On the left, the cool team. On the right, the lame team
On 15 March, 2014, I finally did it. I went to the Soweto Derby. During my first two months in the country, I was placed in a small, densely populated village called Makapanstad. Everywhere I walked, I saw yards decorated with Pirates signs, bars painted with the Chiefs logo and jerseys all the time. At first, I thought it was Halloween but later found out this was for the two big soccer teams in the local South African soccer league, the PSL (Premier Soccer League), and the rivalry between the two sides is legendary.
From what I gathered, the Orlando Pirates were the original team of Johannesburg, the business capital of South Africa. Later on, someone from the Kaizer Chiefs went to the great country of the USA, got inspired and came back to start a new Johannesburg team, the Kaizer Chiefs. For a long time, these teams were aggressive towards each other. Opposing teams would get into fights, families would disown each other, etc etc, think Browns/Steelers, Ohio State/Michigan.
I grew up not liking soccer. I played soccer for two years as a youth. The first year I hid in the car and the second year I hid in the backfield, giving the goalie a long day. Needless to say, I wasn't pumped to jump on the bandwagon that the majority of the world is on. I left my position at my host mom, who makes delicious food, was a Chiefs fan and so I was by default. It was a new country and I had to keep my priorities in line.
The first two months passed rapidly. I learned Tshivenda, not the language of Makapanstad. I ate pap, the food of all South Africa. And, most importantly, I watched soccer. This was a confusing experience. I didn't even know the rules. The names were impossible to learn. You try and say Siphiwe Tshabalala or Itumeleng Khune. Yeah, didn't think so.
Then I was in Venda, where the fruit flows. I came right at the time of mangoes. I watched those babies grow, I sat under the tree and ate double digits, I put the rotten ones in wheelbarrows and dumped them in the community pile. I taught English to kids that thought I sounded like a kazoo. I didn't think much about soccer.
Sure, I was dragged in like always to watch a game. I again cheered for the Kaizer Chiefs because, you guessed it, my new host mom did. I usually sneaked out at halftime, claiming to be tired but really just went and watched an episode of an old TV issue I would have never watched in the States. I noticed the younger and older boys playing soccer daily but had flashbacks to my tear-filled youth and found my interest in watching soccer even less.
But slowly and surely, South Africa and soccer started to win me over. It probably started with my host mom bringing out a post-dinner snack of corn at halftime, and magically I wasn't tired. It helped when I visited Johannesburg, my friends, the Beddy's, drover my friends and I around and talked about the magic of the 2010 World Cup. And yes, one of the younger boys convinced me to play soccer a bit. I still hung back and played defense, but my years in organized sport, helped me to hold my own a bit more and lessen the burden of the goalie.
I started to learn names. Khune, Tshabalala, Parker, Mathoho, Dladla and Baloyi came regular names. I began to get a little competitive when someone would X their arms and say, "Ama bucca bucca," a common Orlando Pirates fan. After a few visits to town, I caved and bought a R30 ($3) jersey. I started talking competitively with my Peace Corps friend Josh and language instructor Dakalani, who are Pirates fan. And the urge to attend a Soweto Derby grew and grew.
That was early 2012. It took me two years, and a new group of Peace Corps Volunteers to organize a push to go to the Soweto Derby.
Part of the gang that made it happen
I try to avoid using Peace Corps lingo in my blog because it just confuses us and would scare a non-Peace Corps person away, but it will help here for chronology. I am a part of Peace Corps 24, which means I am the 24th group to be in South Africa. The newest group is Peace Corps 28, they came two years after me. I went to the 28's training to teach about reading comprehension, writing, listening, speaking and give some basic support. They were fine with that, but one of the first things the white guy with the white jersey on said to me was, "We need to go to the Soweto Derby." After that, the rest is history.
In February, two hours after the tickets went on sale, we purchased 13 tickets at R80 ($8) for lower bowl, pick your seats. Darren, the white guy with the white jersey, talked to some taxi drivers who were his friend and he reserved a taxi to pick us up in Pretoria, the safe city, to take us to Soccer City (FNB) Stadium in Johannesburg, the dangerous city, per Peace Corps policy.
As the magical day 15 March approached, tickets sold out. We were so happy that we bought in advance and so excited to be a part of a sellout, 90,000 crowd. We took the bus to Pretoria, visited the city the night before and the next morning got ready for gameday.
The 13 tickets were four 24s, four 28s, an American researcher and four South Africans. It was a star studded crew. The South Africans had all been to a Derby before and were more or less our safety blankets for the event. They picked us up in Pretoria, took us to the best shop to get refreshments and fuel for the day and found their way around road blocks to get us close to the stadium.
Sea of kombis (taxis vans)
We were amazed at the ease it took to get into the stadium, and when we arrived, we were shocked at the sea of kombis (taxi vans) that presented itself. As I wrote earlier, in 2012 I went to the biggest rugby match which was the South African Springboks versus the New Zealand All Blacks. There were a lot of people there but nothing like what this sea of kombis presented.
We immediately set up camp and started socializing. Being a white person at a soccer game in South Africa is a site. Being 9 white people, with obnoxious American accents is a spectacle. Historically, soccer is a black sport in South Africa. Children in village, cities and everywhere play soccer. White sports are referred to as rugby and cricket. This whole sports by race thing is changing and there are awesome examples of breaking the barrier on both sides that I could and should spend another blog post on, but it still is largely separated.
Being a spectacle, we all went cross eyed from so many pictures. We strained our ears over loud house music to learn a few chants, and we joined in spontaneous pre-game dances. Keeping true to our American ways, we also decided it was a good idea to take the initiative and share our culture. We saw a large garbage heap that had a slab of concrete that we decided would make a great table for some pre-game activities. So four of us climbed this heap, grabbed the slab and plopped it on our cooler. This led to a lot of friend making, competitive natures coming out and cross culture sharing.
Like all good things, the party had to come to an end, and we had to go watch soccer.
The massive crowd trying to cram in Soccer City Stadium
For some reason, all 90,000 people decided to get into the stadium at the same time. It was awesome. I swear I didn't touch the ground for 50 feet because the pressure of the two large men on either side of me lifted me up and carried me for a bit. Meanwhile, I pulled out the envelope of 13 tickets and dispensed them, basically saying, "Hope to see you inside at some point."
When we got into the stadium, it was truly packed, but we found our way to the tenth row from the field.
Full house without Bob Saget, sadly
We got there, and I quickly realized soccer was being played, so my friend and I found the largest gathering of Chiefs fans and continued singing. This singing, dancing and jollyness lasted the whole game. From what people say, it was actually a poor game to watch. All I know is that the Chiefs scored and won 1-0.
Amakhosi4Life!
