African Odyssey: Report 8

The first fist bump accurred at the toll booth. "This is gonna be awesome!" Chris said to me, our closed fists colliding. Our African Road Trip had offcially begun. Five countries over three weeks. New experiences awaited.

An hour later, the first new experience was soccer by the side of the toll road. But the mood was different. Roadside soccer is always fun - but not as fun when you are forced to play because your car has broken down. We were now making lemonade from lemons. The closest directions we could give the tow truck was "under a nameless bridge on the toll way, north of Johannesburg."

Luckily, we had Courage. Not courage, but Courage with a capital C. A student in Chris's school, Courage thought he was getting a free ride to his native Zimbabwae with us. What he got was a free ride 187 kilometers north of Joburg and no further. Luckily, Courage proved to be a good soccer player in the roadside game, and he also told us stories of his native land. Apparently, in some if not many people's minds (or at least Courage's) Zimbabwae's much criticized Robert Mugabe is not a brutal dictator but a misunderstood puppet leader. He even wants to quit, but his supporters won't let him for fear of the ensuing chaos. I don't believe it all, but Courage certainly lives up to his name to defend a known killer like Mugabe.

But back to the car. When you are stranded by the side the road, there is no creature on earth you'd rather have help you than an Afrikaans male. They are big and bulky in the style of a corn-fed Nebraska offensive lineman, except that Afrikaans just happen to play rugby instead of football. With necks thicker than the head above, these men are bred to move a rugby "scrum" and haul farm equipment about. They settled central South Africa by wagon in the 1840s; obviously, they can fix stuff with their hands.

Unfortunately this may also say something about the lack of size of the very head on top of the shoulders - these are the founders of aparteid and Africa's version of the KKK. Or maybe they are just like protectionalist farmers in the USA, afraid of "others" who might disturb their world. Afrikaans believe they are God's chosen people, and defend their culture as such. They are certainly not the only tribe in the world to make such a claim. But there is a racial component to their world view not unlike Southern farmers.

Enter our next character in the one act play entitled "Stranded": Hanny. Hanny will be playing the part of our saviour, in the form of a large, white Afrikaans auto mechanic. When asked if he could fix our car on a Saturday, Hanny responded "Well, yeah, sure, since the rugby match just ended I'm free.". Thank goodness the match was over, because priorities are priorities.

Hanny took obvious pleasure in fixing the car. This clearly was man verus machine, and it was his own personal challenge to get our car up and running again. He would not let the car beat him.

Within minutes of entering the shop, Hanny had diagnosed our problem, but he did not have the correct part to fix our problem. He did, however, have "A plan." Hanny took the old, broken part, ripped it in half, and proceeded to weld it together with the generic part that he did have in stock. A hybrid part was born. Seeing this man was a marvel: a blowtorch in one hand, melting iron in the other, and a cigarette in his mouth all the while. I am honestly not sure if he lit the blowtorch with his cigarette or vice versa. Eventually, after an hour of welding, he turned and said "Chris, you are free to leave."

As we left the shop, Courage remarked: "That is why you have to do what you love in life; you could see how proud he was of creating a new part and fixing the car."

Matthew-

African Odyssey: Report 7

"Robert, meet us down by the stadium and we may have good news for you." With that, I hopped on the park and ride bus towards Royal Bafokeng Starium in Rustenburg. The USA Ghana game was only 90 minutes away.

Robert had driven me, along with 7 or 8 friends, in his van, to three different USA games around the Johannesburg area. During the drives, I had bonded with Robert. We had hours to talk about what guys talk about on road trips - women, soccer, life. Also, the guy was an amazing driver- where others took 5 hours getting home from USA-England match, Robert got us home in around two hours by using back roads. Turns out he used to make deliveries for a company, and so he knows every back road in the area.

Due to his work, he had not been able to see a match at the World Cup. Naturally, I had an idea to make sure that he did see one. On the park and ride bus to the stadium, I quickly discussed my plan with Chris (my friend in Johannesburg) and we agreed to split the ticket price. I next found an extra ticket available - at a price of around $120. However, when we called Robert to tell him the plan, his first reaction was our safety: "Let me make sure that I can find a safe place to park the van and someone to watch your things." What a reaction- responsibility and restraint I would not have had. The ticket would have to wait.

Robert is from Soweto, an all black area about 10 miles outside of Joburg. Much like Africans in South Africa, Soweto has come a long way in the past 30 years. Begun as a distant all black labor camp for the Joburg mines, it now houses 3 million people in a variety of homes, from shanty shack to suburban mansion. There are now B&Bs, cafes, museums, and even the crown jewel of the World Cup, Soccer City Stadium.

When I asked Robert what he liked to do, he said "Invite some friend over to drink a few and watch soccer." Drink Jamison and watch on his 42 inch plasma tv, by the way. Sounds a lot like what I like to do back home. I was impressed - South Africa is doing pretty well if van drivers in Soweto have tvs like that and drink Jamison Irish whiskey. Robert also pays for his girlfriend of six years to go to University in Cape Town.

Eventually, Robert met us outside the stadium having parked the van securely. The first person Chris and I approached, we asked for a ticket, any ticket.
The response from Nick the Englishman, "Who is it for?"

We pointed to Robert, "Our driver - he's a great guy and we just want to get him in the stadium."

"Is he a nice guy?"

"He's great - that's why we want to get him in."

"Ok, I have one extra ticket and you can have it. For free. It was given to me yesterday, and the guy told me to make sure it went to a nice person."

We tried to insist on paying him something, bu he said he had paid nothing for the ticket and wanted nothing for it. And so it went. Robert got into the game, for free. I recon you could sit outside the stadium for 1000 world cup matches and never once be given a free ticket. Count me as a believer in kharma, and on this day we had good kharma.

-Matthew

African Odyssey: Report 6

"What's the best thing to eat here?" I asked the Indian man sitting at the head of the table. "Oh, you are not from here, are you? You must try the curry, the curry in Durban is famous." Of course it was - that was the whole reason we'd stopped at the random restaurant on the side of the road. We were following road trip rule #73: always stop at a crowded restaurant, even If you are not hungry.

The next thing we knew, I was sitting at table, with Joe Bird, talking to the nicest group of Indian South Africans known to man. They had invited us to sit with them, had ordered our food for us (the famous Durban Bunny Chow curry sandwich) and began asking us all sorts of questions about the USA.

The table of ten was one large family- Neville and his wife and three kids, aunts and uncles all from Durban, and his nephew Bradley and wife from Johannesburg. The family told us all sorts of stories - how their relatives came from India, along with thousands more Indians, to work in the Durban area around 1900 (including one Mohatma Ghandi) and what I was like being both Indian and South African. They didn't know any family back in India, but they did know generally where their family was from. Sounds a lot like my family coming to Texas from Germany.

As the night wore on, I realized how much I had in common with Bradley. He and his wife had been dating for five years and married for three, like me and Eileen. They had done long distance dating from Johannesburg to Durban, a five hour drive. Durban is even a lot like Houston - a hot coastal town with spicy food and humid summers. Bradley's wife is a career woman, and he had changed cities due to her burgoning career in joburg (much like me). In all, I had met my SA match, a soccer-loving 32 year old who loves to travel.

By the end of dinner, after not being allowed to pay, we were headed to Neville's flat. "Flat" being a nice way of saying luxury apartment in a great neighborhood with a view of the Indian ocean from the balcony hot tub. However, this was no Hilton family with luxury suites and no values. Neville had grown up, with his four brothers and sisters, the son of a priest. They all grew up in Phoenix, a notorious Indian township segregated under Apartheid, with a dirt floor and little to no possessions. Neville started his own clothing company, and the rest is history. Some of his less moivated brothers still live in Phoenix. None of this is lost on him and the family, however - they prayed before our meal at the Curry House, and in reference to his life, Neville was ever careful to give thanks to God.

By the end of the night, after coffee and much conversation, Joe and I left having made our first local friends. It is often posible to travel months and not be invited to a someone's home; this was a special night. We left promising to see each other again, with an open invitation to Texas for all.

When Eileen arrived on Thursday, I told her the story, and she instantly wanted to meet Bradley and his wife. So, last night we went to Bradley's house in Johannesburg for dinner with his parents and in-laws. Bradley promised us that his wife would make us curry so good, so spicy and hot, that "For the next day, you have to put the toilet paper in the refigerator!"ac

African Odyssey: Report 5 - The Dream Weekend

Sometimes, the planets align, the universe is calm, and the Milky Way stops rotating just long enough for everything to be just right.

In the next three days, the soccer gods have shined on me. This weekend will be my equivalent of soccer nirvana.

Step 1: Thanks to Joe "Bird" Freeman, who I had not seen since my days at Yale, I am in Durban, coastal south Africa, preparing for the Portugal vs. Brazil match this afternoon. Joe provided the ride, the hotel room, and the ticket to the game. So to Joe I say, obviously, a big "You Rule." All I had to do was help out with driving! And to Andy Slater, who cancelled on the WC 2010 trip and left Joe with an extra ticket, a big thank you, also!

Step 2: Tomorrow, at 6 am, Joe and I will wake up and drive north 8 hours, to rustenburg for the USA vs. Ghana match. For the 4 game tickets, my own purchase, I thank US Soccer.
Step 3: The cycle is complete on Sunday, when Chris Bradford and I head out to Bloemfontein, four hours from Joburg, for the England vs. Germany grudge match. Chris, I thank you for the ticket and the ride, this is going to a classic European match.

Three of the best soccer matches I'll ever see, all in three days. It's going to be exhausting, but wow, what can I say. WC 2010 is by far exceeding all expectations. At this point, I might as well stop going to soccer games because it'll all be downhill from here on out, the rest of my life.

One more time, let's hear it: Go USA!

African Odyssey: Report 4 - Adios, Papa

Today, my father Carroll will make his way home to Texas, so I send him home with best wishes and the attached photos.

We have had a great time here. We have traveled to the four corners of the nation, from zulu hut to cape town bay. And as two Texans, you know that wherever we go, when we leave, everyone who cares to listen knows we are from Texas. A nation, a state, and a state of mind.

Dad has been here to share lots of great conversation, experiences, and cultural exchanges. He takes the initiative to talk to literally everyone, and this really does give you a great insight into the psyche of the nation. From train engineer to school teacher, farmer to lawyer, Afrikaaner to English, rich to poor, we have heard from everyone. And in every situation, he ends the conversation with his million dollar question, "Are you optimistic about the future of South Africa?". We have gotten only one very negative response, and about 57 positive answers, which bodes well for everyone here.

So dad, I ask you, upon your return to the United States, are you optimistic about the future of South Africa?

Matthew-

African Odyssey: Report 3

June 23, 2010

As Gameday 3 arrive for the teams, the very real prospect of either win or go home sets in. The French, the North Koreans, and others have already experienced this bitter taste.

The South Africans, despite having little chance to move on in the tournament, shifted their focus from advancing to merely playing well and giving their nation something to be proud of. Their opponent, the French, did exactly the opposite. Thus, France returns on a long trip home with glum faces - as usual for the French, I suppose. The South Africans, on the other hand, are happy and content with their effort, the score, and the rest of the cup to come. Ahhh, the joy of perspective. This morning all of South Africa awoke to sign of "Well done, boys" and "A great ending!". Their team's fine display gave them something to cheer about, and this will keep the vuvuzelas blowing and the fans showing up for the remaining games, which only get better with time as the tournament progresses. Hooray! There is nothin woes than a disinterested host nation.
And so, the South Africans go about finding their new team to root for the remaining two weeks. Many are choosing Argentina for their attacking style so far in the tourney. Many choose Brazil, because they are Brazil (soccer's version of the Lakers or Yankees, except nobody hates them). Many Afrikaans choose the Ditch, given their Dutch heritage. Many English SAers will inevitably support England (despite their play, which has been anemic).

I will be pulling for the United States to become the adopted team of the people. After all, on soccer we are a good underdog. We have struggled to come back and get ties in our first two games. And today we can win the hearts of many a fan with a good effort. Many here are already cheering for us - I know because they tell me so.

Win, and we're through. Lose, and we're out. Tie, and all bets are off. Folks, the knockout rounds have officiallly begun for the USA. We are four wins from the World Cup finals. Frankly, if we can't beat Algeria, we don't deserve to move on past the group stage.

This is must see tv. And, look for the Texas flag, now hoisted on a pole, in the USA section.

That's me - I've got the only one!

Matthew-

African Odyssey: Report 2

June 18, 2010

World Cup Fever has officially hit South Africa. There is nothing you can say except that the World Cup is everywhere, and it hopes to unite the nation. As I arrived at OR Tambo Int'l Airport last Wednesday, I was greeted by a mariachi band, playing live in the airport lobby, as well as greeters, much like you see at Walmart. The entire airport, nee the whole nation, is dressed up nice with large welcome posters and the obligatory Coca Cola ads.

And if there is one thing that says South Africa 2010 like nothing else, it's the vuvuzela. As my taxi sped down the newly completed highway from the airport towards town, I was greeted by mobs of thousands, dressed up in various outfits and lining the roads, blowing their own horns. What an odd sight, people literally just standing on freeway overpasses, exit ramps, and street corners all dressed up and blowing the vuvu. Had they nothing better to do? Some, I suspect, did not. Only later did I come to learn that 12:00 noon, Wednesday June 9th was National Blow Your Horn To Support Bafana Bafana (the South African team) Day. So it wasn't all just for me...

The next morning, my first in South Africa, I was awakened by the sound of a vuvuzela at 5 in the morning. I kid you not. Believe the hype.

Further, the hopes of South Africa rest rather firmly on this event. For anyone who has seen the movie Invictus, the parallels are obvious. In 1995, just five years after the end of aparteid and one year after the first free and open elections, newly elected President Nelson Mandela got the nation behind the Rugby World Cup. South Africa won the tournament, and fears of civil war were quieted.

Now, in 2010, the Soccer World Cup seeks to do nothing less than unite the fractured nation and races to a new level. Fiveteen years after the end of white rule, the decendants of British, Dutch, and Africans almost uniformly seem to want to move on past race, and start worrying about the business of making all of South Africa a better place. Their may be deep seeded stereotypes or racism, but every South African you meet certainly says all the right things.

As one very nice White South African told us, "Just like they supported our rugby, we're going to support their soccer." He didn't mean it in a racist or negative way - in South Africa, rugby is a traditionally a white sport, and soccer a black sport. And if you are measuring progress in numbers, the SA Springboks rugby team, ranked first in the world, now regularly starts six black players, up from only one in 1995.

Another great benefit of being at the World Cup is that people from around the globe are here. The Dutch in their orange. Every bandwagon follower in Brazil's yellow. The English in their pale white.

One Mexican man, interviewed at the airport by MTV, was dressed in the traditional Mexican peasant garb of a pancho and sandals. He reported to the interviewer that he had sold all of his earthly possessions to fly to South Africa and watch his beloved TriColores team. He had no idea where he was staying or how to get into games, but if there is any justice in this world, he will be just fine.

Finally, at the USA vs England game in Rustenburg, I saw a new kind of fan. The American fan. Dressed as Rocky, draped in the American Flag from Rocky 3, where he fights the evil Soviet, Ivan Drago. In costume as American icons Abe Lincoln and Ben Franklin, not Britney Spears or Michael Jackson. Wearing a Davy Crockett coonskin cap. These are not soccer moms. They are a new breed of soccer fan from the USA. Patriotic as you can be, while supporting the world's game, soccer. And in numbers ten times more than at Germany in 2006. They make me proud. Proud to be an American, and proud to cheer for our nation.

So today i say: Go USA!

Matthew-