Amakhosi riding high with panache

By Omoseye Bolaji

Kaizer Chiefs, Amakhosi, the most glamorous and exalted football club in South Africa, has wrapped up the premiership title of the country – this after a dearth of triumphs spanning some 8 years.

Put into some sort of context, we can imagine a club like Manchester United (England) not winning their league for some eight years; or Spain’s Barcelona or Real Madrid going through the same dry spell. England’s Arsenal, formerly the “Invincibles”, continue to be criticized every time for not lifting the title in England for almost ten years now.

Here in South Africa, Chiefs fans are as glamorous as their club, volatile, seething, always seeking victory whether it be in the Cups or the league. Hence their latest premiership success is being celebrated flamboyantly and nationally; Amakhosi has supporters throughout the length and breadth of the country, in all the towns and Provinces.

The founder of the Club, Kaizer Motaung, a superb footballer in his heyday (during apartheid) has built a footballing legacy with his children and family very much involved in the running of the club, its recruitment and progress. Sponsors are full to the brim; needless to say the club is well loaded and can afford to recruit fine footballers and coaches from many parts of the world. Stuart Baxter, who led the club to its latest league success, is a man with a fair pedigree in international football.

Every country more or les has its own national league, and a few like Brazil, have convoluted national and State, provincial and “local” leagues that seem to go on interminably. The Nigerian league has been well established for many decades and has its own lustre. The league has produced many stars over the years, with the likes of Sunday Mbah – who very much helped the Eagles to the trophy at the latest Africa Cup of nations – continuously being churned out.

Of course Nigerian players plying their trade overseas are countless now, whether they are established in their clubs or largely ensconced on the bench in their respective clubs as it were. Nigeria can probably pick up to four, five different national squads which would be competitive. One must not bemoan the fact that so many young players, after playing briefly in the Nigerian leagues then try their luck overseas; it is the same in many parts of the world, especially South America.

But back to national leagues, premierships, or first divisions as they used to be called. It is natural to always look back at the past with rose-tinted spectacles. Many Nigerian football fans continue to relish the “good old days” of wonderful football clubs like Enugu Rangers, 3SC Shooting Stars, New Nigerian Bank, Stationary Stores, Abiola Babes, Iwuanyanwu National etc. That was a few decades ago.

And the clubs then dished out wonderful players and names over the decades who put Nigerian football on the map. Christian Chukwu, Adokiye Amiesimaka, Felix Owolabi, Henry Nwosu, Alloysius Atuegbu, Segun Odegbami, Muda Lawal, the Okala brothers (goalkeepers), Stephen Keshi, Rashidi Yekini, Samson Siasia, Daniel Amokachi, Yisa Sofoluwe – the list is endless. Then the initial trickle of players going overseas became a voluminous stream. But the national league will continue to be strong in its own fashion, as new talent is uncovered.

Now in the current era Nigerian football teams are still very much turning it on, with fine teams like Heartland, Kano Pillars, Gombe Utd, Bayelsa Utd, Nemba City, Enyimba, Kwara United and Warri Wolves. Others include Sunshine stars, dolphins, Akwa Utd, Kaduna Utd, Lobi Stars, Sharks, and El-kanemi.

Incidentally, west African football is still very much influenced by European, especially English football, which most Nigerian soccer followers are experts on. Note again how in Ghana some of their elite clubs have names synonymous with English equivalents, like Chelsea, and Arsenals

Many clubs, even in Africa, are becoming more and more cosmopolitan these days, especially Egyptian and South African leagues. Kaizer Chiefs for example recruits players from all over the continent, and some of the best locally. The SA league is very powerful by African standards with excellent sponsorships; hence the bigger clubs like Chiefs can remain competitive every time. In fact just last weekend, Chiefs again won the SA Nedbank Cup, more or less the equivalent of the English FA Cup. 

Congratulations to them over their latest grand successes!

‘THE BOWL OF MUSIC’ !

By Omoseye Bolaji

It was gripping, coruscating music! Right in the heart of this South African tavern! I must confess that what remains of my hair stood on end; spine tingling, just listening to the music as it billowed forth.

By the way, how do the aficionados of music decide the best scintillating music when it comes to their awards? As far as I was concerned the music in the air was nonpareil. Or was I exaggerating things?

Not judging from the reaction of the denizens here now, though! It was clear everyone was enjoying this superb, stirring music. The women were on their feet dancing away; - even the often strait-laced proprietor who incredibly in his modesty often doubled as a waiter – they were all on their feet dancing. It struck me that though right now there were diverse people from a number of nationalities here, they were all now united in enjoying the music!

Two women who had hitherto appeared to be bastions of respectability, chatting outside this ‘joint’ suddenly entered into the main floor here upon hearing the music. They danced with gusto, with unbridled abandon and glee.

But the most spectacular,  and impressive sight –testimony – to how the stirring, galvanic the music was here now was an old man at least in his late 70s, grey all over and seemingly shrivelled, emaciated and weak. The ‘papa’ was fully on his feet dancing away in fine fettle with incredible agility! Most of the people stared at him, collectively realizing that this was wonderful music indeed.

And moi? Actually I was the only person who still remained sedentary, still perched on my seat – but even in my case I was nodding my head appreciatively to the  melodious music and my fingers were also busy in collective approbation, as it were. It suddenly struck me that I was the only person still remaining seated as this particular magical, melodious music was belted out.

As the music petered to an end I saw a rather young lady (around 26 years old) approaching me; she was smiling. It took me a few seconds to realize that this was a woman I had not seen for at least four years. I remembered she had once politely requested me to sign one of the copies of my books for her (autograph) I found myself hugging her now and almost simultaneously we both asked: why the long absence? 

This was Lizzie. Of average height, “coloured; dimples on her cheek, not unattractive. But to my chagrin I realized that she was now somewhat shop-soiled – she was always one for partying and drinking.

“Ah” she said. “One only hears – reads - about you from the papers these days. I am happy that you are still managing to write. I saw a very new book just two weeks ago where some essays were written about you; the one edited by a lady, a black lady,” I nodded. "I have largely retired now,” I said.

She shook her head. “You are still the same,” a deprecating note crept into her voice. “You are the only person we know who can sit down alone at a shebeen, continue going through documents, writing – whilst still drinking and enjoying loud shebeen music at the same time!” Her eyes twinkled. “That very sweet music of some minutes ago! Is it Shakespeare that said something about if music be the bowl of food, play on?”

I grinned; thinking: If music be the food of love, play on. But Lizzie went on: “At least even you enjoyed that wonderful music, even if you were the only one still seated,”

“I assure you I enjoyed the music very much,” I said honestly; by now another piece of music was being played.

“Will you like to dance with me?” she said, her eyes still sparkling.

“I have been told by many people that an elephant dances much better than I do!” I said.

“Let me be the judge of that,” the woman said. “Or you don’t want to dance with me?”

I danced with her.

Gratuitous Misfortune; or Carelessness?

By Omoseye Bolaji

He was patently delighted to see me; giving a whoop of delight and rushing forward to greet me, his ginormous smile in evidence. But alas, instinctively I was wary and reluctant, though I had not seen him for at least three years.

“Chief!” he said. “It’s me. Don’t say you have forgotten me,” a beatific grin touched his face. “Give me a hug,” But I was still circumspect, unusually for me.

Of course I knew him very well, Evans (not his real name) from west Africa (we need not specify the country here!) I had known him on and off in South Africa for some ten years. Perhaps he can even be described as something of an old friend. Normally I would have been happy to see him, but as human beings there are certain things that influence our sensibilities, making our humane trajectories to recoil, as it were.

Even now as I forced myself to hug him I kept my hands firmly around my pockets, ensuring that my cell phone was there! Perhaps it was both bizarre and eccentric. Though I had not seen him for years, in my mind he would always be associated with the strange disappearance of cell phones as far as I am concerned.

My mind went back to some five years ago. I was with Evans near an ATM centre in the heart of Bloemfontein city where we had been chatting. Right beside him I had used my cell phone at least twice. Then we had parted and as soon as we left each other I noticed my cell phone had disappeared!

Not that I really blamed him at the time. As Oscar Wilde might have said, to lose something once in a certain way might be a misfortune, but twice would border on carelessness! Some three years ago, by a coincidence I was boarding the same train with Evans (we were on our way to Kimberley) we had chatted and joked during the journey and my cell phone was being continually used.

But incredibly, as soon as I said goodbye to him and alighted at Kimberly, the next moment I noticed that my cell phone had disappeared! I could not believe it. Inevitably, my mind had gone back to the incident of years ago when my phone had disappeared whilst I was with Evans again.

Come to think of it, it was unusual, but not out of this world. I had lost two cellphones whilst with Evans. Could it be a co-incidence? Thus I wondered after the second incident. After all, to be fair to Evans, he always had cellphones too, probably better than mine, so why would he steal phones?

Perhaps more important, would he really jeopardize our “friendship” and camaraderie because of a ‘trifle’ like a phone? Was it not just coincidence? It was a poser, enigma, a conundrum all rolled into one, so to speak. I hardly knew the answers. But unfortunately even without me being really conscious of it over the years, it was clear that I had now become circumspect whenever I set eyes on him.

Which was why, right now, after setting eyes on him again after three years, I could only unleash false smiles and keep on ensuring (tapping intermittently at my pocket) that my cellphone was still intact! I did chat with him a bit of course; though inwardly realizing how fragile and tenuous relationships can be.

Now, even after he had departed and left me, I kept on holding on to my phone, almost like a fetish. Ah well…

DIEGO MARADONA – the film

DIEGO MARADONA – the film

By Omoseye Bolaji

For millions of people around the world, Diego Amando Maradona will always be the greatest-ever footballer the world has ever seen. After all, Maradona was more than irresistible and magical during the 1986 World Cup finals, especially when he scored unforgettable goals against England (quarter final) and Belgium (semi final) whilst propelling his country Argentina, to the final which they ultimately won.

It also helps that by the time Maradona was at his peak, international live transmissions of football on TV etc was already commonplace, which was not the case for Pele - Edson Arantes de Nascimento- (of Brazil) when he was in his pomp from around 1958 to 1970. Most of the world would have been too young to see Pele in action anyway; which further adds to the allure of Maradona. The latest footballing genius, Lionel Messi, unfortunately has not been able to perform wonders at World Cup finals level, the highest accolade.

Hence for me personally Diego Maradona has an impeccable allure even till date; I was thus delighted to be able to watch a full-length film (93 minutes) on the soccer genius. The film is orchestrated by Emir Kusturica, something of a maverick himself! This is apparent in the way this particular film unravels.

Those expecting a feast of football, details of the great matches Maradona played in, to be redolent in this film, might well be disappointed. Such glimpses do exist intermittently throughout the film, but the emphasis is actually on Maradona himself, the man regarded as something of a god by his fellow men, and millions around the world. Maradona has never been afraid to present himself as vulnerable and this is painfully obvious in this film.

The film, in rather higgledy-piggledy fashion focuses on Maradona’s rise to the top, his early great promise as a footballer, travelling and playing around the world, and his “political” beliefs. Maradona has always believed that he has taken controversial stands against “imperialist” countries, and even the FIFA juggernaut itself. His love for Fidel Castro and Cuba is also palpable from this film.

For me though, the part I enjoyed most in the film is when Maradona himself demonstrates that he is a successful Musician to boot! Belting out a most stirring song with participants in the Hall actively involved, we are treated to vignettes of Maradona’s personal life over the years, his “long-suffering” wife Claudia, and two daughters - from the time they were born. Even as babies, his daughters apparently “sing along” with adult papa! (the voices of both babies no doubt dubbed during the music) Now fairly grown up, the two daughters join their father side by side and sing along with him.

The melodious song is of course in Spanish, and whilst belting it out on stage Maradona explains how he had dreams of being the best since he was a youngster, how he brought great joy to his country with “the hand of God” (his famous and infamous first goal against England), how he met his “mysterious white” wife, how he made serious mistakes, and was far from imperfect; but despite all his travails he would soldier on and succeed! Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole… 

Then there is the “The Church of Maradona” – such a church actually exists, with many members who swear allegiance to Maradona - including newly-weds who kick football and shoot at goalposts as they kick-start their own marital lives.

At the end of the film, a rueful Maradona says: “Emir, do you know what we (the world) lost? What a great player we lost, how good I’d have been if I had not dabbled with cocaine?” (paraphrased here). There is a tinge of gargantuan irony here, even as a rueful Maradona goes on to say the whole thing is like a “bitter after-taste; I realize the mistakes I made…”

It IS ironic because despite all his misdemeanours, allowing cocaine to ruin his life and career, Maradona is still regarded as the greatest footballer by most of the world! In the 1986 World Cup he was at his very peak with unforgettable goals, helping his country to win the World Cup. Four years later, despite being half-fit he helped Argentina to reach the very final of the World Cup again. If we also consider the fact that Maradona played – and scored – in the 1982 and 1994 World Cup finals, it means he played in FOUR World Cup finals and in the very final TWICE. For his Italian club, Napoli, he performed wonders for such an unfashionable side too…

The film in its own zany, comprehensive way, is a wonderful tribute to the legend called Diego Amando Maradona.

MARADONA (the film)

A film by Emir Kusturica

Sound: Raul Martinez

Original music: Stribor Kusturica

Film editor: Svetolic Zajc

Produced by Jose Ibanez

A PLETHORA OF NEOS

By Omoseye Bolaji

The fact was now ineluctable – winter was more or less here in South Africa! Yet despite the withering cold, life still continued; in my own case newspaper work, orchestrating documents for literary clubs, contributing to books etc. Now here I was as darkness beckoned prematurely having supper near my office – at an eatery.

I was all alone or so I thought; there was a couple of perfunctory greetings with acquaintances, and feeling the worse for the wear, I suddenly became aware that a certain lady was staring at me fixedly; a lady who had been sitting alone enjoying a meal and drink too. Or perhaps it was my imagination?

No. Presently she stood up and came to me, smiling along the way. She was taller than I had imagined she was. She was perhaps around 30 years of age, slender with a small cleavage. She was well dressed, as South Africans often are (hurray to them!)  She was not unattractive.

By now it was clear she was making a beeline for me, arm outstretched for a hand shake. Wearily but gallantly (hopefully!) I managed to stand up and shake hands with her, regretting the fact that I could not remember her despite her friendly overtures. But as she stood right beside me I knew 100 percent that I had never seen her in my life. I invited her to sit down.

“Hi Mr Bolaji,” she said. “You might not have met me formally, but I have seen you at the library a few times – you write books. I don’t want you to think I am angry with you, or am fighting you, but I am well aware that you even wrote about me in one of your books. It’s clear that I am the ‘Neo’ you write about in your book, Tebogo and the epithalamion. And my name is actually NEO too!”

I winced. I knew only too well that the character ‘Neo’ in my work of fiction was - is - complete imagination; not modelled after anybody in real life. Certainly not after this woman, or anybody else. A “femme fatale” of sorts; which some critics insist I love writing about. But in this case I knew I was completely innocent, no matter what this woman might think.

I found out that I was stammering. “Ma’am –“ How could I defend myself? I felt like a fool. Now she said: “Oh I know your book is fiction and you changed things here and there, but it is clear it was still me you were thinking about, Neo; tall, allegedly dangerous to men. I can assure you that you must not believe everything you hear. Thabo lied to you of course,”

“Thabo?” I stared at her, completely baffled.

She said: “Oh, when I read your book I confronted Thabo, my former boyfriend – the one working at waterfront; he said he knows you quite well and he talks to you. I knew he must have talked about me to you and described me. I don’t blame you.’ (The fact is I did not know this Thabo! Maybe I needed to register at an asylum!) He said bad things about me just because I left him, always calling me evil, heart-breaker etc. So you used the portrait he gave you to produce Neo in the book, Tebogo and the epithalamion,”

At this stage I did not know who was crazier; the lady or I; it was clear that the woman was fixated with the idea that ‘Neo’ in the book was based on her. Actually looking at her now, she was in no way the ‘Neo’ I had imagined in the book (eg the fictional Neo in my mind was some years younger than her, and much lighter in complexion); but what could I say now? Again, I knew I must have used the name Neo in other fiction books of mine.

“My friend, don’t look so scared,” the lady went on, “I have said I am not angry with you. If I would blame anybody at all, it would be Thabo. He gives the impression everywhere as if I am some sort of seductive bad woman destroying men all over the place. You are an intelligent man, Ntate. I just want you to know that there are always two sides to a coin,”

I capitulated. ‘Thanks…allow me to just say I am sorry then,” I managed to say.

“I am not angry; actually I enjoyed your book,” the lady said. “Well I must go now,” she moved towards me for what seemed to be a hug and my reluctance must have been obvious. She laughed. “So even in real life you are scared of ‘me’; the Neo, eh? Just like at the end of your book where the detective (Tebogo) confesses he’s scared of the so called seductive powers of Neo…” She laughed. “Anyway, nice to have met you…sala hantle…”

I was still stumped for quite some time afterwards.

Pix above: the work of fiction, Tebogo and the epithalamion