumpled heap. Suddenly a concerned murmur rose and heads began to turn toward the Rwandan goal. The goalie looked defeated, and an Ethiopian player was running in a triumphant circle, having his back slapped by various teammates. The scoreboard flipped to 1-0 in favor of Ethiopia and remained that way until the very end.
Professional Children
I am (obviously) new to the world of professional soccer, so it was my first time seeing grown men act like babies in front of thousands of people. It was extremely entertaining, and still I am left with a desire to write satire.
Most memorably, I have never seen so many athletes collapse in agonizing pain, rolling around on the ground, only to get back up again and enthusiastically rejoin the game. This happened twice in the first half; but towards the end of the game, the Ethiopian players began collapsing more frequently and, mysteriously, without anything happening near them. One solitary player near us dropped to the ground despite the fact that the ball had been carried off down the field a good ten seconds previously. I thought he was having a heart attack. He flailed about as though he were drowning, arms wrapped around his torso in agony. The Ethiopian trainer, who did not stand over four feet tall, came flying across the field, little legs churning, with an overstuffed piece of hand luggage in his hand. Six men in red jackets carrying a red stretcher followed him. The player was placed on the stretcher, and all seven upright men tore back to the sidelines with the victim jolting along over their heads. After a ten second medical assessment wherein the trainer opened his medical kit and then closed it, the player stood up, limped twice, and then ran back out to rejoin the game. As soon as he had disappeared into the seething mass of players, though, another Ethiopian player on the other side of the field went down with what appeared to be the same affliction. The trainer and the stretcher men picked up their gear and dashed over to the new player. This cycle was repeated several times.
The good humor from the first half disappeared, almost physically; and when the clock began to run out, immaturity reigned. Every time Rwanda got a corner kick, the Ethiopian player who was supposed to be guarding the kicker suddenly transformed into a teenage bully. Instead of remaining ten paces away until the ball is kicked, as the rules delineate, he dashed forward toward the Rwandan kicker before contact with the ball was made. This happened several times; but every time the referee warned him, he just shrugged his shoulders. Finally the kicker got exasperated and pretended to rush the ball, so the Ethiopian player looked stupid for charging forward when he wasn't supposed to. The referee, however, ignored the misconduct and mildly started the play over again, without ever reprimanding the guard.
The conduct of the Wasps did not rise above the antics of the Ethiopian team. In my opinion, it was a Rwandan player who was responsible for the rock bottom moment of the game. At one point, Rwanda gained control of the ball about twenty yards away from the Ethiopian goal. The referee placed the ball on the ground on the precise spot where the designated Rwandan player was supposed to begin play. Then he turned his back and walked closer to the goal, where the other players had gathered. While he was striding away, the Rwandan player picked up the ball and tip-toed forward with it. He had time to move the ball forward several yards before he dropped it and straightened back up. When the referee turned around, he was greeted with the sight of the Rwandan - a goofy grin on his face - ten feet closer than he should have been. It reminded me of watching cartoons. The referee yelled a bit and put the ball back in its original position. No yellow cards. No red cards. No player substitutions. Just the ref chiding a little boy for his mischief. (All the while, the clock was running.)
This Rwandan player did not cheat when no one was looking - a stadium full of home team supporters witnessed his act. As he snuck forward with the ball in his hands, thousands of people collectively gasped in disbelief.
Did I mention that the President of Rwanda was attending the game? Oh, he cheated in front of his president.
Post-Game Exit Strategy
Once the match was over, 1-0 Ethiopia, and the Ethiopian team began spraying each other with fizzy liquids, the audience began shuffling towards the exit. On the stadium's outer rim, however, security guards blocked the stairs and prevented everyone from leaving. Some people complained, and we were told that we all had to wait for the president to leave.
Uncomfortably but successfully, we managed to swim against the stream back to the seating area. We waited for another fifteen minutes, watching the Ethiopians celebrate in the middle of the field. The trophy was bigger than a toddler and was unfortunately flanked with big gauzy bows, one per handle. The players passed it around and sang, presumably about Ethiopia. One player lit a red emergency flare, waved it gleefully, realized that no one was really watching him, set it down on the ground, and trotted off in search of another attention-getting device. After a pause, another player doused the flame with the remainder of his water bottle. Eventually we began the trek to the exit again, and this time we made it outside successfully.
Last weekend, the Rwandan soccer team - the Amavubi (Wasps) - advanced to the final round of the East African soccer championship.
For anyone who doesn't know, soccer is tremendously popular throughout Africa. During the week leading up to the finals, Rwanda's team enjoyed a winning streak in Kigali, their home city, by crushing Somalia, Tanzania, and Uganda all in a row. By the time Saturday evening rolled around, spirits were running high city and countrywide.
I was entirely unaware of the tournament until the preceding Tuesday night, when a sudden roar of people yelling and horns honking sent me running to a neighbor to enquire whether or not I should be concerned. Rwanda had just defeated Tanzania, I was informed, and had secured a place in the semi-final round of this tournament. Two days later, I was an old pro. When the entire city erupted into screams and babies started crying, I knew the Wasps had defeated the Uganda Cranes and faced a weekend battle with Ethiopia. Because I had never been to a soccer game before, I decided that this was the match to see.
Decorum at Amahoro Stadium
My catalogue of expectations included - but was not limited to - seething crowds, criminal behavior, and drunken riots. I am pleasantly shocked to report that no such madness was tolerated on this occasion. We arrived twenty minutes after the game had started - so much for "games never start on time in Africa" - and were speedily directed to front row seats with unobstructed views of the Ethiopian goal. The crowds were anything but unruly. I even saw several fans with loud horns chastised when they blew them too close to someone else's ears. No alcohol was served, so drunkenness was limited to pre-partiers and anyone with hip flasks. People cheered enthusiastically for their team and waved flags in a well mannered fashion. Good vibes in all directions.
Kigali's Amahoro Football Stadium struck me as clean, freshly painted, and organized. Contrary to other reports, the stadium has both a working scoreboard and decent PA system. The halftime marching band was excellent - except for the fact that they wore no microphones. I wish I could have heard the entire performance, but the powers that be decided to play a rave-beated dance track on the PA system as the band circled the field, so I only heard the live music when they were marching near my seat. In the center of the field, a troupe of acrobats dressed in fluttering orange robes tumbled, juggled, and made human pyramids.
A brief warning about the ticketing process from a person raised in a capitalist country. Security told us to purchase tickets from men outside the stadium who held bunches of two, five, and ten-dollar slips. Once we got in, however, it seemed like there were only two types of seats: seats on the plain concrete steps, and seats with yellow plastic cushions screwed into the concrete. I grew to suspect that the ten-dollar seats and the five-dollar seats were essentially the same, so I will clarify the issue before my next game.
The Confused Omens
Both teams were skilled, and both sides coordinated some impressive passing sequences in the first half. The ball, being chased furiously by a colorful cluster of men, rolled back and forth from goal to goal. The players on both teams were polite to each other, few yellow cards were handed out, and rivals helped each other up if anyone took a dive on the turf. No one scored in the first half, as all efforts to score were thwarted by skillful blocks.
Just after sunset, during the halftime show, two large herons flew over the stadium. Disoriented by the florescent lights, they flapped softly back and forth, completely illuminated. The crowds of people below them inhaled collectively at their presence and began to applaud. Eventually, the birds found their bearings again and disappeared back into the night. It was an omen. Everyone was excited for what the second half would bring.
Not luck for the Amavubi, as it turned out. The only goal of the game was scored very early in the second half. People were still trickling back to their seats, and the Rwandan trainers hadn't even reached their seats yet. I myself had been distracted by some children sitting next to me who had tired of waving a large Rwandan flag and slung it over the railing in a crumpled heap. Suddenly a concerned murmur rose and heads began to turn toward the Rwandan goal. The goalie looked defeated, and an Ethiopian player was running in a triumphant circle, having his back slapped by various teammates. The scoreboard flipped to 1-0 in favor of Ethiopia and remained that way until the very end.
Professional Children
I am (obviously) new to the world of professional soccer, so it was my first time seeing grown men act like babies in front of thousands of people. It was extremely entertaining, and still I am left with a desire to write satire.
Most memorably, I have never seen so many athletes collapse in agonizing pain, rolling around on the ground, only to get back up again and enthusiastically rejoin the game. This happened twice in the first half; but towards the end of the game, the Ethiopian players began collapsing more frequently and, mysteriously, without anything happening near them. One solitary player near us dropped to the ground despite the fact that the ball had been carried off down the field a good ten seconds previously. I thought he was having a heart attack. He flailed about as though he were drowning, arms wrapped around his torso in agony. The Ethiopian trainer, who did not stand over four feet tall, came flying across the field, little legs churning, with an overstuffed piece of hand luggage in his hand. Six men in red jackets carrying a red stretcher followed him. The player was placed on the stretcher, and all seven upright men tore back to the sidelines with the victim jolting along over their heads. After a ten second medical assessment wherein the trainer opened his medical kit and then closed it, the player stood up, limped twice, and then ran back out to rejoin the game. As soon as he had disappeared into the seething mass of players, though, another Ethiopian player on the other side of the field went down with what appeared to be the same affliction. The trainer and the stretcher men picked up their gear and dashed over to the new player. This cycle was repeated several times.
The good humor from the first half disappeared, almost physically; and when the clock began to run out, immaturity reigned. Every time Rwanda got a corner kick, the Ethiopian player who was supposed to be guarding the kicker suddenly transformed into a teenage bully. Instead of remaining ten paces away until the ball is kicked, as the rules delineate, he dashed forward toward the Rwandan kicker before contact with the ball was made. This happened several times; but every time the referee warned him, he just shrugged his shoulders. Finally the kicker got exasperated and pretended to rush the ball, so the Ethiopian player looked stupid for charging forward when he wasn't supposed to. The referee, however, ignored the misconduct and mildly started the play over again, without ever reprimanding the guard.
The conduct of the Wasps did not rise above the antics of the Ethiopian team. In my opinion, it was a Rwandan player who was responsible for the rock bottom moment of the game. At one point, Rwanda gained control of the ball about twenty yards away from the Ethiopian goal. The referee placed the ball on the ground on the precise spot where the designated Rwandan player was supposed to begin play. Then he turned his back and walked closer to the goal, where the other players had gathered. While he was striding away, the Rwandan player picked up the ball and tip-toed forward with it. He had time to move the ball forward several yards before he dropped it and straightened back up. When the referee turned around, he was greeted with the sight of the Rwandan - a goofy grin on his face - ten feet closer than he should have been. It reminded me of watching cartoons. The referee yelled a bit and put the ball back in its original position. No yellow cards. No red cards. No player substitutions. Just the ref chiding a little boy for his mischief. (All the while, the clock was running.)
This Rwandan player did not cheat when no one was looking - a stadium full of home team supporters witnessed his act. As he snuck forward with the ball in his hands, thousands of people collectively gasped in disbelief.
Did I mention that the President of Rwanda was attending the game? Oh, he cheated in front of his president.
Post-Game Exit Strategy
Once the match was over, 1-0 Ethiopia, and the Ethiopian team began spraying each other with fizzy liquids, the audience began shuffling towards the exit. On the stadium's outer rim, however, security guards blocked the stairs and prevented everyone from leaving. Some people complained, and we were told that we all had to wait for the president to leave.
Uncomfortably but successfully, we managed to swim against the stream back to the seating area. We waited for another fifteen minutes, watching the Ethiopians celebrate in the middle of the field. The trophy was bigger than a toddler and was unfortunately flanked with big gauzy bows, one per handle. The players passed it around and sang, presumably about Ethiopia. One player lit a red emergency flare, waved it gleefully, realized that no one was really watching him, set it down on the ground, and trotted off in search of another attention-getting device. After a pause, another player doused the flame with the remainder of his water bottle. Eventually we began the trek to the exit again, and this time we made it outside successfully.
posted by LookingGlassLand.com at 2:08 AM
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