Soccer Against the Enemy by Simon Kuper

Author:Simon Kuper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nation Books
Published: 2010-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

A Cameroonian never calls himself a soccer fan: that he is speaks for itself. Charles was a fan too. One of the unemployed market sellers, he theoretically sold books, but as no one ever bought any he passed the time talking to passersby. He and I chatted about life and established that we were born in the same year, and I felt that if I had been a Cameroonian I would be selling books in Yaoundé market too. Charles failed to sell me anything, of course, but when he heard why I was in Yaoundé he lent me a book he would not sell, a monograph on Cameroonian soccer. He also invited me to the women’s Cup final that Sunday. I had read that Cameroonian women’s soccer was a popular sport that drew thousands of spectators.

On Sunday, I collected Charles on the way to the Omnisports. He had instructed me to wait in front of the bar in his quartier’s main street (its only street), and to tell anyone who tried to mug me that I was a friend of his. Thankfully he was waiting when I arrived. First we went to see his hut. Urine flowed in the ditches and children sat about. Charles lived in two tiny rooms, each a little bigger than a cupboard, which contained a stereo, records and books. I nodded and we walked to the Omnisports.

The stadium clock was broken, the toilets were locked, and the stands were uncovered, except the presidential terrace, which also had a canvas sunscreen. Thanks to the weather the Omnisports was a nicer place to be that November Sunday than a British stadium. The pitch, though battered, was the largest expanse of grass in that bare city, and in the heat it looked delicious. A military band played as the minister of youth and sports shook the players’ hands. The finalists were Nifi Forestière of Yaoundé and Cosmos of Douala.

Five thousand spectators had turned up, more than any women’s match in Europe can attract, but they were not real fans. This was a day out, an escape from men’s soccer, where you care who wins and where you demand quality. The fans enjoyed this match as a parody of the real thing: when a Nifi forward attempted a bicycle kick and missed the ball, they had hysterics, and when the Nifi keeper headed the ball rather than catch it there was half a minute of applause and laughter. Whenever a player was injured three Red Cross men would sprint up, tuck her under their arms (they had no stretcher) and sprint off again, to suggestive cheers. The mood was sunny, and when Nifi scored with a fine header and everyone cheered, it felt like Africa at its best—until the military band struck up to celebrate the goal. Nifi won 1-0.

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