Footballs

Late afternoon

Footballs don't last long on the earthen pitches of Zambia. The ground is covered by layers of cultivated rubbish and fragments of domestic items accumulated over the years of habitation in the compound. Playing barefoot, injuries to the soles and skin are as common as the sun rising each morning and then hanging up there until it goes down again. The academy are short of first aid supplies, especially plasters, which are dear and GoalZambia hopes to help with this. Organised by Coach Mukuka, the academy does put aside a nominal pot of money to deal with hospital fees demanded as a consequence of broken bones or other serious incidents. Families are made aware of this when their children join up. At present this pot of money stands at not very much at all but I couldn't find the exact figure in my notebook.


State of new ball after 90 minutes

 And the balls wear out. In my naivity before my first visit to the country and relying loosely on my sister's advice that I should take some footballs for the kids of the compound - I would have no difficulty getting rid of them - I bought ten cheap two for a fiver sports direct Sondica footballs all shiney and new. Some, out on the Chainda pitch failed to last even the day they were first kicked. Dispite hardened soles, the same happens to human feet but kids have no choice but to play on regardless. To play or not to play is not really a question sometimes. One of the first things I learnt in the country was that a cheap ball will only last a day, whereas a ball of £10 will last up to six weeks. Mathmatics has never been my strong point but in this case, it seems to add up. Better quality balls also tend to be more repairable with a puncture repair kit and some twine. The cars and blue buses along the tarmac road that runs behind one of the goals are a regular decimator of passing footballs fated to bounce no more, there being no fence between the road and the pitch and no hope of something like that being built. That's just the way it is.

Running twine repairs

As elsewhere in Zambia things are not as they seem at first light. I had a final brand shining new, two for a fiver at a two for a fiver sports outlet, football to give away as the time to depart the country after my first visit drew near. There were only a couple of days to go. I took a walk through the Chainda compound late afternoon sun and shade in the hope of finding some children playing football together, which doesn't take long, and offering the ball. Towards the edge of the settlement, near one of the boarded up because there's no one to work there Aids clinics I found about twenty kids running around, chasing a homemade football in need of repair. Identifying the mothers sitting chatting outside one of the houses, I asked if it would be alright to see if the owner of the ball would be happy to swap it for a new one. I wanted to return to the UK with one homemade ball to show children in schools and stuff like that. The mother assured me her son would be more than happy to consider the transaction and swap the ball, indeed he did. We were both quite excited. I put his ball into my bag and, presenting him with the new one, expressed my thanks. With the new ball in his hands he maybe thought similar thoughts but I don't know. As I was walking away I looked behind me to see the same area now devoid of the children playing. They were now hanging around, individually, in pairs or small groups, kicking around in the dust. The boy with the new football had gone into his home, just him and the ball. He'd disappeared. As I walked away from the kids with their ball, now mine, in my bag and with my few days left, away from the remnants of their big match and the mothers and family watching sat there chatting, I sort of felt a tinge of something sad in the quiet absence of the exciting noises of their play. But as I kept walking away toward the tarmac road and home along the edge of the compound where the market stalls are, thinking that there was no way in the world the boy would be able to keep that ball hidden in there, away from his pals for very long at all, no way, I laughed.


My ball