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When the World Cup rolled around, a couple of years
ago, I mentioned in this column my distaste for the
sport of football, much to the chagrin of many
readers. I still, for the most part, hold by that
stance, although I have watched more games than I
would normally out of respect for the avid fans that
seem the surround me in every aspect of my life.
Despite the attempt of many friends to sway me to
the other end, I have resisted in my ways, although
I have found a sort of fond empathy for the people
that are so enamoured by the sport.
Ethiopians are amazing in their love for soccer.
They are avid watchers of both European and African
football matches and are well informed on exactly
what is going on in clubs, leagues, among the
players and coaches and everything else that would
come with being a sports fan.
People are willing to dedicate their time to watch
the games and even take it one step further to
create groups and gangs of supporters that would go
as far as fighting, if they were sore losers. Addis
Abeba is practically in a frenzy when championship
seasons of this or that are near. Take what happened
during the Africa Cup of Nations; it is absolutely
amazing the amount of energy that is poured into
this.
When I was younger, this love that is still so
clearly alive, could be seen everywhere. The
kebelles used to offer fields, there were areas like
Kwas Meda (football field) and competitions
like the now cancelled Kaffa Cup. Even areas in the
most central parts of town around the National
Stadium used to boast all sorts of uniforms, with
young boys and girls running around chasing the ball
and all their dreams with it.
Football was not only a favourite sport to watch,
with the former local clubs offering better games
and less backstage drama than present times, and
with the international and continental producing the
same.
There was a sort of national pride for the sport and
it could be seen everywhere. Now the fields that
used to hold the bright uniforms and the balls have
been auctioned off to investors or are the homes to
the Addis Abeba City Government’s Housing Projects.
The kids that would have otherwise grown up playing
football in the afternoon now spend theirs chewing
khat.
To add insult to injury, whatever remnants are left
of the local football industry are in shambles. The
governing body, the Ethiopian Football Federation
has done nothing but perpetuate drama, as far as I
am concerned. Our national and club teams are so
sub-par that they have not even made into the Cup of
Nations that they began in the 1950s. If you think
about it, they have not made it into any significant
international competition on the merits of their
talent in a very very long time.
Even individual talent has not been able to shine,
with no single player having gone to a mentionable
or noteworthy team, at least that I know of.
As a football nation, we have no international,
continental or regional hopes for that matter. This
is not a good thing. The love that the fans have for
the sport alone should be incentive enough to have
something done about it. The inherent love of
football that seems to exist in every bone of just
about every Ethiopian male and plenty of females as
well, is a wonderful social context through which
urban planners could approach Addis Abeba.
While allocating land for investment, housing, and
other sectors, land should also be allocated for the
use of soccer fields. The social legs in the kebelle
and woreda levels should take the initiative to get
kids involved in neighbourhood leagues and
tournaments. Not only would the now dangerously
wayward youth have something to occupy their times,
but this would also be a sensible means by which to
combat the epidemic of khat that is so
horrendously affecting the youth of the nation.
Despite my lack of appreciation for the sport I do
appreciate what it means to the millions of
Ethiopians with whom I share this space. If
something were to be done, then I could complain
about the late night games in my neighbourhood and
all the noise they make, better I think than to
complain about the drunks. |
