The Vagaries of International Football

By Omoseye Bolaji

“Nigeria has scored against Nigeria!”. Since I was a kid this haunting phrase reeled out on national radio on the national radio service of Nigeria has provided a shattering source of pathos; this was in 1978 when Nigeria was knocked out of the World Cup qualifying series as Godwin Odiye somehow scored an own goal that benefited Tunisia who then represented Africa at the World Cup finals.

The whole country was thrown into mourning, as the now late icon of the air waves, Ernest Okonkwo, informed countless millions that “Nigeria has scores against Nigeria!!” It became etched in one’s memories over the year; over the decades. Indeed in those days my generation felt that the world had come to an end and Nigeria would never make it to any World Cup finals.

Not only was the hapless Odiye disconsolate; the whole of the excellent then Green Eagles squad was shattered – from keeper Okala to superb winger Adokiye Amesiemeka. Such fine players like Muda Lawal, Segun Odegbami, Christian Chukwu – they had given their all during the campaign but now it was ending in tears. Looking back, it seemed as if one waited FOR EVER for the Eagles to finally qualify one day (1994) Now they have appeared there at least four times

Such early memories came flooding back as South Africa’s Bernard Parker scored a debilitating own goal against his own country whilst playing Ethiopia in vital world Cup qualifier the other week. It was a game that had been billed as do or die for South Africa as they met Ethiopia who were in the ascendancy in that particular group. It was a game Bafana had to win; or at worst not lose. But in the end they lost as striker Parker incredibly scored a header against his own team in such a macabre, freakish manner.

Despite this latest disappointment, at least South Africa has appeared at the World Cup finals a number of times over the last fifteen years or so; in 1998, 2002, and of course in 2010 when the country became the first African country to host the World Cup.

Trenchant memories, starting from the moment South Africa learnt they were going to host the tournament. Iconic Nelson Mandela himself in tears some ten years ago when it was finally confirmed by powers that be that South Africa had won the bid to host the world…Archbishop emeritus Desmond Tutu prancing around like a kid with unbridled joy too…such transcendent euphoria.

And how remarkable and unforgettable it was as South Africa hosted the world in 2010, we all basked in it…the incredible atmosphere, jabulane, (merriment) and patriotism. Everybody seemed to get involved, despite the intense cold…with ladies and kids clad in the colours of the nation, grins and camaraderie all over.

Alas, South Africa never did pull up mammoth trees during the tournament itself despite a pleasing 2-1 win over France in 2010. As for Nigeria the country often flattered to deceive at the finals with the 1994 campaign the most impressive as mighty Italy was almost put to the sword in the second round. And inexplicably it all ended in tears in 1998 as a superb Eagles squad – which had beaten Spain – somehow crumbled like soufflé against Denmark. Ah well…

But back to the present (2013). It was Ethiopia’s turn to celebrate in exceeding fashion after ensuring they topped the group (which included South Africa) and were closer to going to Brazil, after knocking South Africa out. Not that anyone really underestimated Ethiopia after their scintillating performances at the last version of Africa Cup of Nations which South Africa had hosted.

Really, the damage was done right on South African soil when the national team, Bafana Bafana could not defeat the Ethiopian side. With the latter’s record at home any chances of South Africa winning the return in Addis Ababa was quite tenuous, if one wanted to be realistic.

Yet nobody could have imagined the effervescent striker Bernard Parker morphing from hero to zero in the match. He it was who scored what seemed like a priceless first goal for South Africa in the first half; then he had the misfortune of thundering in a header, an OWN goal that put paid to any Bafana Bafana progress… cue memories of Odiye many years ago.

As for the Super Eagles, this time around, they are still very much on track for Brazil 2014. Incidentally South Africa might also have some sort of reprieve, due to a technicality. We shall see…

GREY AREAS OF ABUSE

By Omoseye Bolaji

The foyer was not as cold as I thought it would be, despite the advent of exceeding winter in South Africa. I was at PACOFS, repository of arts and culture where a couple of events about to commence had stirred my interest. But at the moment I was relaxing outside at the foyer.

It was just some twenty minutes from 6 o’clock in the evening but already it was almost dark. That’s winter for you! I watched a number of people going hither and thither – virtually all of whom were thinking of making a beeline for a place of warmth, better still, getting to their places of abode. But arts and culture, like myriad of other things still go on despite winter!

Then I saw a lady, a young lady probably in her early 20s walking towards me. She was of average height, quite plump and clad in a black coat. A scarf was around her hair. She shivered a bit, though to be honest it was not really cold. She got to my side and said: “Ntate Bolaji, I am sorry if I’m disturbing you,”

I smiled. “You are not,” I said. “As you can see I am doing nothing. I…”

She said almost primly: “You are waiting for the play to start? The one put on by Mr Duma (Mpikeleni Duma) Ihobe?’ she said.

“Ja, you seem to know everything,” I said. I was trying hard to remember: where had I met this lady before? Once again I was ashamed of myself for my poor memory in such matters. But I tried to keep up the pretence as if I remembered her well; not that I was deceiving her!

She said: “You don’t remember me? I was in this play (Ihobe) in 2011, the first run…you even wrote my name in your review of the play on the internet then. You remember?”

“Of course,” I lied. “Don’t tell me you are still part of the cast now…”

“No, but I wanted to see the play again,” she vouchsafed. She paused. “Actually for a long time I wanted to talk to you about your book, one of your books, the play, the – ah, transgressor?”

“The subtle transgressor?” I probed. My one and only published play!

“Yes, that’s the one Ntate,” the lady said. “I actually read the Sesotho translation first, before the English one. The plight of Kate interests me, the way she was abused (i.e sexually molested) by her father,” She paused again. “You see, I can identify with her; it happened to me when I was a young girl too,”

I winced. What can one say in a case like this? But she added: “Oh, not my father of course, it was an Uncle of mine who took my innocence away when I was young.  People don’t understand these things. He kept on telling me how much he loved me; he became insanely jealous when he saw a young man, or rather boy, with me. But I knew what he was doing to me was wrong, very wrong; the fact he somewhat swore me to secrecy then was proof of this. He would shower me with gifts, buy me lots of clothes – we ladies treasure our wardrobe. You know how it is,”

I grinned. “Personally I have no wardrobe,” I said. She laughed, and continued: “So I can empathise with young Kate in your book, your play,” she added. “It was a terrible experience for me too, but as you get older you put things in perspective. I know two ladies who were raped by three four men at a time. Thank goodness that has never happened to me,”

“You know,” I said gravely, “that Uncle of yours can still be punished for what he did to you…let him spend many years in jail! Pig!”

She smiled. “Let him go to jail? No! I can’t do that to him. He’s always been sweet in his own way despite what he did…anyway he’s old, older… and sick now. I can never let him go to jail…”

I stared at her. This was a twist I had not expected.

The Lachrymose Worthy

By Omoseye Bolaji

He wept like a baby…earth-shaking, shuddering sobs punctuated with intermittent wiping of his face with his handkerchief. I would have been embarrassed, but though I had not seen him for well over two years, I knew his predilection.

Now inside this joint, he looked as point-device as ever; impeccably dressed his handsome, light complexioned face full of bonhomie and goodwill. He had a bow-tie on as he had been sipping his drink intermittently. Even the bar man here was smiling as he said to me: “It’s been a long time Ntate (that is the ‘weeping guy’) was here, eh?” My mind went back to my acquaintanceship with the ‘weeping’ gentleman which started at least six years ago.  

In the beginning, I was impressed with what we might refer to as his “punctilious” habits; the gentleman was always seated on a particular swiveling chair here, and he would sip his drinks slowly. His sartorial mien - and good looks – which reminded one of ‘aristocrats” as it were, made him stand out. I used to refer to him as “patrician” in the beginning; a description he loathed. Then we became closer at the time and talked.

The thing is – I discovered this South African gentleman was very very sensitive indeed. He became very sad and lachrymose over what I felt were perhaps trifles; but this was because of his genuinely benign, decent character. He would just suddenly burst into tears whilst talking about his dismay about some “prejudice” against “black foreigners”

“I don’t like the way some of my people (South Africans) talk about, or treat foreigners, our own black brothers,” he would start, tears suddenly flowing down his cheeks. “It’s inhumane, how can they do this? You guys helped us during apartheid – apart from teaching us so many things about geo-socio-politics in general – and now I don’t like the way some of us treat you as if you are lepers, calling you very bad names. It’s not good! It’s not right!” and he would burst into florid tears.

This, alas reached a peak in 2008 during the ill-starred “xenophobic attacks” in South Africa where some foreigners were viciously treated, even killed. One must point out that such attacks did not take place in the region where I stayed, but the effect was still there. On the part of my “weeping friend” when he saw me at this epochal time he surpassed himself!

He held me to him like a baby crying with such poignancy and melancholy that I was quite worried that he might even die right there on the spot. He lamented what “his people” were doing. Embarrassed, I tried to calm him down – now, people were staring at us near the post office where we were.

But that worthy wept on, inconsolably. “My friend,” he said, not even bothering to wipe his tears. “These things break my heart, Ntate Bolaji,” he wailed, genuine pathos in his voice. “I do not understand how we Blacks can do this to ourselves. The whole of Africa, and Blacks in Diaspora supported us fervently when we were under the yoke of apartheid. How can we do this to ourselves?”

But the diverse currents of life flow on and we had both disappeared from each others’ lives as it were for years. Then recently, (2003) after quite an absence from where he used to sit placidly and drink, there he was again; perched on the self-same seat! Initially, we stared at each other, temporarily speechless; then we hugged each other fervently.

Then he began to cry again! “My brother, it’s been too long; I’ve only seen you or your stories, or new books in the media. I heard you have been quite sick over the last few years,” He stared at me. “Thank God you look fine and fresh though!” And as if this positive aspect was depressing to him, he cried on even further, taking out an immaculate white handkerchief to dab his face.

Seems some things never change!

Young Axe Maniac annihilates own family!

By Omoseye Bolaji

One of the inevitable tragedies of this world is how bad news, terrible news, not only travels fast with gusto, but is given a lot of primacy across the board. Hence daily, even hourly around the globe horrific, disturbing stories are churned out by the mass media; of the in-your-face variety really.

This can be complemented by the hoary saying that “bad news sells,” and that’s the way it is; including atrocities committed around the world which has now assumed a horrendous visual tinge with the modern internet redolent with ghastly events like beheadings, torture, blood and gore.

In South Africa there is no running away from the fact that a lot of crime, violence, including murders, take place regularly. The media latches onto such stories with transcendent relish, as one would expect. But despite the fact that one has got used to such scenarios, it was still a terrible shock when the news broke here in South Africa that a 14 year old had hacked many members of his own family to death! 

The facts are as follows:

The South African police arrested a 14 year old boy for hacking to death three family members with an axe after two siblings escaped and called for help. Initially it was reported that four family members were killed, but apparently, the grandmother somehow survived the horrific attack (but four deaths are bad enough!). 

The 14 year-old was arrested shortly after the grisly murder of his mother, grandmother, brother and baby sister "It's alleged that he used an axe and then attacked them while they were sleeping," police confirmed. The boy's eight-year-old and nine-year-old sisters ran away during the killings at the Etwatwa informal settlement east of Johannesburg. "The sisters informed the neighbours what was happening at the house and in the mean time the boy ran away," 

The Police would later track down the teen by midday. The mother, 42, was found dead in the corrugated iron-shack the family lives in, while the three-month-old sister was found dead in a nearby field. The brother, 7, died in hospital. Police searched for the murder weapon. The boy would later appear in the Benoni Magistrates court.

As one would expect, the society reeled with the news, starting with the immediate neighbours of the pertinent family who were thrown into consternation. People ran hither and thither as the news broke and the police soon zeroed in on proceedings.

Why would a boy of 14 do such a horrific thing? Speculation still continues here; with a medley of theories put forward; including the possibility of the boy being on drugs, dabbling in Satanism , or his just being plain unhinged So how come the patent signs were not obvious earlier; or maybe they were?

I was at a seminar where this incident was inter alia touched upon; with a Black female psychologist being queried as to why such an incident could not be nipped in the bud. She explained that in the ‘townships’ even if there was an initial suspicion of a particular individual being mentally disturbed, it would be unseemly for ‘outsiders’, including Black professionals just to wade in and shove their oar in, as it were.

Isn’t this a familiar scenario across Africa these days? Are we still our brother’s keeper?

It is also clear that the youth these days are very much disturbed with the litany of material things, pursuits tantalising their lives. Put very simplistically, a very young lady wants the best things in life, including smart phones, clothes and the like; whilst young boys are under pressure to show that they are “strong and comfortable’ enough to provide the good things of life for their very young female peers (girlfriends) Is it any wonder that more and more of them are going off at a tangent, or becoming more and more bizarre?

Meanwhile experts ponder the depressing fact that South Africa has one of the highest murder rates outside war zones. Just under 16,000 people were killed between 2011 and 2012, according to official statistics…

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…