CAF African Cup January 2010

CAF Coupe africaine de football - The famous Malawi “pafupi”. It’s not far.

There was a time in Malawi when the only football we saw was the local secondary school and sometimes a side in town against the corporate teams. There was football on the radio, but since it was in excited ChiChewa, it was hard for me to follow. Now Malawians in the town and rural areas follow their teams with avid dedication. Everyone has a favourite team in the British premier league. During the Confederation Cup last June and July, I was dragooned by the village youth to drive them into kasungu every second night to follow the play.
I arrived in Malawi on Friday, January 8 and the first game of the CAF was Sunday night between the host Angola and Mali. By pure luck I was lodged at the Korean Garden Lodge and had access to a satellite feed on the tv in my room. I had wanted to go to a local pub to take in the game, because football is always more fun in a social atmosphere, but I had already been to Blantyre and back over the previous 2 days and I was still suffering from jet lag.
It was supposed to be no contest and Angola quickly took a 4 point lead, but the plucky Mali side held strong and in the last 20 minutes or less made a spectacular comeback and scored 4 points to finish the game with a draw. We knew then that there would be some upsets. These teams were in the same group as Malawi and Algeria and if Mali could take on the strong Angolan team, perhaps there was some hope for Malawi.
Malawi had not been to the CAF for 25 years. In fact, their coach, Kinnah Phiri had been a player in that long ago appearance. He has rebuilt the Flames and the team has had considerable success against some of the African powerhouse teams beating DRC in October 2008 and Egypt 1-0 this past year. Their first game was to be Monday, 11 January and I had some small hope that if I arrived at Makupo early enough in the day, I would be able to go into Kasungu to take in the game.
Unfortunately, a number of inconveniences kept me in Lilongwe till early afternoon and I arrived late in the day at the village after the game had already started. I had written off the trip to town to see the game. Since this was my first visit to the village since the death of Nellie’s mom, all the elders were present to console me upon my arrival. I was installed in the front room of my house as all the elders passed through and we said “Pepani” to each other.” It means, sorry in the sense of condolences. The chief had even come from his homestead to be there to greet me. We arranged for the elders from our group village headman to come early the next morning so we could go pay our respects at the graveside. I noted that there were no young men present in the greeting committee. They were all watching the game somewhere.
After an appropriate time, my brother-in-law, Frazer, took me on a walk around the village to see the changes and talk. We had no sooner set out than my cell phone rang. It was Chimwemwe from Montreal where he was watching the game with his wife, perhaps one of the few places in the world where a Malawian and Algerian were sitting side by side at such a moment. He was in an elevated state of excitement, “Dad, are you watching the game?” Malawi was leading against Algeria 2-0 at the half-time. He was incredulous that I was missing the game.
Frazer and I caucused for 3 nano-seconds and went back to the main house to collect Mr Kupera (80 years), Mr Chikapa (73) and the chief (65 to 69?) and a car full of elders headed into Kasungu to find the first television we could stumble across to watch at least the last few minutes of such a historic game. We managed to see the last goal that made the final score 3-0 and watched a skilful and talented Malawi side hold the ferocious Algerians off with ease until the final whistle sounded the end. Needless to say the celebrations across Malawi were wild and ecstatic.
Malawi hopes were up to make a big splash in the rest of the games of the first round and even move on to the quarter finals. The next game on Thursday night I was supposed to be in Nkhata Bay with Davie Chimango arranging our kayaking trip up the northern shore of Lake Malawi, the following week. The game was at 8 and the Mayoka Village lodge was a 2 kilometre walk over a mountain goat path from the television in town. Davie and I made it there, paid our kwacha 40 entry fee and settled into a sizeable hall with about 250 other people to watch Malawi play Angola.
It was so hot, I struggled to stay awake. The Angolans were ready. They had already faced a tremendous humiliation against the upstart Mali and they were not going to let Malawi get past them. The Malawi side just couldn’t get the spark back that had set them aflame against Algeria and they went down to defeat. There was no jubilation, that night.
I was due to be in Karonga when Malawi played its final game of the first round against Mali. The hopes were high that we could prove a match against them and still move to the next round. I spent a couple of days interviewing my old comrade Kaphote Mwakasungura and getting to know the elite of Karonga. Sophera Mwafulirwa was my host at the Club Marina and he reserved a chair for me in front of his bar’s tv so we could watch the game together. Despite a valiant effort, the Malians were too tough for Malawi and hopes of moving on to the next round ended.
After that I did not pay much attention to the quarter finals. Back in Kasungu, there was a free evening when I went with the elders again to watch Zambia play Tunisia to a 1-1 draw, but thereafter I was on the water and far from television or any other electronic communications. I was kayaking with Guy Quinn, Monica Giacomin and Marvin Biemans and we had reached Ruarwe about 4 days up the coast from Nkahata Bay. We had settled into a beautiful and isolated lodge, Zulunkhuni Falls. Our guides were a group of 3 young bucks and the lodge employee Dampson wanted to go to Khondowe, the next community up the lake to see the final gold medal game between Ghana and Egypt.

The famous Malawi “pafupi”. It’s not far.

It was only a half hour paddle and the game started at 6:00 p.m. We only managed to get off at 5:45 and rounded the point. The boat was much like a Newfoundland dory with a high bow and a low flat back. Beside the 4 Malawian guides, there were 3 Aussies, a French nature guide, as well as Guy, Monica and myself. Two guides at the back paddled with the traditional dugout paddles, 2 tourists rotated paddling at the centre and the indomitable Dampson sat high on the bow and paddled and ruddered at the same time.
We were making decent time as we saw the first cracks of lightning, but by our count of the time for the thunder to arrive it was 5 to 6 kilometres away, so we weren’t worried. We still weren’t worried as the wind picked up and the lightning was still 3 kilometers away, but then it was upon is with a fury that was amazing for the speed it came upon us as well the contrast to the tranquility of the lake we had set out upon. The lightning was so close and the thunder powerfully loud. The rain was antediluvian and was pushed so hard by the wind that it inflicted pain when it hit the face. The gentle swells turned to nasty whitecaps and we were stuck without much choice but to carry on.
We had cut across the mouth of the bay instead of hugging the coast so we were out in the big lake with no cover and facing the wrath of a full tropical storm. Dampson, at the front, began to fatigue under the double duty of paddling and ruddering, so the guys decided to turn the boat around and proceed stern first.
The famous pafupi turned out to be around yet another point of land. There was no light visible on shore. Our hope was that this would be the classical tropical squall and pass as fast as it arrived. It wasn’t soon enough, but it did pass and with me bailing and the crew paddling we bumped up on shore. It was more than an hour of paddling away – pafupi indeed.
We were a bedraggled soaking wet lot, but without missing a beat, Dampson, did the mountain goat thing in total darkness to a house a couple of hundred metres up the hillside where we stumbled into a room packed full with fans watching the half-time commentaries. The reception was crystal clear, but there wasn’t enough room inside for the arrival of 11 new people, so they moved the set outside to a sort of backyard amphitheatre, and we paid our 60 kwacha entry fee. Needless to say the move screwed up the technology and there was no picture when they tried to star up the set. There was a certain amount of grumbling and we felt that people were annoyed because enjoyment of the game had been disturbed by the arrival of the all the azunga, the white guys. Fifteen minutes later the French guy went up and did a diagnostic and had the game up and running to great cheers and our reputation as fans of integrity was restored.
We got in the last 20 or so minutes of the game. Ghana was playing brilliantly and looked to have the game under control, but Egypt’s forwards got a fortunate break and made a decisive goal. It was quickly over thereafter, but we still had an hour or more of paddling to get back to Ruarwe and the Zulunkhuni Lodge, made somewhat longer by being against a stiff headwind and all of us in wet clothes.
Despite being on a stretch of remote coastline in northern Malawi with no road access, the house in Khondowe was equipped with solar panels, battery packs, inverters, a 30 inch television, and a satellite dish. I am sure that the owners watch other programmes, but it was clear from the house full of people and the outdoor amphitheatre, that people were willing to pay to watch quality football. We were not alone on our way back, so others had shared our own adventure to get to the game. Even though Malawi was out of the play, it was of national importance to see the game and people are willing to pay the price to be part of it even in a vicarious way.