The Ball 2010

We are preparing ourselves for a rough visa ride. We’ve heard many stories about African bureaucracy done with a good helping of “Africa time” at exorbitant prices. We are on our way to the Malian Embassy in Dakar.

The Ball is carried through the streets of Dakar

At this stage we haven’t a single African Visa. “Have we got all the necessary paper work?” we ask ourselves. DHL have prepared a letter of invitation, signed and stamped by the head of DHL in Mali. That should help. Bashir from DHL is with us — he speaks French fluently, is a persuasive talker and has done a lot of work to prepare the ground for us.

“I called the British Embassy, they said that a letter of support from them is necessary,” Richard says. “Bypass that lads: they’re only drumming up their own importance,” he advises.
Thanks Richard, advice taken.

We walk in with The Ball, not knowing what to expect. Phil and Bashir explain the situation in French. The woman in charge of visa applications wants to know more about The Ball.

The Chef de Protocol at the Mali embassy, Dakar

A few minutes later, the Chef de Protocol invites us into his office. His phone rings. He’s talking about important things — like bed linen. Bashir, looking nervously at his watch, whispers “we have a meeting with the Minister of Sport in 10 minutes, 20 minutes across town”.
Bashir’s phone rings 3 times in the next 5 minutes, but not once does he answer it, respecting the Chef de Protocol who casuallly signs The Ball whilst continuing his phone call.

Suddenly, as he reads our letter of introduction, the Chef is all ears and frantically scribbling notes.
“So, you are meeting the President and the Prime Minister, the Mayor, the Governor?” The situation sinking in. “Moment. Moment please.”
He’s on the phone to the Ambassador, eyes shining now. She wants to see us right away.
“Sorry,” we say, “we must leave this minute. But we’ll gladly meet her tomorrow when we pick up the visas.”

Its all smiles as we exit, running out through the official front door.

After three hours sleep, we are woken by Bashir from DHL, enthusiasm bursting down the telephone line.

Bashir from DHL Senegal

Bashir soon becomes our trusted confidante, helping The Ball in any way he can. A well-travelled Senegalese man, he studied in America but decided to return home after Senegal upset France in the 2002 World Cup opening game.
“I bought a ticket right after the game, and got my ass home. It was awesome.”

He realised that this country is where he wants to be based. It is his home. Since returning, he has travelled all over Africa. Now he’s very happy as sales manager at DHL in Dakar. A company, he says, that has human values that he believes in.

Service with a smile at DHL Dakar

The Ball meets the friendly staff at DHL Dakar

DHL will feature frequently in this story from now on as they are The Ball’s logistics partner in sub-Saharan Africa. They are organising most of our travel and many of the relationships with officialdom on our behalf. We are delighted to be working with them.

Arriving at about midnight, we are met by a lovely 20 degrees, a stream of people at the airport and relative chaos. Welcome to West Africa.

Phil and Richard meet at Dakar airport

Richard is there to meet us too, looking tanned and ready for action. Richard was instrumental in the development of The Ball. It was his suggestion that Phil and Christian meet him in Afghanistan in 2002 – and that they all travel to Korea & Japan from there – that led them to the idea of The Ball itself. He now lives in Dakar with his family, works in programme management for the Norwegian Refugee Council and is helping The Ball settle in to Senegal.

“Boys, I’ve got it under control,” he says.
And he most certainly has. We race off in the into the night. Straight to the hotel in Ngor which just happens to be right on the beach.

“Here is your kit boys.”
Cell phone: charged and full of credit. Guide book. Map. Starter cash. Hotel sorted.

Astounding. Thank you Richard. What more can we say?

I made it. I’m on the trip.

Phil and Andrew meet at Casablanca airport

I’m running on empty after three quarters of an hour of sleep due to mad final night-time preparations. But I’m absolutely on The Ball and so pleased to meet up with Andrew and be reunited in Casablanca. All preparations taken care of.

Medical kit: Sorted.
Endless electronics: taken care of.
Sad farewell: behind me.

Senegal here we come.

In “Casa”, you can’t help but realise the significant role football plays in Casablancan life. The colours one chooses to wear on the streets need to be carefully thought through.
Red for Wydad — green for Raja.
Wydad was founded in 1937. Raja a few years later by one of the members of Wydad in a break away. Legend has it that he told Wydad officials: “this team is going to bother you for the rest of your life.”
He was right.

Raja Casablanca graffitti

“We at Wydad call Raja our sons”, said former Wydad and Moroccan football legend (89 caps for Morocco) Abdelmajid Shaita.
“Could you imagine having played for Raja?”, Andrew asked.
“I cannot bear to even say the name of that club.”

Wydad legend Abdelmajid Shaita

These days you see players transferring from one club to a bitter rival. Michael Owen recently signed for Manchester United after being a Liverpool star, for example.
“Could that happen in Casablanca?”
“No, not here. It would be impossible. The public would not accept this.”
Abdelmajid spoke about a fantastic player that Wydad had several years ago. He didn’t get along with the coach. He wanted to quit. Fans confonted him after hearing a rumour that he might go to Raja. They swore to him: “if you ever play for Raja, we will kill you.” He retired. No one has ever made that change. The fans and the administrators like it that way.

The stadium is shared. One weekend Raja plays at home, the next Wydad. There are two sides to the stadium: the side with the red seats for Wydad; the side with the green seats for Raja. Fans generally refuse to sit in a section where the seats are in the rival colour. But, if they must, the tendency is to vandalise the other team’s seats. Thus as Andrew stood in the middle to the field and swivelled around, he saw that hundereds of seats were missing – red seats, Wydad seats.
“Who played at home last?”
“Raja played there on Saturday.”
It made perfect sense.
“Both sets of fans were as bad as each other.”

Nicole Matuska at Wydad stadium

Fulbright scholar and women’s football expert Nicole Matuska verifies the story. She witnessed Raja fans rampaging through her neighbourhood of Casablanca, which is within earshot of the Stade Mohamed V stadium, where up to 75,000 cram in to see fixtures between the two teams. From her second floor apartment, she poked her head out the window to see cars on the street below having their windows smashed and rear-view mirrors broken.

Every home game Raja fans make a pilgrimage of up to four hours to get back to their neighbourhoods. Raja fans, preodinantly poor and working class, are notorious for damaging property en route before and after matches. Zaki, Wydad’s Technical Director, said that the city of Casablanca and the Moroccan FA banned the playing of Wydad–Raja derby matches in Casablanca for several years. The fixtures were instead played in cities up to 300km away. The ban was eventually lifted, but the damage to the economy that these games cause has increased the likelihood of a new super-stadium being constructed on the outskirts of Casablanca.

It was even suggested that the King of Morocco has been known to call both clubs before a derby game and demand that the game be played out in a draw. When the king calls, it is done. Or so they say.

The one thing we’ve been craving for weeks now is clean clothes. Unfortunately, we have yet to stay in one place long enough to do anything about it and we’re beginning to worry that we’ll embarrass ourselves and The Ball.

A laundry in Casablanca

Since leaving Erfurt, we’ve been staying only one night in most places. And it’s been raining almost continuously. Which is fine, unless it’s clean clothes that you need. No time to dry anything — and not much hope of doing so if the only option is to hang them on a line.

And then we arrive in Casablanca. Nicole and Lisa meet us at the football stadium — they have just come from a laundry, they say.
“A laundry? What, with a tumble-dryer?” we cry.
“Yes, with a tumble-drier…” they reply.
Oh. Joy. Unconfined.

The laundry’s name? Pressing Lavage. How apt.

As we’ve been travelling around Morocco, we’ve come across a few guys dressed like this and wondered what they do.

The Ball and The Bowlman

Can anyone enlighten us? We’d love to know.

Too quickly on the road again. We’d have loved to have stayed longer in Sidi Moumen, but The Ball has an appointment to visit the Dancing Shantytowns project of the Association Marocaine L’Heure Joyeuse.

L’Heure Joyeuse mural

There we meet Rokaya El Boudrari and the kids from the local shantytown who are also eagerly awaiting the arrival of The Ball. She explains to us that Dancing Shantytowns aims to provide health care programs and promote education amongst the young and poor people in Casablanca.

Rokaya El Boudrari

Andrew introduces The Ball to the kids, letting them know what it was about and why it was there. And then The Ball is played with in a real game of football on a street football pitch. The first proper game since Battersea Park. Being much taller than the kids, Andrew is able to score two fantastic headers, which will be talked about for some time to come. Or so he says.

One team at L’Heure Joyeuse

The other team at L’Heure Joyeuse

The visit is wrapped up with the kids displaying their breakdance and freestyle skills with The Ball. We begin to understand the importance of the project to the children and the respect that they have for it. And it’s contagious because we feel that respect just as much.

Football meets breakdance and hip-hop at L’Heure Joyeuse

Many thanks to all at L’Heure Joyeuse for such a warm reception and to Chris Lunch for putting us in touch.

Saturday night in Casablanca was a long one. Mexican dinner followed by a club at the waterfront and conversation until very late back at our host Zaki’s apartment. After just a few hours sleep, we were on our way to the Sidi Moumen Cultural Center run by the Neighborhoods Association IDMAJ. Idmaj means “integration” in Arabic.

The Sidi Moumen Cultural Center

We headed over there from downtown Casablanca at the invitation of Nicole Matuska, who works with the girl’s football team at the centre. We thought we were turning up for a kick-about. Nothing more, nothing less.

Andrew meets some of the young female footballers

As we entered the centre’s club house, hundreds of kids from this notorious socially-disadvantaged neighbourhood welcomed it with songs, chants, rapping and speeches. We were overcome with emotion. What a surprise. What a welcome.

Rappers from Sidi Moumen

Then it was time for football. Andrew ran some exercises with the children so that everyone who wanted to would get the chance to kick The Ball. We felt truly honoured by the disciplined behaviour and the boundless enthusiasm. The Ball acquired hundreds more signatures.

The point of The Ball

Spot The Ball?

Everyone wants to sign The Ball

What an inspiring place. We are full of admiration for the centre and the opportunities it offers the young people who attend. Many thanks to Vice-President Mohammed Aaitouna who led us around on the tour and to Asmaa, Rabab, Hassan, Housine, Chaima, Said, Ilham, the kids of the centre and the Tacharouk Football Association kids. Special thanks to Nicole and Lisa Matuska.

We are sitting across the road from the medina entrance in the rather souless modern centre of Rabat, sipping strong double expressos and checking email, having been attracted by the “Gratis Wifi” sign out front.

Andrew strikes up a conversation with his neighbour.
“Do you like football?”, he asks. The man certainly looks like a footballer, dressed as he is from top to toe in sports apparel.
“Everyone in Morocco likes football”, comes the reply.

It turns out that Hassan’s life revolves around football. Not only was he a professional footballer, but he was a former national team player. Now he’s a goalkeeping coach for the Real Madrid Academy, based in Rabat.

Andrew tackles Hassan in Rabat

The next thing we know he’s on the phone to his friend — coach and famous Moroccan football commentator, Hicham Jdran. Jdran is in a hurry. He has to get to a game where he will provide the expert analysis for Morocco TV1. He signs The Ball in his car at the stop lights, gives us the thumbs up and is off.

Football commentator Hicham Jdran

The Ball seems to magically draw people into its orbit. We don’t know how this happens, but we like it.