Monday, July 5, 2010

Soccer aka. Futbol aka. Football MANIA


Even after their team (“Bafana Bafana,” aka. “The Boys,” aka. the South African national soccer team) has fallen from World Cup runnings, South Africans remain full of sustained enthusiasm and energy, and the kids have been no exception.  Since the students from St. Peter’s have been on holiday for the tournament's duration, we’ve put on a camp for them these past few weeks.  A major reason for the camp is the increased risk, particularly to young women, of being taken for or bribed into commercial sex with the influx of foreigners in the country.  Unfortunately, major international events of this sort frequently correspond with a skyrocketing rate of incidents of human trafficking.  
Fortunately, the South African government has already broken up several trafficking rings before and during the Cup.  To keep the St. Peter's kids safe and fed (another concern when they’re off for such a long period), we’ve been introducing them to kickball, Capture the Flag, egg toss, three-legged race, paper mache, origami, and all those “Field Day” games American kids grow to know, love, and eventually un-love by the 100th time they play them.
The kids find three-legged racing to be the coolest concept; in fact, it’s infiltrated all the other games!  Now they insist on playing three-legged soccer and three-legged hide-and-seek! And three-legged racing has become ten-legged racing for that matter (see the photos ha ha). And they're not just learning American games; they’re teaching me and the two other American volunteers their traditional games too, my favorite of which they call “Rush” and can best be described as cricket meets kickball if you can imagine such a combo.  “Absolutely exhausting” and “hilariously fun” can best describe the camp experience thus far (there are 300+ students and about 6 facilitators).


What else? Well South Africa’s finally feeling like home.  It helps living in a rural town where you bump into familiar faces often.  Those who know us have affectionately dubbed us “the Americans.”  Now when we drive through the rocky roads of Maokeng (the underdeveloped township outside Kroonstad), barefoot, soccer-playing kids start running next to the car waving and shouting “Maam Sarah! Maam Katie!” (female teachers are "Maam"). 
The other day, while visiting a small township more than 100km away from Kroonstad with Sister Obehi, I was astonished when a group of teenagers approached me and hugged me saying, “It is good to see you again Sarah!” The week prior, 100s of Catholic youth from the region met at the Catholic church in Maokeng for a day of traditional Sesotho song, dance, food, and Mass in celebration of Youth Day, a national holiday remembering the protests nd killings of young people marching against racist educational practices in 1976.  Katie and I were the only white young people in a packed church, so the priest, who knew us well, thought it necessary (we were quite embarrassed) to introduce us at the end of Mass… to everyone!  So these teenagers said, "We met you on Youth Day in the church!"  I said, "Oh yes, I think I remember your faces now!" Ha ha. 
That day I was in the township with Sister Obehi on her weekly visits to the rural OVC centers she coordinates for the Catholic diocese.  I mentioned her work with OVC’s (orphaned or vulnerable children) in my Easter blog.  I went with her on a whirlwind tour of about 150km radius of Kroonstad to visit several such centers, where these children receive food support, medicine, and a safe place to play, sponsored by their local Catholic churches.  Sr. Obehi received a donation of old Easter chocolate from a grocery store, as well as some brand new soccer balls from some organization or another.  Center after center we visited, but the reaction was always the same: the kids were absolutely ecstatic about the chocolate, only to nearly lose their composure in total glee over the balls. I couldn’t help but be struck by their gratitude as they all gathered ‘round the open car trunk, begging to be the first to have a go with a brand new ball, happily setting aside the tattered, punctured-and-patched-and-repunctured-and-repatched balls they’d still been playing with as we pulled up. 
In the months before I left Colorado for South Africa, I nannied for some wonderfully kind, very affluent families.  I couldn’t help but observe the difference in these South African childrens’ faces over receiving two or three soccer balls to share amongst 50 or 60 of themselves, compared with the short-lived grin of one of the children I nannied upon receiving piles of nifty, expensive toys at their birthday parties.  And then I thought, “Heck, it’s not just those country-clubbin’ kids.  My own younger siblings and cousins can be like that!”  Then thinking further, I thought shame-filled, “Am I not often like that too? With new shoes or an updated version of iPod?!”  There have been very few times when I truly milked every last drop of enjoyment out of something like these children do with what they’re given.  The old soccer balls told the story of months of play, and I knew these knew balls would truly be loved by them. 
As I watched the boys pass the new balls to one another in a circle, the 6 and 7-year-olds honestly looked like varsity high school athletes in the States.  Without Play Stations and the Disney Channel at their disposal, they’ve mastered the feel of a soccer ball, heading and dribbling it instinctively, naturally, in a way only hours and hours spent with a ball can produce.   The St. Peter’s students are just the same.  There are no organized leagues or swanky uniforms, no orange slices at halftime and “made in China” trophies at the end of the season.  These kids just create organic little teams and play, often barefoot, on rock-strewn, glass-filled side roads… and they have so many hours of pure fun.   
I have to laugh when I watch the boys play soccer with a cleat on one foot and the other foot bare, the logic of which I wouldn’t have understood had I not observed the same mysterious phenomenon on my first African adventure to Namibia in 2008.  You see, a pair of cleats is a rare commodity to these boys.  So when one fortuitously happens upon a pair, whether from an international aid shipment or as a gift from a wealthy relative, he won’t keep both cleats to himself.  He’ll share one of the two with his friend for the good of the team, because two half-cleated players are better than one fully-cleated.  This works out particularly well when the friend’s favored kicking foot is the opposite of his own. 
The same stunning agility exists among the girls, most notably with skipping ropes.  I’m almost certain any of these girls could give a champion inner-city jump rope squad from the U.S. a run for their money.  Without the latest and the best at their disposal, these girls will use every rope at their disposal until it’s threadbare… By the time it’s no longer usable, they hope another one shows up.  And if it doesn’t show up quickly, you can bet your bottom Rand they’ll be hunting around in garbage if they have to in search of a replacement rope. 
A final note: I may never go to the Olympics, but the same craving to be wrapped up in a global event of that magnitude has at least touched my palate… A generous pal of ours helped find me a ticket to the South Africa vs. France World Cup game last week!  Travels there and back were long and hot, but to say it was worth it would be the understatement of a lifetime!  All 3 of us volunteers also got tickets to the 3rd and 4th Place Finals in Port Elizabeth (quite literally the opposite side of the country, so thank God for overnight buses)!  We were all hoping Ghana would take it home for the continent, but you probably all saw their devastating loss to Uruguay.   Since Ireland was cheated out of participation in the tournament (still bitter about that clearly ha ha), the Africans are all out, and Argentina (my non-African favorite) was creamed by Germany, I’ve got my chips on Spain, though my roommate insists it will be the seemingly unstopable Deutschland.
I hope you enjoy the photos of camp and delivering the balls and chocolates to the kids at the OVC centers.  My personal favorite is the one of the boys looking up in anticipation of a dropping header, sun beaming on their happy faces.