Football Mad

I finally got to read the official name of Zambia's largest soccer stadium. It reads "National Heroes Stadium", which took some getting used to having spent the biggest part of last week calling it Heroes National Stadium. The stadium itself, is a huge imposing structure. Haughtily dwarfing the surrounding neighborhood, seemingly disdainfully and opulently laughing in the face of the now haggard Independence stadium which for years had been Zambia's official national stadium.

The occasion was a friendly match between Zambia and Sudan. Some had called it the official opening of the stadium, although from where I was sitting there was nothing official about its opening. No commemorative memorabilia, no lengthy speeches and certainly no golden ribbon to be cut by some high ranking official. The only thing that came close to "official opening" in the one hour or so before kick-off was the noisy Zambia Airforce chopper flying above the stadium whose rounds drew curious fits of applause from the audience and ofcourse the enormous trunk of Sports Minister Chishimba Kambwili dressed in West African regalia. The way he sauntered as he greeted both sets of players was truly some sight.

I had arrived early at the stadium in anticipation of the human avalanche that would descend on the 50,000 sitter facility but in hindsight rued that very decision. We couldn't even manage to fill half the stadium. I hope the Football Association of Zambia re-thinks its pricing policy so as to allow as many people as possible watch such games. Obviously arriving early has its own advantages. You get to choose the best seat in the house, you have ample time to scout the place, know where the toilets are, find out how much the roasted sausages cost or whether they are pork or beef sausages.

If only it had worked that well for me. I found myself all alone in an ocean of strangers, with the only other people I knew stuck in traffic somewhere along the Great North Road. Finding myself without friendly company, I began playing some form of game, were I moved from gate to gate, hoping to see a familiar face. I reasoned that having spent a considerable number of years in Lusaka, having gone to University in Lusaka, surely the probability of spotting a familiar face among ten thousand Lusaka residents was as close to one as you can be.Well it turned out I was wrong as face after face turned to be stranger than the last.

 Let me explain why it is important to go with friends, or at the very least acquaintances to stadia. It is about the entire soccer watching experience; where you are transformed or more accurately you oscillate between a hollering fan, analyst and interested onlooker. You need someone nearby who will listen to your hastily formed opinion about a certain player, you need someone with whom you will engage in a fierce argument on whether it was a corner or a goal kick. It adds to the viewing experience, and once you are divested of that, its just not the same anymore.

Giving up, I went to sit on one of the top decks, just behind the technical area. I was shortly joined by an elderly man with a miniature Zambian flag which he put down on a sit next to him after a few weary waves. Later on a young man with a woman  I could only conclude was either his girlfriend or wife sat two sits away from me on my left. As the game started and progressed, I noticed he could not make up his mind between concentrating on the game or thrusting his head into his lady's ample bosom. So he would alternate between the two, while his lady remained impassive through out.

Zambia scored, I momentarily lost my surroundings and celebrated wildly, taking off my sweater and twirling it round my head. It was only then that I realised that I was wearing a t-shirt written "I love Mauritius".... I need to get myself a Zambia National Soccer Team replica jersey. The second goal came, and this time the celebration was less wild.

As in most soccer matches, the game went into a lull with very little goal mouth activity after some time. A halfhearted Mexican wave was initiated and abandoned midway. Bereft of chants, some soccer fans started chanting "Wynter! Wynter" followed by some derisory laughter. I have no idea what the former Minister of Justice had to do with Zambia vs Sudan. I decided to stretch my legs a bit, climbing even further up the piers, looking out to Mandevu compound sprawled like a lazy dog in the dust. All of a sudden there was an overpowering stench of urine. On closer examination, I noticed that the walls at the high end had already been urinated on, a few bottles that once had water had now been filled with urine. I can not even imagine what would cause someone to pee on these walls when spacious toilets are provided whichever way you turn.

Ugly scenes

Finally during halftime, I met my mates. It felt like a football match again, except we missed the last two goals of the game as we had decided to leave with three minutes left. On my way home, a friend called asking how the game had panned out.

"So what was the score", she asked.
"We won, three to one" I replied enthusiastically"
"Who scored she went on"
"I don't know", I said. "I was seated too high and there was too much noise for me to get the names. I couldn't see the giant screen from my angle"