Phil has been referring to Mali as the hottest place on earth since he saw it on a French weather channel a few days ago. And Kayes (pronounced “Kai”) is one of the hottest places in Mali, five degrees warmer than the capital Bamako, where it has been well over 40 degrees recently. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” we agree.
So now we’re on our way to Kayes in an old Spanish bus. The driver slept up on the roof under the stars last night. But now a mountain of bags, car tyres, boxes full of products, even a few chinese mopeds are somehow loaded up there. Inside is crammed full of people and their belongings. All interior lights are broken, the AC doesn’t work and the windows are just about falling out of their frames. The front windscreen doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.
We are the last on the bus and are ushered to the last two remaining free places on the back seat. We squeeze in and are soon underway. The prospect of a 12 hour journey in this heat in this overcrowded, overheated bus isn’t exactly making us smile and it doesn’t take us long to realise that the engine is directly under our seats. Lovely. The excruciating heat is soon being amplified. Eggs (both proverbial and real) would fry quite easily under our feet.
To make matters worse, Andrew is feeling decidedly unwell. He’s had a nasty cough since his time in the extreme dampness that was Morocco and is hoping to see a doctor in Kayes to help him get rid of the infection. Travel, we agree, amplifies both the highs and the lows, in equal measure.
Back home in Erfurt, Germany last summer, dignitaries from Mali were in town. They were in for talks about the possibility of a partner city connection between their town, Kati, and Erfurt. I found out that Kati is close to Bamako, the capital of Mali: one of the destinations for The Ball en route to Johannesburg.
I met the Maire de la Commune Kati, Monsieur Hamala Haidara, and his assistant in the Steinhaus Biergarten. It was a lovely summer’s evening. Traditonal Thüringian food had been ordered, meat dumplings and red cabbage, if I remember correctly. The guests were in great form. Although, as strict muslims, I recall that beer was not on the agenda. I introduced The Ball and told them I’d love to visit. They were excited. Hugs and contact information were exchanged. Next time: Kati, Mali. Yet until a few days ago there had been no contact. Why not? Language barriers. I don’t speak French or any local Malian dialect and they don’t speak English or German. But there is one language that we all speak: football. The Ball is a leveller and a promise is a promise!
So now, many months later, I’m in Mali with The Ball. It’s 45 degrees outside and dust is everywhere. Yesterday, Moussa, director of our partner organisation Special Olympics Mali called the Mayor of Kati on our behalf and tried to fit in a visit. Our schedule with Special Olympics has been full to say the least: Press conferences at the Ministry of Sport and the Malaian Football Federation; visits to schools for children with intellectual disabilities; meetings with dignitaries like the Mayor of Bamako, the Governor of the region and Salif Keïta: one of Africa’s legendary footballers. Not to mention planned meetings with the President and Prime Minister coming up. Nevertheless, time is found and without delay we’re on our way out of Bamako on the road to Kati.
The sun is directly overhead and it’s a blazing searing 45 degrees. Windows down, scarves over our mouths to avoid choking on the dust, we enter the district of Kati. I’m wearing my Rot-Weiss Erfurt shirt, the one with ARIS on the back and the number 33, from my days in 2006 warming the bench for Pavel Dotchev’s team. We swing into the mayoral compound and are met — as we have been the whole time in Mali — by big smiles. We follow an assistant up the stairs and into the mayor’s office. There he is. Looking every bit as charming as he was in Erfurt. I reach out my hand. He pulls me towards him. We embrace. It is a wonderful moment. Erfurt’s flag is pulled out. We pose for photos.
He’s seen us on television, we are told. He wants to see and sign The Ball. “Wait, a moment,” we say, “you can’t sign it until you have kicked it!” Without hesitation, he starts juggling The Ball once, twice, three times. Not a bad touch, Monsieur Haidara, you would have stood a better chance than me of being in Dochev’s starting eleven.
The bus with Special Olympics day-trippers leaves early with us and Kasim on board. We are heading for the village of Siby and it is a matter of who-knows-what-to-expect. We often turn up in a place and then find out what is planned for us. The mystery, as ever, is intriguing.
In Siby’s mayoral compound, drummers and hunters are gathered. At first the drumming is haphazard, but more and more people gather as the drums call folk together. The mayor, village chief and other dignataries arrive. The ceremony takes shape.
Phil is introduced to some athletes who have represented Special Olympics Mali. BandongoBu Sidede was a gold medallist in the javelin and won silver in the 800 metres at the Special Olympics Games in Shanghai in 2007. Aged 12, his mother had got him involved with SO Mali and his trainer Sedou looked after his development and accompanied him to the SO games.
Chairs and benches form a circle. Phil starts to dance. The drummers, all male, are joined by a female singer with a trance-inducing voice.
Mayoral dignitaries, looking proper, sit on chairs over to one side. The chief of the village and the elders gather on benches under the shade of the finest tree. We’re taking turns filming with the Sony camera from Africa 10. It’s hot, very hot and we’re sweltering getting shots of the scene.
Phil dances some more and launches several times into spin, a flick of the head first, then dervish trance-style second — to a great reception. He’s invited to continue and a scarf is wrapped and tied around his waist. Gutter spinning and moonwalk. He feels particular affinity to the hunters and is drawn to their engaging smiles. It is they who lead the dances, a wisp of hair is handed to each dancer in turn and ceremoniously returned to a particular elder.
The hunters carry guns and dance with them conga style. Phil is invited to join in. Up he pops, is handed a gun and then off he goes.
Then it’s time for the ceremonial speeches. An hour passes. Andrew, still suffering from the cumulative effect of our gruelling itinerary over the last few days, falls asleep time and again. No offense is intended — and none is taken — as Andrew valiantly yet unsuccessfully attempts to fight off the waves of exhaustion.
By now slightly delirious, well watered but wanting something to eat, we head off in a bus to an old meeting place in the crook on an impressive canyon nearby. We are offered rest under a tree while the others go up the hill. Phil asks how far. “One kilometer,” come back the reply. Special Olympics have carefully crafted their plans for us with the intention of looking after our health. But this looks too good to miss.
We can see why the empire of Mali began near here. Like the Grand Canyon, the water-shaped towering pillars and an extraordinary arch frame the plain below. Mostly scrub and brush in what seems to be an exceptionally dry earth. Baked by a dry heat throughout the day, the plain is full of lush green trees, many laden with golden tear drops of mangoes. As Phil scampers across the rocks — to the horror of the Special Olympics staff — he feels he is truly in paradise.
Two weeks ago, I was interviewed by the BBC World Service as our European tour was coming to an end. Christian and I were in Malaga. The interview took place at Phil and Alice’s, surrounded wet laundry in their computer room. It was a cold rainy day in Malaga.
In Auckland, New Zealand, it was a warm, end-of-summer morning. My dad, big Jimmy from Glasgow, was lying in bed, headset on listening to the BBC World Service, drifting in and out of sleep following the live roundup of football action from across the UK. It’s been the same procedure for him for as long as anyone can remember. But that morning at 4am, there I am on the radio talking in his ear and Jimmy, with no forewarning of my appearance, was suddenly awake.
A week earlier in Dakar, I couldn’t help but think of him as we sat in Mbacke’s flat in central Dakar. We were sitting with the family in a circle in the living room, eating from a communal plate containing a fantastic traditional meal of Senegalese rice and fish, when suddenly there was a cry of “goal” from the commentators on the TV. I excused myself, jumped to my feet and raced into the TV room. Rangers had scored in the 93rd minute at Ibrox. 1-0 against Celtic. I raised my fists and cheered and thought of my dad, at home in Auckland, who was certainly watching the game as happy as Rab C Nesbitt at Italia ’90.
Back in Bamako, the phone rings — it’s Matt Davies calling from the BBC. I’m slightly nervous at the thought of millions of people listening to our live conversation. But this time, I know my dad will be listening live in New Zealand.
Phil watches the world weather forecast on Matinal, a French TC channel, as we have our breakfast — half a baguette with butter and jam, the Malian standard. “We are in the hottest place in the world again today,” he muses. Driving across Bamako on a Saturday, windows down, Kassoum’s dashboard thermometer indicates 40 degrees. Why the obsession with the heat? We’re heading to the national stadium to play a game of football and we’re anxious, that’s why!
It’s not just any game. This one is with Special Olympics athletes, it is a game of Unified Football where athletes with and without intellectual disabilities play together on mixed teams. Our game is the curtain-raiser to the Malian first division game between FC Djoliba, reigning Malian champions and leaders of the Malian Premier League and visitors FC Duguwolofiila. Unlike the professional game, ours is thankfully only ten minutes each way.
As we arrive at Mali’s national stadium, the Stade de 26 Mars, the Special Olympics athletes are already getting ready to play in the game of Unified Football. Kits are donned and out we go. After 20 minutes of Unified Football in the punishing 45 degree heat, Andrew is coughing and struggling for breath.
The game ends 1-1 and the teams pose for photos, hoping that the game has warmed the hearts of the spectators as much as it has their burning muscles.
As always, people gather round to sign The Ball, whose original inscriptions are now lost beneath the deluge of subsequent signatures.
And so to the main event. The teams come out onto the field. Phil and Andrew are asked to pose for photos with the Djoliba and Duguwolofiila captains, the referees and The Ball. However, the officials seem more worried about Andrew’s horn than they do about Phil’s Edna Everage impression.
We watch some of the game from our seats in the dignitaries area but we can’t resist the calling of the music. We drift away and spend most of the match in the stands with the FC Djoliba musicians.
Music and football — when these two common languages come together, there’s always fun to be had.
“You can’t talk about football in Mali without talking about Salif Keïta”
— Kassoum Keïta (no relation) from DHL Mali.
Salif Keïta is not just famous in his native Mali, he one of Africa’s footballing legends. In 1970, he became African Footballer of the Year, the first person to be awarded the prestigious Ballon d’or Africain.
Keïta, now in his sixties, is the owner and proprietor of the beautiful Mandé Hotel, gloriously situated on the banks of the Niger River in Bamako. We head over there to meet him.
“Please wait while I call through,” says the concierge.
Like so many, Keïta had grown up poor in Bamako, Mali in the 1950s. Football was his escape from poverty playing for AS Real Bamako and Stade Malien. His incredible talents saw him lead Mali, as a teenager, to the most success the nation was ever to have –- second place at the 1972 African Cup. Unfortunately, he picked up an injury and was unable to play in the final.
The Malian government were investing heavily in football. Their thinking went something like this: if we are successful at football, the masses will be content and less likely to fight against us. It has been a ploy used by political leaders across the continent ever since. In Africa, footballing success can be the difference between keeping power and losing it.
Salif Keïta, the young superstar, was Mali’s hottest asset. It didn’t take long for several top European teams to become aware of the shooting star, but he wasn’t allowed to leave the country. Keïta, however, had already made the decision to leave Mali and head for Europe. He escaped Mali overland and made his way to France where he was picked up by St Etienne. His career took him to Olympic Marseille, Valencia in Spain and to Sporting Lisbon. Nicknamed “The Black Pearl of Africa”, Keïta’s goalscoring exploits and outspoken honesty made him a household name in Europe, and a hero across Africa.
The Ball: What is the “spirit of football”?
Keïta: Football is a game that can help people to live together, to have a partnership and to have a friendship. Everyone watches the World Cup final and everyone is ready to be happy with the team that wins or sad with the team that loses. The spirit of football is perfectly forming people together. In this moment the world has many problems and football can help us to solve some of those problems. The spirit of football is for people to accept others.
What do you think about the state of football in Africa at the moment?
African players are playing in teams in top European leagues… Drogba, Eto’o, Traore, etc. Two days ago I saw Egypt lose to England. They were very unlucky. Senegal beat Greece. Cameroon tied against Italy, and Ivory Coast lost to South Korea. I think that African football is in very good shape. A big problem is money. We don’t have money.
What do you think that so many talented young African players are playing in Europe? Is it a problem for African football?
You cannot pay players in Africa like the Europeans are doing. In sub-Saharan Africa we cannot afford to pay the players. If we had the money then maybe they will stay. But you cannot blame young players going to Europe. You cannot stop them.
What are the chances of an Afrian team winning the World Cup?
It will be difficult but it is not impossible. If it happens, nobody can be surprised.
Could Ivory Coast win with Guus Hiddink as the coach?
Maybe he can do something. But he is not playing! (laughter) They are down in confidence. Hiddink can give them some advice. If the players are not right in their own heads then it is difficult. After they lost the African Cup and they lost to South Korea they are very low in confidence.
Nigeria was a big surprise in the African Nations Cup. Everyone said after Egypt beat Nigeria that Nigeria was finished, but they went on to make the semi-finals. They are a good team. I think Cameroon, even thought they are not like they were 10 years ago, can go very far. Ivory Coast, Ghana, even Algeria — they are all good teams. And South Africa are young and they could surprise, they are at home. You never know in football.
Are you going to be in South Africa?
I am invited to go to South Africa but I prefer to watch the games on TV. A while ago, when I was watching France–Ireland, I saw exactly what happened with Thierry Henry’s goal. People in the stadium had no idea. They were too far away. You can’t see this in the stadium. It is too fast live and you are too far away and there are no replays. I like to watch football on TV.
What do you think about the Henry incident? Is Theirry Henry a cheat?
What happened with Henry could happen with any player. It is a reflex. Immediately, he had to do it because he wanted to win. He saw the ball in the net and he was happy. After the match, he went home and everybody said that he used his hand. No, when you are playing you want to win.
You supported a project about cleaning up Bamako. Cleaning up the streets which are full of trash. You did this by using football as a lure to make young people aware of their civic duties.
It is difficult here because you do not have the possibility to continue to do things because there is not enough money. Often projects are a once-off. For success you need to put people to work and talk to them. It can last for a few months or a year. It is not easy. You need to change the mentality. This can only be done through education. When I was young we used to clean the streets every Monday. Everyone would join in. But now, they do not even think about this. And you cannot do it by yourself. People need to understand the problems and the consequences of their actions.
Last week in Dakar, we met Bashir, a Senegalese man who had returned to Senegal after Senegal beat France in the opening match of the 2002 World Cup. He got on the first flight home and didn’t return to the USA. You hear about the exodus of people leaving Africa. But on this journey so far we have met people who have chosen to come back to Africa. Who are investing their skills in Africa. What do you think about the phonomenon of Africans coming back home?
Many Africans are coming back to share their experiences. I think the leaders of Africa need to utilise this, like China and India have done. But Africa doesn’t do a good job with this. When these people come back they have difficulties. But they are coming back to share their experiences. African government doesn’t understand this.
It has been a long day of meetings with dignitaries. We haven’t eaten all day and ready for some food and then sleep.
We get out of Kasim’s car. Phil and Kasim head for the restaurant to order dinner. Lagging behind with The Ball, Andrew sees two children on the intersection of two dusty little dirt roads. One child comes to ask for money, holding out an empty paint tin. Andrew reluctantly shakes his head. “Non”, he says. Instead, he kicks The Ball to little lad. The boy’s eyes light up. The three of them pass The Ball back and forth, inviting two more boys to join in. Soon there are ten or more kids with him, juggling with The Ball in a giant circle.
Phil and Kasim have joined them now, and there seems to be talk of a game. Indeed, goals are being marked by large jagged stones. The dangerous ditches on either side of the road define the touchlines. The child who was begging for money offers Kasim his paint tin begging bowl. Kasim, duly appointed as referee, takes it — hitting it with a stick will do perfectly for a whistle. Game on. Skins against shirts.
Andrew considers himself lucky to be a shirt. However, his DEET-impregnated, anti-malaria shirt and trousers feel much too warm. It is 9pm and 30 degrees outside. He’s sweating and coughing up a storm in this little dust-bowl of a pitch. Phil takes his place — and the goals start flowing. Shirts win 3-1.
This kind of playful interaction makes The Ball’s journey such a magical experience for us — it reminds us of the power that lies at the heart of the beautiful game. And for the little boy with the empty paint tin? Although we can only guess how he feels, perhaps his tin contains something more precious than money — memories of a ball which are his to keep forever.
We are off on yet another visa escapade. At the Burkina Faso embassy, we are met by stares from the receptionsists so icy they could power the air-conditioning.
“Fill out these forms”, they say.
Unexpected disinterest in The Ball and our story. Oh well, you can’t win everytime.
Resigned to our task, we get stuck into filling out three identical forms. To our dismay, there’s not a photocopier in sight. We take some time out from the paperwork to look at a map of Burkina Faso — to plot our route from Mali to Ouagadougou and then on to Ivory Coast by train.
As we turn in our paperwork the Chef de Protocol comes out and stamps The Ball. He’s not interested in signing it. But our biggest mistake? We haven’t brought any money with us to pay for the visas.
So we’ve got exactly 30 minutes to get some cash and get back to the embassy. In the car and quick. Kassim from DHL puts his foot down in his white Mercedes, Mali seems to be the place where all of Europe’s old cars end up. Every second car is a Mercedes. Anyway, first bank: no luck, cards not working in that machine. Second stop at the North South Hotel and success! Olé olé olé! Cash in the hand, it’s back to the Burkina Faso embassy.
We arrive at midday, right on closing time. As we approach the embassy, the Chef de Protocol races out to meet us – excitement on his face. “The Ambassador wants to meet you. Now.” A surprise change of tack here — a much friendlier atmosphere, so upstairs we go. Straight into His Excellency’s reception room. Ambassadour Extraordinaire du Burkina Faso au Mali Sanne Mohamed Topan welcomes us with great warmth.
We sit down, tell our story and philosophise about the world through one football — The Ball. The most welcoming ambassador from one of the world’s poorest countries opens his arms to the project and tells us that he has decided to give us our visas for free – we’ll just pay for the tax duty on the stamps. We’ve won again.
And so we end up paying a tenth of what we could have done. What a wonderful gift to The Ball, which is doing this journey on the slimmest of budgets. Thank you, Your Excellency, we are excited to visit your country next week.
Phil has been practising a song about The Ball called “This ball is our ball” based on Woodie Guthrie’s famous tune for the people of the United States: “This land is our land”. He performs it for the first time to a live audience. Malian’s love their music and Phil ain’t half bad. The Ball certainly helps to break the ice at such events and Phil’s music adds to the fun.
But the star of this show was the President of Special Olympics, Mama Garba Tapo who called the press to atttention about the problems facing children with special needs in Mali. He spoke directly to the press: “Without your support, nothing is possible.”
After several questions from the press about The Ball we talk about the project with the Vice President of the MFF Monsieur Toure. I ask him if we would be able to meet the famous Salif Keita, dubbed “The Black Pearl of Africa” by the press in Valencia. He is one of Africa’s footballing legends and perhaps the first sub-Saharan African footballer to make it big in Europe. Indeed, there is a brilliant french film entitled Le Ballon D’or based on his life. “No problem,” says Monsieur Toure. A meeting with the man himself is organised for the next day.