Zimpapers Logo

 

IN a year’s time, God willing, I will mark the 20th anniversary of my first dance covering the Nations Cup finals — breaking new ground for local football writers when I landed in the Burkinabe capital of Ouagadougou in ’98.Almost two decades have passed, but memories of the seismic shock that greeted me on arrival for that tour of duty, a haphazard city where motor cycles outnumbered cars on dusty and chaotic streets where mayhem reigned supreme, have refused to be washed away by the passage of time.

I had been to West Africa before, with the Warriors in Ghana and the Cote d’Ivoire commercial capital of Abidjan, but all my reservations about what I saw there, nothing had prepared me for what I would walk into in Ouagadougou, sights and sounds that appeared to come from a bygone era, a place that time seemed to have forgotten and left behind.

But, for all the homesickness that overwhelmed me from the very first day I spent in Ouagadougou, every hour that looked like an eternity, I had to resign myself to the reality that this strange French-speaking country was going to be my adopted home, for virtually the whole month of February, on a mission where I would be covering my first AFCON finals.

It was a trailblazing mission, for no Zimbabwean football writer had covered a Nations Cup finals before, but I embraced the challenges this tough and tricky adventure presented and luckily for me, a fresh-faced South African forward Benni McCarthy, having just emerged from the innocence of his teenage years, used the tournament to explode into the real deal, scoring seven goals, as he powered Bafana Bafana into the final, providing me with a number of story lines to pursue in his relentless destruction of defensive shields.

Benni was duly named the player of the tournament, at the young age of 20, and when — half-a-dozen years later — I saw him play a big part in inspiring Portuguese giants FC Porto win the European Champions League, scoring four goals along the way, including two in the 2-1 victory over Manchester United in a Round of 16 match in Portugal, I felt proud to have been there when he made the giant leap into the big time back at that AFCON finals in Burkina Faso.

But, for me, the enduring image of that assignment was not Benni or the courageous campaign by that Bafana Bafana team that lost to Egypt in the final of that Nations Cup showcase.

Instead, it would be provided by the hosts, then one of the poorest countries in the world, whose history had been littered by a number of military coups, including one in which the charismatic revolutionary Thomas Sankara, was assassinated and deposed from power just 11 years before my arrival.

The way that football galvanised this poverty-stricken nation, during that unforgettable month for its people, patching the differences inflicted by years of mistrust and military coups, making them find pride in their identity as Burkinabe, irrespective of the challenges, economic or otherwise, they faced, as their national team made it all the way to the semi-finals of that AFCON tourney, is something that I will never, never, ever forget. A country that only had three stadiums, barely good enough to host the Nations Cup finals, with two in the capital Ouagadougou and one in the second city of Bobo-Dioulasso, with none of three grounds big enough to have a capacity of more than 40 000, embedded itself in the beauty of football and for a month, the people forgot their challenges as they enjoyed a merry dance with their Stallions that had to be seen to be believed.

Along the way I picked a number of French words, enough to make me engage in conversations, either with my motorcycle taxi driver or the people of both Ouagadougou and Bobo-Dioulasso, enmeshed myself into their food and drinks, from the zoomkoom to the degue, dolo and yamaku and of course, to their Brakina beer.

It was such an intoxicating spectacle, providing such powerful sights and sounds that by the end of my assignment I simply didn’t want to leave, having been converted from the rebellious one who had arrived as a reluctant visitor, desperate for this nightmare to end very quickly so I could quickly return to the comforts of home sweet home, into one of these proud Burkinabe.

I had arrived in Burkina Faso believing I knew the power of football, thanks to what my beloved Dream Team had done to the people of this country, but as I left Ouagadougou, I was brutally honest to myself that I had been lying to my inner soul all along and that really dominated my thoughts on that long journey back home.

Enriched by what I saw in my unforgettable one-month adventure in that West African nation, a landlocked country with a small population just like my beloved Zimbabwe, I came to realise that this game was far much more than I had ever imagined — a very, very powerful tool for national unity, for national pride and a successful national football team was priceless in, like that Castle Lager advert, making sure that it all comes together.

THE STALLIONS WHICH CHARMED A NATION WEIGHED DOWN BY COUNTLESS CHALLENGES

Back in the ‘90s, the Burkina Faso national football team, known by their fans as The Stallions, were not as powerful, a unit, as they have become today.

By the time I arrived in Ouagadougou, the Stallions had only qualified for two Nations Cup finals, a pathetic return in a region dominated by some of the continent’s best football nations, and Burkina Faso had not even won a match at the showcase with the country losing all their three matches at their first appearance in 1978 to Nigeria (2-4), Zambia (0-2) and Ghana (0-3).

They had to wait another 18 years, until 1996, for them to make a second appearance at the AFCON finals and, just like in 1978, they were a mismatch for the opposition in South Africa as they again lost all their three group matches to Zambia (1-5), Sierra Leone (1-2) and Algeria (1-2).

In six group matches, at the AFCON finals, they had conceded 18 goals and scored only five.

To say expectations for them to do well, when the tournament came home in 1998, were high, would be a blatant lie and when they went down 0-1 to Cameroon in the opening match of that Nations Cup finals, those who felt this was a stage too high for them, appeared justified.

But, somehow, the Stallions turned it around and beat Algeria, a team our Warriors will take on in their opening match in Gabon, 2-1 in their next group game, to keep alive their ’98 Nations Cup campaign. Then a nervy 1-0 win over Guinea in their final group game saw them book a ticket into the quarter-finals of an AFCON tourney they were hosting where Tunisia, another team our boys will take on in their Gabonese adventure, lay in wait for the Stallions.

Now, the whole country was firmly behind them and time appeared to stand still when that match, which ended 1-1, spilled into a penalty shootout and after what looked like an eternity, in which the country’s emotions went through the full roller-coaster, Burkina Faso triumphed 8-7 to advance to the semi-finals.

It appeared the challenges of that match had sucked out everything these Stallions could offer and they were well beaten, 0-2, by eventual champions Egypt in their semi-final while, after an incredible 4-4 draw against the DRC in the third-place play-off, they only managed to convert one penalty in the shootout as they lost the battle for bronze.

But, not even those two defeats could take away what the Stallions had done for their country and having adopted them as my team, during that tournament, I felt the incredible bout of pride inside me that came from getting a front row seat to the sights and sounds that rocked Burkina Faso that year because of the exploits of their national football team.

And, as I said goodbye to scores of friends I had made on that tour of duty, tears came down, disappointed I was leaving a country that had charmed me to the very end with its wild one-month romantic flirtation with its Stallions, all the reservations I had about their dusty and chaotic capital when I arrived, having been long washed away by memories so beautiful they will last a life-time.

ALMOST 20 YEARS LATER, IT’S OVER TO YOU WARRIORS TO CHARM OUR SPIRITS

I have to reveal that one of the journalists whose writings inspired me to take up this profession was Bill Saidi and it wasn’t about believing what he wrote, but his gift to put his points across, his power of narration and how he played around with the English language.

Bill was a football fan, a die-hard Dynamos supporter, which was probably expected given he had spent the better part of his life in Mbare at a time when DeMbare represented more than just a football club for millions of people in this country, a part of their identity and its fortunes would shape their moods.

He also had a love affair with the Warriors, he told me and it’s sad that just a few days before our boys plunge into a fresh battle at the Nations Cup finals, he was being buried in the northern Zambian city of Kitwe.

Probably it was only fitting that his final resting place should be in the Copperbelt, the heartbeat of Zambian football, the nursery that gave our neighbours the likes of Alex Chola, Peter Kaumba, Godfrey “Ucar” Chitalu and of course, the greatest of them all — Kalusha Bwalya.

He also loved music and played in a band. Tomorrow, when our Warriors plunge into a titanic contest against Algeria, it will be exactly a month after the Ndlovu family — who gave us the immortal King Peter, the greatest Warrior of all-time — quietly marked the fourth anniversary of one of their darkest days when Adam perished in that car crash just outside Victoria Falls.

For me, tomorrow also marks exactly six months when I lost the love of my life, my lovely daughter Mimi, who would have been 22 in eight days’ time, and I should know how the Ndlovus are feeling.

And, as fate might have it, we taking on the Desert Foxes at the AFCON finals, a team that will forever be associated with Adamski given his goal which helped us sink the Algerians at our first AFCON finals appearance in Tunisia in 2004.

On Thursday, as I watched Joel Luphahla, the scorer of the other goal against the Algerians, tell the nation — via the medium of national television — that we needed to be brave tomorrow to stand a chance, I could not resist the tears that flooded my eyes, alone in my office, as I recalled the events of that day in Sousse on February 3, 2004, when he combined with Adamski to give us our first win at this level of the game.

Having had the privilege of a front row seat as a witness to the events in that stadium in Sousse, when our boys came of age, I couldn’t resist the feeling that I badly miss Adamski and the emotions choked me, tears inevitably streamed down my cheeks as I cursed fate, cruel fate and wondered why it had to happen, of all people, to such a Warrior, such a good guy.

Then, as if on cue, when the ZTV news was over, I tuned into my favourite VH1 Classic Channel on DStv, which I usually watch on Thursdays and Fridays nights from my office desk as I go down memory lane to a time when music was golden and — BOOM — they were playing the classic song, “The Living Years”, written by British rocker Mike Rutherford and recorded with his band, The Mechanics.

And, there I was, singing along to the song’s rich lyrics, “I wasn’t there that morning, when my Brother (here read Adamski, of course) passed away, I didn’t get to tell him, All the things I had to say, I think I caught his spirit, Later that same year, I’m sure I heard his echo, In my baby’s new born tears, I just wish I could have told him in the living years, Say it loud, say it clear, You can listen as well as you hear, It’s too late when we die, To admit we don’t see eye to eye.”

Two years ago, Rutherford wrote a moving article in the British daily newspaper, The Guardian, telling the world how he came to write that classic and personal song and what it meant to him.

“As a teenager in the late 1960s, the last thing I wanted was to be like my father, he was a retired naval captain who’d fought in the Second World War; I’d just recorded my first album with Genesis, had hair down to my elbows and lived in jeans and a military jacket from Kensington market that smelled like an entire battalion,” Rutherford wrote.

“I was born in 1950 and was 18 months old when Dad went off to the Korean War. I didn’t see him much of him as I grew up — by the time he came home from work I’d be in bed and then I was packed off to prep school at the age of seven.

“My life changed when I married Angie in 1977 and moved to the country to start a family. But a band is a very selfish being and two days after Angie came home from the hospital with our first child, I flew to the Netherlands for three months to work on a new record.

“As time went on, I realised I was following in my Dad’s footsteps; like him I was often away from home and touring the world surrounded by a huge crew, only he had medals and I had gold discs. Then one night in 1986, when I was on tour in America, the phone rang at 3am. Dad was dead.

“My biggest regret was not telling him what a wonderful man he’d been in my life.”

We seem to take a lot of things for granted, as we go through the motions of life and we didn’t tell Benjamin Nkonjera he was special, we forgot to tell Willard Mashinkila-Khumalo, in his living years, that he was a unique talent and we didn’t tell Francis Shonhayi, when he lived, he was simply out of this world.

But we not alone in this, which sounds a very, very foolish excuse to make.

The most wonderful gift our Warriors could give to the Ndlovu family, in particular, a number of our fallen football heroes who are not with us today, whom we never told how special they were in their living years and nation that has stuck with this team even when this team was staggering in the darkness is — just like the Stallions in ’98 — to have a good run in Gabon.

And, just like the Burkinabe when I arrived in their country in ’98, we have a lot of regrets, we have suffered a lot of pain in the course of our living years, but if the Warriors can play as well as the Stallions back in ’98, with both spirit and conviction, I can tell you we will find the kind of joy we never believed existed.

And the likes of Adamski, Nkonjera and Sandura can finally rest in eternal peace.

TO GOD BE THE GLORY!

Come on Warriors!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Khamaldinhooooooooooooooooo!

Text Feedback – 0772545199

WhatsApp Messenger – 0772545199

Email – [email protected]

Skype – sharuko58

Chat with me on Facebook, follow me on Twitter @Chakariboy, interact with me on Viber or read my material in The Southern Times or on www.sportszone.co.zw. The authoritative ZBC weekly television football magazine programme, Game Plan, is back on air and you can interact with me and the legendary Charles “CNN” Mabika every Monday evening.