7.09.2008

With football, it happens... even in Jamaica

Chufukwa Majezi ya America! (It must be the American jerseys)

Dzoole Medicals (DZM) raced to the finals with unprecedented form wearing their lovely yellow American jerseys, donated by the Naples Optimists. With a whirlwind week of football - quarterfinals on Saturday, Sunday and Monday, then semi-finals that same Wednesday and Thursday, and then the 3rd place game Saturday and finals Sunday.. whoa. The whole village was football crazy, with people coming from as far as 20 km away to watch. Even the women watched, with babies tied to their backs. As DZM dominated their semi final game on Wednesday, all the ladies agreed, the reason they played so well was because of the American jerseys, that's for sure.

It's true though. When they put them on, the team seams to stand a little taller and play with a little more pride. They said it makes them feel special, because they got the jerseys without doing anything. What I keep telling them though is that they DO do something. They practice regularly, have weekly board meetings, are building a youth center, collected maize for the nursury school, and have even been making peanut butter (and soon soap too) in IGAs (income generating activities).

They made a camp all week, sleeping in a single house (think 20 players jammed into a college dorm room) cooking huge vats of nsima ( literally 5 or 6 metal buckets, not even pots) over fires out back. At night, they joked and played cards by candlelight. By day, they washed clothes by the river and kicked the ball about. They never took off their new or old jerseys, often wearing both or spreading them out so everyone had one. By Sunday, they were ready for the finals.

Their opponents also wore yellow, so the team switched to their traditional Argentina shirts, and had their children wore the yellow ones. They painted their faces with war stripes, a mixture of crushed blue chalk (crushed in the same giant mortars that crush maize) and my sunscreen. The children, also painted and decked out in Dzoole apparel, led them on by hand onto the field, just like in the premiership. The crowd roared as if David Beckham was taking the field. Unlike the MLS though, the game started nearly 3 hours late. It was called 10 minutes early in a 0-0 draw. They said we would not finish the game the next day, but rather restart a full game the next morning.

Both teams looked fantastic. It was a truely even match. Dzoole was not playing their level best though. They were nervous and somehow rushing. I think they were relieved to have chance to redeem themselves.

That night, we returned to camp, and the entire team was more tired than I had ever seen them. Malawians never tire. I once saw a woman returning from her maize garden 5 miles away after digging peanuts for hours (backbreaking work, literally). She had a baby on her back, a 50 kg bag of peanuts on her head, firewood on top of that, a hoe in one hand, and 3 6ft stalks of sugar cane in the other. She porobbably arrived home, cooked dinner, and drew water. It sometimes seems all Malawians can do this type of work. But that night, these boys were tired. Their bodies were worn from an intense 90 minutes (ok, 80 minutes), 5 days of camp (sleeping on the floor as usual but now sharing blankets and with 20 other men), and 5 days of camp meals that were always seemingly endless amounts of food somehow thinly spread amongst those 20 men.

More than anything though, they seemed numb. They'd been so ready to win, but were ready for a loss as well. This was not something we saw coming.

The next morning, at 11, an hour after the proposed kick off, I was taken by the hand by Bernard to see the Shadow MP cup host. Apparently, Samuel's team was refusing to show up to the game; they wanted it next Sunday. The ten minute walk took nearly an hour, as we had to stop and debate each option with every passer by. The team was unfazed by this lack of closure. In fact, they seemed calmer and happier than they had all weekend. We chatted, played cards, and made our last lunch together. Just as we finished, around 3 pm, a messenger came to tell us that finals would be July 20. After a verbose pep talk from the coach. Many players had traveled to the game (mostly brothers of current players and former players, some paid a lot of money and traveled 3 or more hours to play for the team), and all agreed they would return again. They seemed excited for a second chance to win, and even another camp with each other. We dispersed.

They begin training again today for their second final. Everyone in Dzoole is chatting to us about the final. Rather than being annoyed that their opponent had left them hanging, some reply that Samuel was just too scared (anawopa) or simple say that they will win, succeed, and win again (tidzawina, tidzapambana, tidzamenia). Most of them time they just shrug, smile, and say it happens (zimachitika).