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