Imagine being choked, not literally, but that same intense feeling of being uncomfortable. Add that to the hertz-shattering noises that spews from every corner of your eardrum. Multiply that by the fanatical, nationalistically superior aura brought in the form of a thousand Ghanaian flags, big and small, held by legions more of people from all walks of the Nation-State. Subtract any kind of inhibition or shyness and add to that the gratifying, humbling and warm feeling you get when your favorite team wins. Now put all of those previous figures over 2, multiply it by 100 and you would still only know HALF of what it feels like to go to a professional soccer game in Ghana.
The day was a Sunday and I already forget the exact date, but I remember having a feeling that something bad was going to happen. A guy gets trampled, a riot breaks out, the opposing team, Sudan, would have to be rushed out on gurneys and all of Independence Square would go up in flames. But wait, I thought, “maybe I’m stereotyping this too quickly, maybe every soccer clip-show I’ve ever seen of riots breaking out was only unique to Europe and Latin America. Maybe I’ve been socialized to believe that soccer is nothing more than a savage-foreigner wet dream. All those shows, ‘World’s Most Amazing Videos,’ where the innocent bystander gets his clocked cleaned by fans who were enraged by the loss of their team. But, maybe Ghanaians are different. Maybe they’re more reserved; giving golf claps when their team scored, quietly enjoying the satisfaction of an occasional wave, and NEVER standing when the power forward makes a move for goal. Well probably not, but maybe it’s somewhere in the middle.”
After that very long aside, I found myself wading through a parade. It was me, Emily and the rest of our program-mates, all in awe over the powerful figure of people waiting to get in. Though we were at the stadium 4 hours early, you would never know by the sounds and the amount of spectators. What was crazy was that half of the Ghanaians in attendance didn’t even have tickets, they were just hoping on a blind blessing that they could shimmy past the guards, which usually never happened. Getting in took all the strength we could muster, we were like the cast of “300” and we pushed and shoved, got pushed and shoved, all the way to the cold, iron, gate.
When inside, I was a little more relieved, but still I felt something was going to happen. I don’t know why, I just did. Being in a strange place and sharing an exotic experience outside of one’s norm is scary, but that was the least of my troubles when I got to the usher to be seated.
OH MY GOD
Firstly, I have to say that if colonialism did anything to mess up this country, the introduction of the Roman numeral system must have been a weapon of mass destruction! The stadium is sectioned from 1 to 10, or “I” to “X” I should say. The ushers had a hard time seating us because they couldn’t read the numbers to our section right. So I must have been moved around about three times before I found the dang seat myself!
But when I was finally seated my anxiety left some. I began to make a home for myself amongst the noise and filling seats. It was like I was in a euphoric trance, seeing how the seats in he rafters bore the same colors as the national flag. Seeing the crisply blue sky blowing a few clouds along the lining of the stadium. Seeing that my V.I.P. section was only inhabited by foreigners and rich Ghanaians. Seeing the happy faces of the
Working-class fans as they sang at the top of their voice, proud, as if they were as rich as those in V.I.P. It was like a dream, I mean I don’t even play sports, and I know even less about soccer, but here I am, just chilling out like fan.
But as the game began, the bad feeling I felt actually came. It came in the form of a cantankerous Ghanaian fellow who felt that I was sitting in his seat. “You’re in my seat!” he cried. I looked at him, shocked and pissed at the same time. I looked at his ticket and saw that the seat number was identical to mine, but, his section was in a different Roman numeral! He couldn’t comprehend the number so he mistaken the dang seat for mine! OH MY GOD! After about 20 minutes of arguing with this man, some Ghanaians, worried that the armed soldiers doing security would be alarmed, told the man to sit somewhere else, and he did, ironically in an empty seat that was directly in front of my row. Unbelievable.
Anyway, the game went off without a hitch. But what I thought was supposed to be a soccer game ended up being a karate match! Both Ghana and Sudan were jumping in the air, kicking the ball, doing amazing stuns and acrobatics. Both teams were performing vicious round-houses on the ball as they went for the kill. I thought I lost my ears when Ghana scored the first goal. The energy was absolutely kinetic and the second score by Ghana sparked a wave that lasted 6 staggering go-rounds across the whole stadium! I got a good work out from it. The game ended 2-0 Ghana, a match they needed to win to qualify for the FIFA World Cup in Johannesburg in 2010.
I’m not big on sports, I couldn’t tell you the names of the players, I couldn’t tell you plays they executed, but I can say I’ve been to a game in a soccer-nation and I will never forget the spirit of its fans. And I can also say that when I’m in town, the home team wins.
Miles
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