On Sunday, last Sunday, Sunday 8th February, the Ivory Coast won the Africa Cup of Nations for the first time in 23 years, and for the second time ever.
The win came via a penalty shoot-out with Ghana, which interestingly, had been their road to victory the first time they won in 1992. None-the-less, the triumph tasted very sweet, regardless of how tentative or fragile it had ever seemed.
The Africa Cup of Nations was shown everywhere, in every maqui, bar and waiting room. Every single match. The games of les Éléphants, emptied the roads of vehicles and the city of life as everyone watched, breaths held, mouths covered, until a goal which would errupt the city in an almighty clamour.
I have a video from the Semi-Final (I have tried a hundred times to turn this round - now I just give up - turn your neck)
On the night of the final the fireworks began the moment the last penalty was scored, and went on long into the night. Monday was declared as a national public holiday, although unfortunately my office were slow to react, and so myself and my colleagues still travelled into work.
There were people everywhere, all making the pilgrimage on foot to the National Football stadium in downtown plateau, where the returning team would be greeted by the president. We were able to watch from our office windows, big white buses arrived from each of the suburbs, carrying joyful football fans to the celebration. On exiting the buses, many of them would run the remaining couple of miles to the stadium, excited and glorious.
My colleague looked down on the streets of running people and said to me:
"Ahh, look at this mayhem! In England this craziness would never happen!"
I think he was paying a compliment to the organisation, and conservatism of my country. But I only sighed and said,
"In England, we never win..."
No comments:
Post a Comment