We heard later yesterday that we were invited by Joshua to go to the Faith Alive Foundation’s football (soccer) match at a tournament in Kafanchan. Not wanting to let a rare opportunity pass the kids agreed to go cheer on the team while Biana stayed behind to get some needed rest. The four fans had a good breakfast this morning and packed sack lunches before going on our way. (Sally Barlow, the US Coordinator for Faith Alive, just arrived in Jos and heard rumors that there was a visitor trying their best to live gluten-free. She packed the extra space in her carry on with rice cakes and corn tortillas to help me out! My heart and tummy were filled with joy.) Journeys never start as planned here so when Greg found our tire was losing air we went down the street to the tire guy (people tend to specialize in one specific thing here) who helped us out. The van picked up Joshua and Joseph at the Clinic and Coach Keith just outside of Jos. A few minutes late, but no longer worried about getting stuck on the side of the road.
The drive to Kafanchan is indescribably beautiful. We enjoyed the two hours to sit and look out the window at the green that passed by, scenery that will never be mirrored in most parts of the world. The little mud huts with thatched roofs scattered throughout the open countryside make my heart yearn for such a simple agrarian lifestyle. Everyone’s pace of life is so much slower out here while the need for family, community, and connectedness with the earth is almost overwhelming. What a difference from my fast-paced society. How do we even begin to bring this to our American culture? People would see it as too needing of others and painfully unproductive in terms of quick output. I hope that is something God will reveal to me during my time here--how to live more simply. And in that how to simply live more.
We arrived at the stadium almost a half-hour late but, as expected, the match had not yet started. Greg pulled the van into a spot and we got out to head over to the stands. On our way we noticed a large cow grazing by one of the goals and a trio of bathing football players over by a far wall. Naked people in public sport venues? Really? We were stopped by a man who led us to three white plastic chairs next to the field and in line with our team. It was fun to be more a part of the action, but there was a lingering fear of having one of the players on the field run you over once the ball went out-of-bounds. Faith Alive represented Jos in blue while a team from a nearby village was decked out in red. I never once heard what their team names were, so we cheered for our guys with “Oohs” and “Ahhs” when they were doing well and “Oh nos” when defense was struggling. The field itself was a complete disaster. It had rained the past few days so there were huge puddles of muddy water hidden in the overgrown grass. That made me even more impressed with their ability to run as quickly, pass as efficiently, and play as well as they did. Sometimes the ball would slow down as it was being passed by a thick growth of weeds. The clouds hinted at rain again but, luckily or unluckily, they evaporated five minutes into the game and we had sunshine...which made everyone sweat profusely and burned all the oyibos through their sunscreen on the sideline. The first half was very back and forth, the ball mostly bouncing off of people’s heads or being kicked into the goalies ready hands. When they called for half-time a dignified man walked over and introduced himself as the president of this football league. He shook all of our hands, thanked us for coming, and asked for a picture to be taken with us. We slowly came to understand that the four of us were the guests of honor at this game. The second half was more of the same excitement and the game came to a close without a goal. On to penalty shots! The crowd by this point had moved from the stands and onto the sidelines where they anxiously awaited the outcome. Blue kicked first and was blocked by the goalie, red followed suit. The second kick went in with an uproar from the Jos side, Red did the same. Kicks three and five went in for both sides so it was on to six. Six went to the back corner of the goal for blue, just past the goalie’s hands for red. Nervous number seven walked up for our team and kicked the ball with all his might, just to bounce out of the goal by the goalie’s fingertips. Red walked up uneasily and faked out our goalie with a shot to the high left corner, just out of his reach. Red fans went crazy and for the first time ever I saw how sports are taken in other countries. Our teammates wept. The guy who missed the shot had to be physically picked up by his friends from the field and our goalie sat on the grass with his head in his hands. They were so stricken with grief you would have sworn that losing the game meant they were banished from playing football for the rest of their lives.
Guilt and self-judgment plays a huge role in Nigerian society. In church the pastor never ceases to bring up how unrighteous the people in his congregation are and how repentance is the only way for God (and others) to forgive. If you mess up God is going to slap you. I saw how much this mindset in engrained in the culture as I watched my poor friend be dragged off the field for “losing the game” for his teammates. As if his one missed shot was a way of dishonoring everyone who hoped they would win. Dan, the head coach, sat this player down near us and reminded him that this was a game, a chance to enjoy a passion of running around, and that he did a wonderful job. I am glad Dan understands what it is really all about.
We hopped in the car a group of sweaty tired messes hoping to head back to Jos as quick as possible. Why we thought that would happen I don’t know, because we have all grown to realize that the Nigerian culture is one of taking time. Dan insisted we come back to the hotel they were staying in (he even stole our purses to make sure we followed him inside) and wanted to buy us food. We had just eaten lunch and kept refusing so he settled on pear soda. Oh how I dislike carbonation. I did my best to swallow the fizzy beverage as quick as possible, but we ended up staying in the little restaurant for over half an hour. When it was time to go we wandered outside for another twenty minutes while the men in our van ate a bowl of milk (...don’t ask) before heading out. We made three more stops (Keith’s house, the bakery, and picking up two English volunteers to take them back to their school) before getting back to the flat. We were pooped.
Dinner was filling but didn’t give us the energy necessary to do anything else for the night. Driving along pot-hole infested dirt roads makes a person more tired than one would think. Reading, journaling, and getting ready for a full night of sleep. How refreshing.
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