Tales from Inside A Soccer Mob

Hearts of Oak and Asante Kotoko are two  top-seeded soccer teams and bitter rivals in the Ghana Premiere League. Last Saturday, we decided to go to Accra Sports Stadium to watch them play.

Easier said than done. Since our group was composed of five AFS students and two Ghanaians, we had to take two taxis to the stadium. We thought we'd be able to easily spot each other once we arrived, but Accra Sports Stadium was a madhouse. As Seth (a Ghanaian) looked for the others, Drew (an American) and I started waiting on the very long ticket line.

By the time Seth returned, the line had moved up about 50 feet. The other Americans tried to join the line, only to be yelled at and ultimately not allowed in the line. They decided to each give their 5 cedis ($3) for tickets, and sat down elsewhere to relax.

At this point, I feel it important to mention that this was no ordinary line. We were constantly being pushed and nudged forwards,  and became lodged into the people in front of us. There was absolutely no room to move, and if you stepped out of the line for a second to catch your breath, you would have to fight your way back in.

It was uncomfortable from the get-go, but things quickly went from bad to worse. As we neared the front of the line, it turned into an almost standstill as we approached metal barricades put in-place to prevent the box office from being stampeded. Pressure from hundreds of people leaning forwards, forced us to stand at a 60 degree angle with our feet under the barricade to stay upright. Drew and I planted our feet, braced ourselves, and prepared for war.

It wasn't enough. Eventually the hundreds of bodies pushing forwards overwhelmed us, and the barricades started to tip over. I was genuinely worried about it falling over and being stampeded. This idea wasn't too far-fetched I later found out, in the year 2001, 127 people died as a result of a mass-stampede at a Hearts v. Kotoko match.

Luckily an army officer noticed the barricade tipping before disaster ensued. He remedied the situation by hitting people behind us with a leather belt to make them stop leaning on me. Several times the belt cracked less than 6 inches from my head. People nearby responded by trying to scurry backwards, but because those behind wouldn't move, they ended up in a strange, backbend position.

People attempted sneaking through the barricades left and right, but the army men caught most of them. Each person cutting the line or sneaking through the barricade was beaten repeatedly until they exited the line. One guy was even clipped by the belt buckle in his left eye, which he clutched as he ran away in agony.

When the officer eventually let us through the barricades, I breathed a massive sigh of relief. We were part of the select few, and the army was nearby  to protect us.

My view of the officers as 'saviors' quickly changed, as people started flooding the barricades. The officers took their guns, held them sideways like battering rams, and charged at the lines of cutters. Not only did they kick them at full-force in the knees, but they also pistol-whipped them and even pointed their guns to make people back away.

At this point, the match began. For an unknown reason (probably so they could watch the game), the army officers left their posts, and all the box offices except for one closed . With nobody to guard them, the fiery gates of Hell burst open as the 'moderately organized' line quickly dissolved into a mob of hundreds of impatient soccer fans wanting tickets immediately.

Seth quickly sprinted nearby to protect us. People mobbed us from every direction – yelling, screaming, and chanting "PUSH!" We were only 5 feet from the box office, but moving was not an option. Men yelled at me, saying I should lodge myself into a nearby corner to secure my position near the front of the line. I tried my hardest to follow this advice, but couldn't even move the 12 inches required to do so.

As everyone pushed towards the box office, I was being crushed. Oxygen was quickly escaping my lungs; I was gasping for survival. At one point my feet weren't even touching the ground. Despite Seth's arm wrapped around our shoulders to make sure we would be okay, I was petrified of being pushed to the ground and being trampled.

Drew spent 15 minutes in the lead without getting us any closer to the box office. In fact, one guy picked him up and placed him several feet further away. I pushed in front of Drew to try leading for myself. In a last-ditch effort, I metaphorically screamed, "THIS IS SPARTA"and pushed forwards with all my might. This was to no avail – somehow I ended up even further away from the box office. Emotionally let-down , I tiredly said to Drew, "I miss Ticketmaster!"

After 40 minutes of being inside the mob, I realized there was no chance of us ever getting tickets. Drew and I gradually pushed our way out of line – exhausted and smelling like someone else's body odor. We were drenched with sweat, and barely had enough energy to walk.

The Survivors...

After we made it back to the AFS office, we turned on the television to watch the game. We could clearly see hundreds of empty, unsold seats in the background – despite the fact that there was an angry mob just outside the stadium waiting to buy tickets.

All in all… my day was perfect. Call me crazy, but it was a true Ghanaian learning experience – something that couldn't be learned at school or bought from a market. I've read about similar events every so oftenin the news, but actually being inside of a soccer-crazed mob is a whole different story.

Group Photo left to right: Drew, Myself, Balthazar, Ahmed, Adriana, and Ida

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Note: As I reread this post, I can't help but feel that this type of experience is impossible to accurately communicate. It's the kind of thing where you have to 'be there for yourself' in order to understand fully. I did my best, but nothing can compare to being there in person.

Despite this being a valuable life experience, being inside of a mob is something I feel should be done only 'once in a lifetime.' 

Gratefulness

As I was jogging recently, I came across a barren stretch of dirt. It was entirely uneven – one side a full five feet higher than the other, with large rifts and piles of broken glass on the ground.   Looking further, I could see a nearly-naked toddler playing barefoot with a soccer ball. The ball was ratty – the outer patch coverings were worn out, flaking, and decrepit. It was a size five soccer ball – about half as tall as the toddler. Putting two and two together, I soon realized that this was a makeshift soccer field.

I jogged near the toddler and motioned for the ball. At first he had a confused look that read, "What could an Obruni want with a soccer ball?" As soon as he passed the football, I started juggling and quickly dispelled all notions that I didn't know how to play. The toddler and I started passing, and other children soon joined in.

A crowd quickly gathered to watch the Obruni pass. Eventually I was asked, amidst much laughter, if I wanted to join a full-size soccer game with adults and miniature goals.

Their mindset was that I would surely decline their offer, since my 'Obruni-body' wasn't tough enough to play with Obibinis. They thought I would surely be afraid of breaking a bone, and ending up in the hospital.

To their surprise, I agreed to play. I handed a reliable-looking Ghanaian mother my house-key to hold onto, and moved a 2 cedi bill ($1.20) from in my pocket to under the bottom of my shoe for safekeeping.

The toddler I passed with gaped at the money, staring with his mouth wide-open. With a completely straight face, he pointed at my shoe and asked me, "How did you gotten so much money?"

I paused, at a lack of words. This wasn't a large amount of money – I brought just enough for three coconuts. But what really hit me was his tone. Unlike the begging kids on the street, he wasn't asking for money. He was simply shocked at the idea of another kid having so much money by himself, and was puzzled as to how I attained it.

I wasn't sure how to respond to his question. Answering, "It's just two cedis…" would've only fulfilled the 'Obrunis being rich' stereotype. And if I told him the truth – that I brought 2 cedi to buy three coconuts, he would've been shocked at my gluttony and misuse of money.

I resolved the issue by telling him that my host mom sending me out to buy her cell phone credit. This white lie was ultimately the best decision – as I wasn't seen as just another 'rich Obruni', and the money was well-explained. Completing my fairy-tale ending, I played a great game of soccer, scoring once on a breakaway. Ghanaians eagerly picked me up and started chanting, "Landon Donovan!"

The Point of this Post: Being grateful for all that you have. Whether you 'hate high school', don't have the opportunity of spending Thanksgiving with your family, or  don't like the direction your life is headed; think about everything that you have been blessed. While I feel like I am basically reiterating the commonly known 'theme' of Thanksgiving, it feels different coming from Africa.

When I tell people I'm from America, most look puzzled  and ask me, "Why would you come here? Everyone here wants to go there!" The United States, consists of only 4{3a5a0fd47fd42b6497167aecc6170a94848f1ba936db07c4954344fcfff1d528} of the earth's population, and most of the other 96{3a5a0fd47fd42b6497167aecc6170a94848f1ba936db07c4954344fcfff1d528} want to become one of us. Always remember – you're part of the lucky 4{3a5a0fd47fd42b6497167aecc6170a94848f1ba936db07c4954344fcfff1d528}.

I'm seeing now that America really is the 'land of dreams.' People in many countries across the world simply don't have the opportunity to control their lives as Americans do. In the United States, the value of kids being able to 'become anything they want to be," is enshrined from youth. Kids aspire to become astronauts, actors, and even cavemen (I was an odd child…)

In countries like Ghana, many families stick to a 'be real' approach. Kids often follow in their family's footsteps, or choose one of the socially acceptable careers (lawyer, scientist, teacher, etc). People don't believe it's possible for an ordinary person to change the world by themselves. When I told classmates that no matter what my career ends up being, I want to leave a mark on the world – they openly treated my ideas with scorn.

When people ask me for money, it's an instant, "No," without any thought. This is why the toddler stands out in my mind so much. By not asking for my money but rather making a statement about it, he made me realize how fortunate I am not only for my possessions, but also for the opportunities I have in life. Thanks to him I am even more grateful for all my family, friends, and mentors who helped me along the way.

Speaking of being Grateful… While Thanksgiving stands as my favorite holiday, the concept of mass-gluttony is a bit nauseating at the moment (despite the fact that I'm going to the U.S. Ambassedor's house tomorrow for a feast). As I tell Ghanaians, poverty exists in both the United States and in Ghana. As far as excessive gorging goes, everyone knows that the first potato chip is always the best one, so why not stop when you're at a point where somebody else would enjoy the food more than you? There's hungry people all over the U.S. – if your situation permits, seek them out and offer a special meal this Thanksgiving.

At the very least, think about how fortunate you are in life. Not just on Thanksgiving, but during everyday of the year.

Lora’s Pollo Recipe

On the trotro home from school today, a woman in front of me had a large wooden box on her lap full of pastries for sale. I asked her what they were, and got a one word response:

"Coconut."

Upon hearing the "C-word", my hands immediately grabbed a 20 pesewa (12 cent) coin from my pocket. I ordered one piece of it.

It was still hot from the fryer and had a slightly dense, yet slightly flaky texture. The primary flavor was of toasted coconut taste, with a certain creaminess.

I finished it in a matter of seconds. "What is this?" I found myself asking her.

"Pollo," she replied.

I knew that I needed to learn how to make pollo, and asked her if she would teach me how. Alas – English was futile. She responded by opening the container, staring at me, and holding up fingers to ask how many more I would like.

The man two seats away from us overheard the conversation, and asked me for a pen and paper. I complied, and he soon began talking to her in Twi and writing down notes.

About 15 minutes later, he handed me back the following recipe:

How to Prepare Pollo

Materials:

Dry Coconut
Sugar
Little Water
Salt
Nut Milk
Flour
Cooking Oil

Step 1:
1. With the help of a grater, grate your dry coconut.
2. Make a sugar solution.
3. Mix the sugar solution with the ground coconut.
4. Add salt per taste.

Step 2:
1. Mix your flour with a ground nut milk (depending on your preference/quantity).
2. Mix your nut milk and flour with the mixture from step 1

Step 3:
1. Roll your mixture on a flat surface.
2. Cut or divide to your proportions
3. In the cooking oil, fry until a light golden brown

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Despite there being no indication of quantities on the recipe, my eyes glowed with excitement. I thanked the pollo seller and the translator repeatedly in Twi (meda wo ase).

As my stop was soon approaching, I quickly asked her for her name (Wo din de sen?).

"Lora."

As I exited the trotro, I gave her a 5 cedi ($3) bill to thank her for her troubles and recipe. I stepped off of the trotro- only to have the crinkled-up bill thrown at me in disgust, and hear her yelling at me in Twi. The only word I could understand:

"Obruni!"

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