Football, or as we Americans call it – soccer, is a big deal in this world, especially in Africa. So big, that the civil war in Cote d’Ivoire was once halted for a soccer match where the country was united together for a few days and then went back to fighting. Fantastic. A few weeks ago, I drove past the Abidjan soccer stadium and painters were busy repainting the stadium orange. I was in awe. The city paints the stadium, but they don’t bother painting lines on the roads. Fantastic. “Even if there were lines on the roads, no one would stay within the lines”, my friend in the car noted. I nodded, I’m sure that would be true. I also bet their teachers never told them to color within the lines as children. Chaos.
I went to a soccer match during the CHAN, Championnat d’Afrique des Nations, one day in February. I had to go – it shared my name. It was the first annual match and all different 2nd tier soccer teams all over Africa came to play. Flags of all African nations lined the Charles de Gaulle bridge. The soccer stadium was now a bright orange instead of a polluted dull orange. I went to see Cote d’Ivoire play against Senegal with several expats, including a Senegalese guy who would ask, “you’re rooting for Senegal, right?”. Uh, sure, I guess. We paid $4 for the VIP tickets, which just meant we got nicer seats and sat near the journalists. Otherwise tickets were about 300 FCFA, or about 60 cents. The stadium was nearly empty. Ivoirians weren’t interested in watching a second tier team play soccer. From what I saw, these soccer players seemed to prefer getting themselves hurt rather than play the game. I started counting on my hand each time a player got taken off the field on a stretcher. One hand and two fingers. There were several volunteers at the game who wore orange tee-shirts that read: Volunteers for CHAN. I really wanted one, but I don’t think they would have given one to a non-volunteer. There was a guy selling bottles of soda for less than a dollar, but towards the end of the match he just gave them away for free. Women were selling oranges and carrots. Wonderful! I can almost guarantee you’d never find carrots at any stadium in the states. Cote d’Ivoire lost the game.
On Sunday night, I was getting ready for bed and about to shut down my computer when my father IMed me telling me about the riot at the soccer stadium. I told him I didn’t know anything about it and that I didn’t go. Good, he responded. I didn’t realize at all what happened. The following day, I read all about it: 22 people dead and over 100 hurt. It was a match between Cote d’Ivoire and Malawi to qualify for the 2010 World Cup. Big Chelsea star, and former OM Marseille star, Didier Drogba was playing -- who happens to be adored by all Ivoirians (I, too, was a big fan of Drogba when I saw him play for OM in Marseille). The stadium could only fit about 35,000 people, but almost double that amount tried to enter, causing a stampede and police worsened the situation by throwing tear gas at the crowd.
Today, on my way over to a meeting on the other side of town, I shared the car with my co-workers who had a separate meeting to attend. We were stuck in traffic near the stadium, so we started talking about the riot and the deaths. My co-worker pulled out his laptop to show us pictures of the riot. His friend had taken the photos when he attended the match. I only saw a couple then turned my head the other way. Young men were dead on the ground, surrounded by large crowds. We continued to wonder how corrupt and greedy were these ticket sellers, selling more tickets than the stadium could hold. It almost seems the way of life here for many.
On my way back from my meeting, our car was stopped by the police standing alongside the road. Our driver got off with a light warning not to drive so fast. As we continued on our way, I started to complain, “We’ve got special diplomatic plates – they shouldn’t have stopped us!”. True, but if we hadn’t had the plates, we would have had to pay. Rosine tapped her watch: “It’s noon. They’re hungry and need money for lunch!” I looked behind me. The police officer had his hand out to stop more cars.
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