The ReMatch

As promised, I’m back to report on the rematch from last week’s cancelled game. The game was rescheduled for the following weekend, and so on Sunday afternoon, the crowds gathered in full force to support their respective teams. I came armed with my camera and umbrella, as I could already see the dark storm clouds billowing on the horizon. The match was scheduled to start at 4pm sharp, and so I adjusted my arrival time accordingly and showed up at 4:30pm, knowing that I would be early. The two teams were still warming up on the sidelines, I easily found my “reserved” spot on the referees’ bench, and we waited for the match to begin.

Many of the fans recognized me from last week’s game – it’s not often that a white girl attends a local soccer match – so they came over to greet me. My friends enjoyed telling everyone around us at last week’s game that I am learning Dendi, so of course now everyone is chatting away at me in Dendi. Beyond the greetings, I have no idea what they’re saying, so I just smile and respond with a few “Alafia’s”, that seems to do the trick. Unfortunately the past week has kept me busy catching up in the office and I haven’t spent as much time practicing my language skills. Oh well, that’s what the weekend is for!

By 5:15pm, the storm clouds were closing in and the crowd was getting restless as the match had still not begun. The referees refused to start the game until the police security force arrived. I noted that all of the referees had been replaced from last week’s match, but the new referees were not taking any chances and remained on the sidelines with their arms crossed, waiting for their security to arrive.

The referees’ determined resolve lasted another 10 minutes until they were again at risk of being lynched by the crowd, and this time before the match had even begun! Various loud men came over to the referees and swore up and down that no would dare to lift a finger against the officials; these of course were the very same men who had swarmed the referees last week, the same men who had hurled insults and shaken their fists in outrage. Finally the president of the referees’ association came over and advised the officiating referees that they should start the match in hopes that the police force would show up shortly. Tweet, let the battle begin!

The two policemen showed up with their night sticks at half-time.

I was again cheering for the Red Team (wearing white this time), and I found out that the Black Team is a neighboring district, and apparently these two districts have quite a history of contention between them. Needless to say, the opposing fans weren’t getting along very well this afternoon. After half-time, the thunderstorm finally arrived with gusting winds and a brief but heavy downpour, dispersing the crowd for a few minutes. Many of us huddled under umbrellas and the small canvas tent set up for the local celebrities, but I still got soaked as the rain blew in from all sides. The game went on, not even stopping for the booming thunder and cracking lightening, and the score was tied up during the rain storm, it was now 1-1.

The sun was quickly setting behind the dark clouds, and the crowds were pushing closer in anticipation of the next goal or penalty. I was doing my best to record the action with my camera, but since I was focused on the narrow view of the field, I couldn’t see what was happening along the sidelines next to me. The crowd suddenly shifted and scrambled around me, and as I was just trying to keep my balance, I stumbled backward with them, barely dodging the whipping assault of a man wielding a leather belt to beat the crowds back from the sidelines.

During the 2^nd half, it didn’t seem to matter what happened on the field, whether a goal was scored, a penalty called, a player tripped, or a goal saved; a number of fans would react by racing onto the field, taunting and jeering the players and opposing fans. I would imagine that you have to attend training for spectator sports here; you can hardly show up and expect to sit on the sidelines, watching soccer is a highly interactive sport.

My comfortable bench disappeared during the rain, and now standing on the sidelines, armed only with my camera (my umbrella had also vanished into the crowd), I had to keep an eye open for the roaming “bouncers” wielding sticks, belts, and car antennas. Yes, car antennas. Another reason why you should pay that 100 CFA fee to the little boy promising to “guard” your parked vehicle while you grocery shop. As it happens, the belts and car antennas proved more effective in dispersing the rowdy fans than the two observing police officers.

Finally, after many crowd uproars, several sideline scrimmages, and even a few scuffles between the players on the field… I was starting to feel right at home, it was like attending a regular Canadian small-town hockey game! J Ha, not quite, but after surviving the Red Mile, I can definitely see some clear similarities between the Flames fans and the Parakou soccer fans.

Unfortunately the combination of the delayed start and many interruptions resulted in the match being whistled to a close with only 10 minutes left, tied 1-1, and the sun had long since set on the dark horizon. The two policemen agreed to escort the referees off the field in their police truck, and the fans soon faded into the night, still no closer to celebrating their team’s victory.

The Champions’ Cup remains unclaimed, and will be safely stored away until the final is once again rescheduled.

Yes, I plan to report on the triquel, or is it trequel (no wait, treacle is a British pudding, isn’t it)? Anyway, goodbye until the third, and hopefully FINAL rematch – how many times can a Final be played?!

Oh, and my umbrella showed up once the crowds and chaos subsided; it was safely returned to me, unharmed and undamaged. J

Language Learning Level 2: Participating in Local Events

I had hoped to post this blog last weekend, but in the busy-ness of work/life, it didn’t quite happen! So here are the events from Sunday afternoon, September 20^th, as reported by me.

My three weeks of language learning in Djougou passed quickly, and I’m now back in Parakou just in time for the end of Ramadan celebrations. On Sunday afternoon, I knew that everyone was out in town, enjoying the “end of fast,” so I decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood and see if I could catch up with some of my friends in the area. I ran into a few friends from the local running club and after they all had a good laugh over my newly acquired language skills, I agreed to go watch a soccer match with them. It was the club-level city final, being played on the field just across from the mission compound, so I could easily leave early if it wasn’t an interesting match.

The field is just a local high school field, no bleachers or stadium lights, and standing room only with the exception of a few chairs for some local big shots. Lucky for me, my friends are tight with the referees, so we got prime seats on the refs’ bench. Seems like a safe place to view a soccer match from, right? Hm, that’s what I thought.

The game was ho-hum for the first 20 minutes, the crowd was pretty calm, it was still hard to judge which team had more fans and who was cheering for which side, and I was more interesting in practicing my Dendi-listening skills, trying to make out what people were saying around me. I didn’t catch the names of the teams, they represented different city districts, but for simplicity’s sake, we’ll call them the Red (& white) team and the Black team. I was cheering for the Red team; this time I chose to support my friends’ team because I figured that they would at least protect me if a crowd riot broke out.

Team Red had a break-away, and as the guy was about to shoot, he tripped on a mound of sand. The defenseman was close, but hardly touched him, and it was at that unfortunate moment that the referee made a gesture with his arm, indicating the penalty. Well, the crowd erupted, and whether the ref was planning on blowing his whistle or not, he never got the chance because as the crowd surged onto the field toward him, he sprinted for the safety of the referee bench.

Yes, that is where I was so comfortably seated, on the referee bench. The four referees stood back to back, forced into a tight circle as the Team Black fans roared and yelled around us. We all jumped up as the referees and crowd came toward the bench, but thankfully the Team Red fans stepped in and formed a protective circle around the referees (and me). Not that I needed to know Dendi to understand what was going on, but I managed to pick up a few phrases, including “Can’t you see?!”, “Get off the field!”, “It’s not right, not right!” There were a few more phrases I picked up, but unsure of their meaning, I don’t think I should repeat them until l confirm the meaning with another Dendi-speaker… This went on for another 15-20 minutes, the referees wisely chose to remain quiet as they sat looking at their shoes, waiting for the noise and threats to subside. Various “important” men would come over and demand to speak to the senior referee, to council him on the poor call that was made, to tell him that he was a disgrace to Benin’s national sport, etc. I was sitting beside the referees, so the various angry men would deliver their threats and insults, and then turn and politely greet me. Well that was reassuring to know that they didn’t hold me responsible for the referee’s bad call. Finally the captains of both teams came to the referees and pleaded for them to come back on the field, they assured the referees that the fans would leave the field, and nobody would do them bodily harm. How nice.

Now into the second half, we were again seated comfortably on the bench, and behind us the fans formed a solid 15 foot thick wall surrounding the entire soccer field. There was even another level of fans being formed, as they parked their motorbikes and many were now standing on the seat of their bikes in order to get a clear view of the field. Black Team had already scored a goal, and the fans had made their rounds, taunting the Red Team, parading back and forth in front of the Trophy (replica of World Cup trophy) sitting on the table to my right. I surprised at how sedate the rest of the crowd was, no one was really reacting to the jeers and calls from the Team Black fans, perhaps because they knew 35 minutes was plenty of time for the score to change. It wasn’t until Red Team scored the tying goal with only 5 minutes left that the war really broke out.

At this point we were all standing again, the bench was no longer beneath me as the crowd surged forward. My common-sense finally kicked in, and I turned to tell my friends that I was going to “sneak” out, but they were no longer beside me, and the dude behind me was now standing much too close and was definitely blocking my escape. The fans were now racing back and forth waving their shirts and fists in the air, and I managed to hear a Dendi-phrase being repeated over and over again, “I will hit you!! I will hit you!!” Again, I didn’t need three weeks of language study to figure that one out; the intentions were made quite clear by the speakers’ actions. Finally several men intervened with belts and tree branches and began beating back the fans now engaged in a neighborhood brawl in the middle of the soccer field. My friends showed up again out of the crowd, and we all waited as the war slowly subsided.

The score was tied 1-1, and with only minutes left in the match, the crowd was already gathering around the goal in anticipation of the shoot-out to follow. It was already dusk, the sun was setting, the crowd was getting more agitated, and the referees had the look of hunted animals, because they sensed they would be lynched by the fans no matter what the outcome of the match. The shoot-out began, and after the first five players of each team went through, the score was still even, and the sun had set. The referees huddled together for a few minutes and then signaled that the match would have to be re-scheduled; today’s results were cancelled as incomplete. It’s really no surprise, the many interruptions delayed the game by more than an hour, and without any police security, I’m sure the referees knew that they could never survive the wild fans’ attacks in the shadows of dusk.

My friends and I agreed that we would definitely plan to attend the rescheduled match, and I promised to bring my camera for the sequel. Normally I’m not very interested in attending sports events, I prefer to play sports rather than simply watch them. But I’m finding that I quite enjoy “spectator sports” in Benin, because as a fan you can actually interact with the match, and as I witnessed in today’s game, fans can even go so far as to change the outcome of the match!

Stayed tuned for the re-match, hopefully along with a few action photos as well! J

Language Learning 101

Are you looking for a chance to express your inner child, feel young at heart, and act like a kid again? Well then language immersion is your chance to sound out your inner child’s voice in a foreign culture.

The first week of language learning was fun as I quickly picked up the laundry list of greetings, “Good morning; How is your home; How are your children; How is your health; How is your fatigue; How is your thirst (Ramadan fast); etc…” and closing with a few “I’m doing well; Thanks; See you later.” I diligently practiced with my language helper, wrote down all of the phrases phonetically as she repeatedly sounded them out for me. After my very first morning lesson I decided that I was ready to put my newly acquired language skills into play. I set out on my afternoon walk, looking for my first conversational victim.

I came across Buddy* doing yard work in front of his home, so I called out the appropriate greeting of “Good work!” He looked up and returned my greeting with a “Good afternoon.” After completing the extensive list of greetings, I decided to bravely attempt the next phrase on my list; “I am learning the language of Djougou.” (no kidding) He smiled and replied “Why?” Ah… huh. That’s not on my list; Buddy’s reply was supposed to be “That’s great!” and then I can close with a “See you later!” This question “Why?” was NOT part of my meticulously prepared dialogue! Hm, and I don’t know even know how to say “I don’t understand”; but I’m pretty sure the stupefied expression on my face communicated that message well enough. I have discovered that my carefully scripted dialogues don’t always play out as they are supposed to; maybe I should give a copy of my script to my conversational targets so they know how to respond…

Another thing I’ve learned, little pauses like “ah”, “oh”, “uh”, “eh”, “hm”, “huh” – these all communicate something different in the various local languages and can mean a “yes”, “no”, “I/me/my”, “you/yours/them” or something else depending on the tone. So other than improving your public-speaking skills, that is another good reason for eliminating those “uh’s” from your speech; you never know what you might be saying or agreeing to when immersed in a foreign language!!

I have since learned how to say “I don’t understand” and it is one of my more frequently-used phrases. Oh, but I also discovered that if I stutter or hesitate when I’m saying “ah na mah” (I don’t understand), it becomes “My name is not…” Dendi is tonal language, so while a word might be spelled and pronounced exactly the same way, it is the tone (low/mid/high) that gives the word a completely different meaning. For example, when I visited the main market with my language helper last week, I was going through the list of market phrases I had learned, and one of which is “Nayrah chenai?” (Have you sold a little bit?). Simple enough phrase, it’s only two words, and is the equivalent of asking “How’s business?” I practiced it with several shop keepers, and of course I received the usual big smiles, laughter, and incomprehensible chatter in reply, but I assumed that they were simply expressing their appreciation/approval of my attempts to learn their language. It wasn’t until we were leaving the market when my language helper explained that because I had used the wrong tone (low to high), I was actually asking the shopkeepers “Have you sold your little brother?” Eh bien…

I’m at the end of my second week of learning now and I can comfortably run through the greetings, respond to a few “Where” and “Why” questions, and even barter for veggies in the market. Now I have to figure out how to extend my limited conversation of 30 seconds, but I’m quickly running out of subjects to discuss with Buddy* next door, Al-Hadji* at the local canteen, or Fati* the bread lady. I have come across several subjects which I do NOT want to discuss, including: marrying Buddy’s son, marrying Fati’s son, and becoming Al-Hadji’s third wife. Thankfully my language skills are still severely limited, so I can usually escape with a smile and a “That’s nice”, or “Peace out!” (rough translation).

Other than the several people I’ve inadvertently agreed to marry and the countless individuals I’ve insulted by abusing the pronunciation of their language, I think my language learning is progressing fairly well. By the end of each day, I’m worn out and sun burnt from walking around town visiting with people, my feet are sore and filthy, and I can’t even produce an intelligible phrase in English, let alone Dendi!! A good day’s work; na gbé!

*Real names have been replaced with fictitious names.