A Personal Reflection On The 2010 FIFA World Cup In South Africa

I’m not much of a soccer fan even though I grew up in Nigeria, a country known for soccer, but my father is a very passionate fan. As a child, I recall that my dad who rarely watched TV owned the TV when a soccer game was on. My soaps and cartoons had to wait till the game was over.

A couple of times, while watching a game, he kicked the meal in front him sending me scurrying to salvage what was left of it off the floor. I thought he was going overboard. He was just that passionate while I disliked the sport because it messed with my TV time.

That was then and this is now, as an adult, I understand games are not only about the sport. Games are about business and I am very passionate about business. When it was announced that South Africa would host the 2010 games, I was glad because for the first time Africa was being recognized as a “player” in more ways than one. As the games wrap up tomorrow, I can honestly say that I appreciate that the games have brought business and attention to the continent in ways only playing host to the FIFA World Cup can.

It has brought development and money which are much need commodities in Africa. Also, for some watching the games or visiting SA for the first time because of the games, some misconceptions about Africa have been cleared. South Africa couldn’t have paid for a better PR campaign. For all these things and many more I have not mentioned, I am very thankful and hopeful for the future. This reminds me of my favorite poem about Africa by the late Dave Diop that I share below. Happy reading!

Africa my Africa
Africa of proud warriors in ancestral savannahs
Africa of whom my grandmother sings
On the banks of the distant river
I have never known you
But your blood flows in my veins

Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields
The blood of your sweat
The sweat of your work
The work of your slavery

Africa, tell me Africa
Is this your back that is unbent
This back that never breaks under the weight of humiliation
This back trembling with red scars
And saying no to the whip under the midday sun

But a grave voice answers me
Impetuous child that tree, young and strong
That tree over there
Splendidly alone amidst white and faded flowers

That is your Africa springing up anew
Springing up patiently, obstinately
Whose fruit bit by bit acquires
The bitter taste of liberty.