Country Way...

Fifa fever in purely South African style has smitten the world.  The ear piercing ‘vuvuzela’ and ‘waka, waka’ is music by popular demand. Kaka, Messi, Ronaldo, Rooney, Honda, and Henry are just a few from the list of role modals for budding soccer players . The Sun City is once more in the limelight drawing both live and passive spectators for the game that comes with the message of love.

Love and passion for the sport  has helped break physical barriers, cultural and social differences .  It is purely talent that draws attention. Die hard fans with painted faces, jerseys with  their hero’s name and flags support their team with fervor and zest no matter what. 

Infected by this fever, I go back in time to recall the experience of country football in my hometown that I visited every summer.  The neighborhood school, a ruined,  dilapidated two storey building with unpainted walls and broken windows quite surprisingly had a spacious play ground, rugged and uneven.  This pitch in due course of time became the much sought after venue for neighborhood football matches. Sunday was the day with spectators rushing to the venue in the early hours of the afternoon to book a seat. There were no galleries or seating facilities; it was one of the unlucky neighbor whose tilled land became the make shift gallery. People ruthlessly trampled over the potatoes and maize and rye and radish to find a place’ with a good view’.  They carried their own seats which were a locally termed ‘peeda’ (low wooden stool), cushions, mats or even sheets.

Of all the family members none were as enthusiastic as my grandma.  She had a special cane seat and a place reserved under a pear tree that no one could dare take. I don’t really know if she understood the rules of the game or for that matter any of the woman folk, yet, they made it routinely to the field . It was I suppose an activity that broke monotony and brought socializing, more a time to catch up with one another. For little children it was a fair, there was the ‘Balloon Walla' , the ‘Chana Walla’, the ‘Biscuit Walla’ and the ‘Ferry Walla’ competing and luring  to sell their wares. Little souls hopped around in sheer joy   and innocence. It wasn’t the game that they yearned for, like my grandma they didn’t understand the rules, it was just the pleasure of open space and freedom.

Players came in pick-ups and, yes, the crowd, except for the very old women folk and little children, had their favorites. There was cheering and loud applause when these small place heroes appeared on the pitch. They no doubt had talent and robust energy.  Come rain or shine  they played. Nothing could or ever deterred their spirit, not  the rugged field nor the unpredictable weather. They played and enthralled their fans in their own special way. There was no ‘vuvuzela’ to add to the frenzy but the claps and snaps were  audible enough to keep the moment alive.

The setting of dusk brought the event to a close . However, every heart  anticipated  the 'Sundays' that  spiced up their simple lives and made it eventful.