Thursday, July 19, 2007
Shida Kubwa (Big Problem)
Football has been going pretty slowly lately because myself and George (my translator and team Manager) have been away, but this week our friends from Victoria have arrived with “stuff” for the team. They were able to bring jerseys, shoes and practice cones to help the team out. The jerseys for the Haydom Stars team are awesome, and they also brought a second set that we gave to the local Dr. Olsen Secondary School team. We arranged the presentation of the jerseys to coincide with a “friend match” held yesterday at our field.
Patricia, Malcolm and Patricia’s mother Mary came with Nicole, Abby, Francis and I in Francis’ truck to the secondary school only to be told it would be better to give them at the field. So we drove back too the field and, with a small ceremony, gave out the jerseys. It was very nice and we got some great pictures of smiling faces and a happy teacher. Then I gave the jerseys to my team who responded with smiles and very loud clapping. I was happy to give our Canadian friends the opportunity to see the players so appreciative of their hard work in rounding up the jerseys, etc.
As I had decided that this would be a good opportunity for me to play in a match (friend match and new jerseys and all) I suited up in number 13 and took the field with my guys. This may have been a mistake, as I hadn’t played Football in 32 years. – Wow that feels odd to say – I ran my butt off, not that I have one anymore anyway, and had some fun. I made a couple of passes and missed a perfect chance to score due to my lack of timing in this sport. The fun was great but my lack of endurance quickly tired me out and I had to signal to the players on the sideline to sub me out after only about 30 minutes. I suspect my team was pleased with the decision but disappointed that I could not keep up. I would guess that they could all play full out for 3 – 4 hours. But I’m not in that kind of shape…yet.
The game progressed nicely with a trading of great saves and a pair of goals each over the next 45 minutes. The pleasantness of the match turned suddenly with about 5 minutes to go. We had the ball within about 10 feet of their goal when one of their players attempted to clear it out. Due to the poor state of the surface the ball bounced not to his foot, but between his legs and made contact with his hand. The ref (who incidentally is a member of my team) blew the whistle and declared a free kick from the spot of the touch. As you can imagine this was a good call but if this were the last two minutes of a hockey game, with the score tied at 2, the ref would have put his whistle in his pocket and thought, ‘what the hell, let them play.’ This was not the case and the 100+ students in attendance stormed the field. The ref took little notice and placed the ball on the spot that he had determined for the free kick. This raised the emotions of the students and they booted the ball about 100 yards off the field into the toolies. Then the yelling began, as some young kids retrieved the ball.
I was at midfield and watching the students charge from all around the pitch and had to decide my next action. The thoughts running through my head ranged from hands off to getting right in the middle. It wasn’t long before the ball was back in the field and placed again on the spot and again kicked away. This seemed to intensify the aggression and I watched as a couple of my players were absorbed into the melee instigated by the large number of students. During this I found myself moving toward the crowd, uncertain of what exactly I should be doing. The thoughts in my head ranged from the absolute unknown to grabbing my players and getting them away from the situation. I chose this tack and with the skills learned from watching hockey linesmen like Darrel Penner and John Mcaully (sp) in Cranbrook used the linemen tackle and escorted two of my larger more passionate players out of a potentially explosive situation. I also tried, in English to tell the ref to call the game at that point, but he was intent on using his implied authority to stand by his call. But he eventually gave in and gave the ball to the secondary school team.
What ensued was two minutes of the roughest Football I have seen to date ending in further shouting matches and near fights. I again entered the field and tried to move my players to the sideline, away from the other team. This was unsuccessful as they followed, backed by their peers. Once all of my players were gathered at the side of the field and we were virtually surrounded by the opposition I asked the coach to please move his team away so the shouting and taunting would stop. He seemed oblivious to the potential for disaster and did absolutely nothing but nod his head. I felt obliged to diffuse the situation, and in English explained that this was a friend match, that we were to be friends with each other and that it was poor sportsmanship to act like this. I then, with the emotions overflowing in me, said that this was a shida kubwa (big problem). This caused a great round of laughter from the crowd and further lowered my spirit. However, today I found out that they laughed because none of the people at the match expected me to speak Swahili.
This has been one of, if not the most difficult situation I have had to deal with here. The language barrier made it impossible to know what my team was trying to do on the field and also made it impossible for me to communicate the problem. However, I have learned that my players were trying to tell the other team that this was poor sportsmanship and that they should respect the authority of the ref. I also know now that it is water under the bridge for the school team and that we will all get together again for friendly games and that some of my players may at some point in the future dawn the school uniforms if they are short of players for a match against another village or school.
Culture is tough to break into and harder to understand sometimes.
Patricia, Malcolm and Patricia’s mother Mary came with Nicole, Abby, Francis and I in Francis’ truck to the secondary school only to be told it would be better to give them at the field. So we drove back too the field and, with a small ceremony, gave out the jerseys. It was very nice and we got some great pictures of smiling faces and a happy teacher. Then I gave the jerseys to my team who responded with smiles and very loud clapping. I was happy to give our Canadian friends the opportunity to see the players so appreciative of their hard work in rounding up the jerseys, etc.
As I had decided that this would be a good opportunity for me to play in a match (friend match and new jerseys and all) I suited up in number 13 and took the field with my guys. This may have been a mistake, as I hadn’t played Football in 32 years. – Wow that feels odd to say – I ran my butt off, not that I have one anymore anyway, and had some fun. I made a couple of passes and missed a perfect chance to score due to my lack of timing in this sport. The fun was great but my lack of endurance quickly tired me out and I had to signal to the players on the sideline to sub me out after only about 30 minutes. I suspect my team was pleased with the decision but disappointed that I could not keep up. I would guess that they could all play full out for 3 – 4 hours. But I’m not in that kind of shape…yet.
The game progressed nicely with a trading of great saves and a pair of goals each over the next 45 minutes. The pleasantness of the match turned suddenly with about 5 minutes to go. We had the ball within about 10 feet of their goal when one of their players attempted to clear it out. Due to the poor state of the surface the ball bounced not to his foot, but between his legs and made contact with his hand. The ref (who incidentally is a member of my team) blew the whistle and declared a free kick from the spot of the touch. As you can imagine this was a good call but if this were the last two minutes of a hockey game, with the score tied at 2, the ref would have put his whistle in his pocket and thought, ‘what the hell, let them play.’ This was not the case and the 100+ students in attendance stormed the field. The ref took little notice and placed the ball on the spot that he had determined for the free kick. This raised the emotions of the students and they booted the ball about 100 yards off the field into the toolies. Then the yelling began, as some young kids retrieved the ball.
I was at midfield and watching the students charge from all around the pitch and had to decide my next action. The thoughts running through my head ranged from hands off to getting right in the middle. It wasn’t long before the ball was back in the field and placed again on the spot and again kicked away. This seemed to intensify the aggression and I watched as a couple of my players were absorbed into the melee instigated by the large number of students. During this I found myself moving toward the crowd, uncertain of what exactly I should be doing. The thoughts in my head ranged from the absolute unknown to grabbing my players and getting them away from the situation. I chose this tack and with the skills learned from watching hockey linesmen like Darrel Penner and John Mcaully (sp) in Cranbrook used the linemen tackle and escorted two of my larger more passionate players out of a potentially explosive situation. I also tried, in English to tell the ref to call the game at that point, but he was intent on using his implied authority to stand by his call. But he eventually gave in and gave the ball to the secondary school team.
What ensued was two minutes of the roughest Football I have seen to date ending in further shouting matches and near fights. I again entered the field and tried to move my players to the sideline, away from the other team. This was unsuccessful as they followed, backed by their peers. Once all of my players were gathered at the side of the field and we were virtually surrounded by the opposition I asked the coach to please move his team away so the shouting and taunting would stop. He seemed oblivious to the potential for disaster and did absolutely nothing but nod his head. I felt obliged to diffuse the situation, and in English explained that this was a friend match, that we were to be friends with each other and that it was poor sportsmanship to act like this. I then, with the emotions overflowing in me, said that this was a shida kubwa (big problem). This caused a great round of laughter from the crowd and further lowered my spirit. However, today I found out that they laughed because none of the people at the match expected me to speak Swahili.
This has been one of, if not the most difficult situation I have had to deal with here. The language barrier made it impossible to know what my team was trying to do on the field and also made it impossible for me to communicate the problem. However, I have learned that my players were trying to tell the other team that this was poor sportsmanship and that they should respect the authority of the ref. I also know now that it is water under the bridge for the school team and that we will all get together again for friendly games and that some of my players may at some point in the future dawn the school uniforms if they are short of players for a match against another village or school.
Culture is tough to break into and harder to understand sometimes.
