Centro para Consciensializacao em Manica

Relativism Revisited

My preconceived ideas about development and community needs have been challenged and even smashed often over the past seven years. Often what I anticipate to be of paramount importance turns out to be a non-issue and things I take for granted or view as minor, turn out to be really significant for the people of Manica. This adventure of discovery becomes fun if we let go of our egos and stubborn ideas.

My first example is that of cell phones: I have been frustrated saddened and angered on many occasions by my Manican friends being obsessed with cell phone brands, models and features. I tried to explain to them that if your cell phone costs the same as what you earn in three months you are over spending! I tried to tell one of my friends who was literally too shy to answer his phone in front of others that having a phone without a color screen is not the end of the world. Again, I explained that many of my friends in Johannesburg who earn (literally) 40 times what someone in Manica earns, often have very modest phones and that the phone does not make the man (or woman).

All in vain… nobody in Manica changed their view or obsession with funky phones and the only thing changing was my level of confusion and frustration. Enter epiphany! It is easy for me as a ‘rich’ westerner not to be obsessed with a cell phone, because I have a car, flat, degree, GPS, i-pod, TV, DVD player, refrigerator, washing machine, tumble dryer, 100 pieces of clothing, a bank balance, laptop, etc, etc, etc. to make me feel okay with who I am and what I have achieved. Furthermore, I grew up with all these things, and my familiarity with material possessions enabled me to ‘move beyond’ to so called ‘deeper’ things. I realised that persons who ‘have’ can never comment on or try to influence those that does not ‘have’ about their views and priorities pertaining to material possessions. So, I shifted my thinking and tried to understand; it became all too obvious and pretty logical. Without a radio, i-pod or sound system, a phone with mp3 player is the only way for many to enjoy music. Without a regular camera, a phone with simple camera becomes a wonderful way of capturing special moments and people. A large memory card turns a phone into a mobile office for those who will never have their own office facility. Pertaining to style, Mies Van Der Rohe’s ‘less is more’ is key and since they guys from Africa don’t have certain complexes, they are happy to adopt a small is better attitude when it comes to cell phones. Jokes aside, if you grow up with nothing, is it really so bad to want to be cool and sophisticated and show off your small, funky phone?

I saw a lot of hypocrisy in my demand that I wanted my African friends (unlike all my western friends) to be little Ghandi’s or Budha’s with a 100% spiritual being that has no affinity to things ‘worldly’. Wanting others to learn from ‘our’ mistakes is not noble, it’s arrogant- and it took a Nokia 6234 with Bluetooth and a 4gig memory card to teach me this lesson.

2010: Behind the glamour

Africa is waiting in anticipation to host the most spectacular of all sporting events: FIFA World Cup is coming to the football continent. A victory, not only for South Africa, but for thousands of kids and soccer fans in thousands of villages all over Southern Africa and the continent at large.

The beauty of the African continent and it’s love affair with football does not end off-course with glamour events in big stadia with tickets so pricy and scarce that only the wealthy and connected get access to the big events. No, kids have been kicking soccer balls around long before mention of 2010 and communities have been feeling, breathing and dreaming football for many years. And when the circus drives out of town, the love affair between the people of Africa and the soccer ball will continue. Dreaming of playing for the big team, laughing about someone’s ridiculous blunder or retelling proudly exactly just how that great goal was scored- this is the beat that pumps the soccer blood through the heart of the African continent.

So how do we make sense of this energy, this social capital and communal agent of homogeny in a globalised world that has seen colonialism, exploitation, modernization, development and capitalist democratic reform? How does the little kid kicking a ball made from an inflated condom covered with plastic bags and wool position himself as neighbour of the New Yorker, Londoner and Johannesburger?

It seems that there are individuals, organizations and institutions that honestly aim to address these issues and find answers rooted in reality; not in theory, not in class-rooms or fancy office towers, but at grass-root level. More and more people are trying to incorporate the hunger and passion of football with the real issues of need, poverty, education, health and justice.

An example of these efforts has been realising, of all places, in rural Mozambique. A country that has been torn apart by war, poverty and floods is taking the lead in making the statement that the unifying power of sport can be extended to social and economic concerns. In the town of Manica, in the Province of Manica the group “Desportivo” has been steadily rebuilding their club in the spirit of Barcelona’s slogan: “More than a club”. Desportivo strives to use sport as a tool that will enlarge the freedoms of people so that they might choose to live the kind of lives that they might have reason to value. The club has been teaching computer literacy for the past five years, with hundreds of graduates. They have a small English School, started a band that promotes indigenous music and addresses social issues like gender equality and HIV-AIDS. They have u/14, u/17, female, u/21 and Second Division soccer teams. Boys and Girls play basketball, they have rehabilitated the war-torn building and soccer pitch. They are restoring the neglected Portuguese style indoor sport complex to its former pride. The people of Manica, through this soccer club are on the move.

Projects of this nature and magnitude are obviously not an easy feat to accomplish and the historic landscape is scattered with many monuments of failure. But the resolve of the Manicans have been met with the interest and involvement of key partners and friends. Over the past five years the University of Johannesburg (UJ) has been involved and committed to the dream of Desportivo de Manica, providing computers, sports equipment, managerial assistance and even sending students and staff to present training seminars. UJ also paid and facilitated a tour to Johannesburg in 2007 which was an unforgettable and highly educational experience for 24 lucky Manican soccer players. In November 2007 UJ donated a further R 62 000 towards the building of the Desportivo training centre that houses an internet café, living quarters for 16 soccer players, an English Room and the Computer training facility. This building is to be the start and hub of a relational and organic SADC Research Centre.

The involvement of UJ seems like a shot of good luck, but the Manica story moves from luck to fairy tale with the entry of the London based Laureus Sport Foundation that has just announced a R180 000 grant for Desportivo de Manica! This is testimony that perseverance and self-belief does pay off. Hard work and determination can lead to success beyond that which seems possible. This is the kind of story that can give hope to all those other towns and communities fighting and struggling to raise the standard of living for their kids. As the Mozambicans say: A luta continua- the struggle continues…

“Just keep up the good fight and keep hoping and believing, because once you achieve some small wins, success will breed success” says UJ project manager Schalk van Heerden. And his words seems to ring true, as 2008 witnesses one of Mozambique’s top coaches, the 48 year-old Aleixo Fumo stepping down from First Division to join the Desportivo Manica project. Aleixo feels passionate that soccer should aid the education and character of young individuals and that is why he will now apply his trade in Manica. Aiming to take the newly promoted 2nd Division team to Mozambique’s First Division. “It’s about creating role-models” facilitating the rise of heroes, kids need heroes…” said a pensive Nelson Veremo, Executive Director of Desportivo. To this purpose of creating heroes, Chelsea FC, through Shaun Gore contributed greatly by donating their first team training kit and today the players in Manica are intimidating their opponents by sporting the jerseys of Drogba, Lampard and Essien!

Desportivo has seen the worst of times in its 20-year history. They have stared lack of resources, lack of hope and lack of help in the face. Yet they have persevered and are currently writing history, making a statement that should be noticed, and learned from. The people involved with Desportivo de Manica are committed and continually looking to expand their involvement and assistance. Through this program the University of Johannesburg has recently linked with the Dreamfields Project lead by John Perlman and through Manica UJ and Dreamfields is starting to explore innovative ways of how soccer can be used as a vehicle for social transformation and improving the lives for the children of South Africa, southern Africa and Africa. Projects like Desportivo Manica and Dreamfields seem to exhibit the true spirit of football and the true spirit of 2010. Both Dreamfields and Desportivo and UJ relies on individuals who each makes little contributions, sometimes insignificant contributions, but collectively these individuals forms the backbone of these miracles. And in helping they are discovering a new way of being and living in Africa: Ubunto beyond borders, beyond borders of race, class and countries. 2010- behind the glamour we wait to see the glory: the glory, not of a mere event, but of an African humanity.

On Writing

I don’t know about books, but real stories usually have humble beginnings and the first chapter is written long before the elements of the final chapter were even conceived or perceived. Chapter Six can simply not be written before or without Chapter Two. If that was to happen we would be dealing with a newspaper or notice board, but not with a story. Story, and the sense of story is something we are to hold dear, with reverence; for story telling is the telling of story living- the art of writing history.

The metaphor of story can be likened to the art and skill of construction; of building something. The past five years saw this ‘theologian’ or ‘developmentalist’ often involved in the specialised terrain of building and despite my lack of expertise I have found the same logic to be present when building a house, building a friendship or building a project. What strikes me most about building is the productive humility of patiently placing one thing upon another without excessive attempts to grasp grandeur and visions of the future. There can be no foundation laid before digging, there can be no bricks, before the building of the foundation, similarly there can be no roof without bricks, etc. etc. This is an order very similar to the writing of chapters- each chapter building upon the previous, one page following another.

We are at times fortunate enough to be a part of wonderful stories and wonderful constructions that would merit, even demand retelling. The beauty of large stories is that the story is bigger than any one, two or even ten actors! Being part of something that is bigger than us seems to be an old phrase with a contemporary relevance. Each decision we make and each act we perform writes a page of a certain story. Even if you don’t believe this, don’t care for stories, or view your life in isolation from others with no narratives attached- that then is still the story you write.

Why all this melancholic blabber about stories and buildings? The answer is simple: things are starting to go well with our Manica Program, potentially really well and as I see success and things spectacular fall into place I think back and dwell more and more on our humble beginnings. Beginnings that had little support, little hope for survival, never mind success. I sit for hours thinking back of this person giving this, that person giving that- small acts of kindness and faith, each laying the foundation for the next. Consequently we can recognise that momentum has a focal function in the growth of an initiative such as the Manica Program. Project Management text book does not off course care much for words like momentum, hope, belief, gratitude and fulfilment and that is why I subscribe to an Organic Model for Project Management: A model where a project (program) grows naturally, like a tree. Each branch grows out of another branch, splits up, multiplies and produces leaves and fruits. Each act of kindness and belief, becoming the branch for another part of the tree to take shape and at the end, the tree is larger than any individual branch or root ever anticipated. Growth can be slow, but it is organic and has integrity and credibility for the project grows with the people.

I wish I could sit here and list all the names and deeds that I can remember. I wish I had an exhaustive list of all the kindness, but the fear of forgetting anyone or omitting a crucial happening prevents me from even trying to start on such a list. The list goes way back and sometimes includes people and deeds that they don’t even consider to have been crucial, but it was and is. So this writing is actually a big thank you, a sincere statement of gratitude to each person who in some small way participates, through money, a smile, a compliment, advice, caring, a prayer, being interested, visiting, donating, working, etc. Thank you.

It’s an honour to be writing a story, writing a chapter of history with you.

VIDA REAL

I recently went up to Manica, Mozambique with a high school group from Johannesburg. Now taking teenagers to ‘the bush’ entails its own fair share of tales and stresses, but this little writing has the sole purpose to account and elaborate on my trip home. The Jo’burg team came back to Jo’burg on Saturday, but since I wanted to watch our team play soccer on Sunday I boldly planned and stated to let them leave and that I would take public transport back home. The goal: Manica to Jo’burg, via Zimbabwe. My travel buddy: Kuthlano Toko, alias Scotch. Firstly, lets describe my buddy: Scotch is a 19 year old South African, first year at university, short, cool, black (this will be shown to have importance later on in the story) and according to himself a cute little guy.

So, on Monday morning 11:00 we took a taxi (chapa) from Manica to the border. The taxi was a Toyota minibus and besides being a 16-seater we managed to seat 22 people without much fuss or frill. Things went well and 40 minutes later we were at the border. The border was crossed by foot without much difficulty. Getting into Zimbabwe (Zim) we looked for a taxi and applied the first rule of travel in Africa: Whatever the price, if you’re a foreigner and especially white, argue to pay 50% of the mentioned price and then you know that you are only mildly over charged. Our taxi driver told us that he will drop us at a place where we could find trucks traveling to South Africa, because there were no taxis or busses that day. And thus we were dropped, ZIM$ 1200 later, hitch hiking from Mutare to hopefully Beitbridge (Border) or at least Masvingo (halfway to the border). We stood, we waved, we turned our heads side ways, we clapped our hands, we waved our money, we pleaded, but no luck and no lift! At last a car showed up that was going to Masvingo, but we didn’t manage to out sprint the other 12 Zimbabweans and we lost the chance. Hence the adaptation of our strategy: I as whitey would target the rich more racist drivers, so I stood by myself away from the buzz. Scotch had to stay in the crowd and fight it out! At one staged I called Scotch and gave him some orientation: “Scotchie, this is Africa, you have to fight for it, dog eats dog, there’s been one car, we missed it, if another one comes by you need to get it.”

Enter ‘Da Boys’. After we stood hitch hiking for 4 hours, a Toyota Camry with tinted windows drove into the taxi rank where everyone was waiting. Everyone ran towards it, Scotch was in about fourth place, someone started getting in, and then little Scotch with an authoritative American accent shouted: “We’ve got the big bucks, I’m with the white guy” and to great annoyance of all the onlookers, including the poor chap that had to get out of the car, we squeezed in and off we went, towards Masvingo! First thing we noted was the driver who greeted us in friendly fashion holding a court (half liter) of Castle Lager. Next to him was sitting his Rasta buddy, on the back seat some Zimbabwean that kept explaining how lucky we were to get a lift and then Madala, the 80 year old Basotho that called Scotch and I his ‘home boys’! People traveling through Zimbabwe would have noticed the hundreds of Shibeens (little informal bar’s) all along the road. Well on this trip we got to understand their function. After every 20 kilometers we stopped, everyone got new beers, let out the old ones, and off we went again. Scotch and I participated in round one and six of the beer drinking, but our friends including the driver had at least 8 big ones each! That’s about 13 normal beers! The Rasta also had some other stuff to help him relax, but since the windows were open we at least didn’t get high from the ‘guidance in a bucket’. What made our trip with these fine gentlemen entertaining (that’s besides the beer and extremely loud music) was the coincidental fact that they were diamond smugglers and as chance would have it busy employing their trade. They had all the equipment and only bought the best ones the sellers had. And to the tourists; yes the people next to the road in Zimbabwe making a triangle with their hands, really do have and do sell diamonds. The old man uses his age well: with about 12 dealers around the car he ‘accidentally’ dropped a diamond of a young boy in the car and despite the kids protest our driver drove away unperturbed by the confusion and chaos of the group of teenagers seeking their fortunes with the little shiny stones. Now, the police in Zimbabwe knows well that people are currently selling stones, so we were stopped at 10 roadblocks, and searched for diamonds. Then I understood why our driver bought about 200 loose tomatoes and packets of beans which he threw in the boot (trunk) of the car. Needle in a haystack or should we say: diamond in a trunk full of tomatoes! Our driver didn’t have a license and the car didn’t have number (registration) plates, so at each stop the driver paid a friendly bribe and so we continued on, towards Masvingo. Half asleep I overheard the old man speaking to my friend Scotch who was explaining how it was easier traveling with a white guy because people seemed to trust lighter skinned individuals more easily and to this the old man bemoaned the state of affairs and with the shake of his head said: “Yes, as you know ‘a black man is always a suspect!’” Now the irony in this coming from an active criminal was quite humorous indeed. The criminal bemoaning the fact that his looked upon as suspect! Nevertheless, our new friends (suspects or not) even invited us to stay over for the night at their place, but somehow, for some funny reason we felt that we should rather push on with our journey towards South Africa.

After driving 300km in 5 hours we arrived in Masvingo, paid ZIM1600 and to our great surprise at 21:00 at night stopped right next to a half full bus ready to go to Beitbridge! We hopped on, occupied the back seat and were off to the border. 300 kilometers to the border (and civilization!). We calculated that we should be at the border around 01:00. At 03:30 the bus (or was it a fridge on wheels?) broke down the final time 5 kilometers from the border. Tired and bruised from the bumpy ride Scotch and I decided to go by foot and get outa Zimbabwe. After a freezing 400m we found a taxi parked next to the road and offered the driver the customary 50% of the asking price, which he accepted and he drove us to the border.

At the border all went well and we walked out of Zim onto the bridge. But for good times sake we were stopped once more by Zimbabwean police asking for our passports, which we gladly showed them. The one officer asked: “How far are you going?” and I replied: “South Africa”, which he didn’t think was funny. I couldn’t understand what it was to the bridge guard how far into my own country I wanted to travel, but after saying Jo’burg, he seemed please and gave over to his colleague. Now the next officer, after staring at Scotch’s (Kuthlano Toko) and my (Schalk van Heerden) passport photos, studied my face for about two minutes and went on to ask: “Which one of you is Toko?” We wanted to explode with laughter, but before I could manage a “the black guy” or some sarcastic remark, scotch stated the extremely obvious and declared: “I am, I am Toko” So that we guess made me the white guy- Van Heerden, and so we were off… South African side the first policeman to open Scotch’s passport started laughing and couldn’t stop saying: “Toko? Toko! Are you Toko? Are you traveling with the white guy Toko? White guy, are you traveling with Toko? Ha, ha, ha, ha.” at 03:00 in the morning…very funny… ha, ha, and so we got to South Africa. 600km to go to Jo'burg.

At the taxi rank we saw that there was absolutely no transport to Jo’burg and everyone was just lying there in the open, sleeping, waiting for the next day and hopefully transport. By now we were starving after our little voluntary fast (minus 2 beers) and we decided to walk to the Shell shop to get a bite. At the Shell we saw a huge luxury bus, engine running, written: Lusaka (Zambia) Jo’burg. We went to the driver, asked if the bus was full and paid the R150 each he demanded. We asked if there was a minute to buy food, to which he promptly replied: “No! We’re leaving.” Scotch said: “Wait, I need to get some bederfies (Afrikaans for treats) and off he ran. I was amused since I didn’t know non-Afrikaners knew the word bederfies and it made me think of my grandmother, biltong and cookies. My enthusiasm about the treats started to disappear when the bus wheels started rolling without any Scotch on the bus! But just then Scotch hopped on the bus cruised off and out came the bederfies… I nice carton of Maheu! Now, this is traditionally not something Afrikaners put their mouths on and definitely not to be called bederfies! Yet Scotch (Sotho speaking) thought he was in heaven and we both just smiled- enjoying the reality of being different people from different cultures doing life together. The bus was awesome: tv, soft seats, heater, curtains, high speed, everything.

After 7 hours we were home in Jo’burg CBD walking around like two confused yet proud little penguins dropped in a shopping mall. What a ride! We survived. Tired, alive, grateful, full. We walked around reflecting on how we ‘toured’ Africa and how different it would have been in our own comfortable air-conditioned 4x4 where there’s no need to interact or be dependent on any local African, whose country people like to visit.

I think I understand why people like to speak of life as a journey, and for us to speak of a journey as life- real life.

To make your tea and drink it

It was the little things that surprised me… Making a cup of tea and drinking it standing next to the kettle, or dishing food and eating it right there in the kitchen- simply because holding two crutches implies that you can not also carry a plate of food or a cup of tea to the room with the couch. These small restraints surprised me, because for me, the idea of having only one leg simply meant having a hard time walking. Thus it was a new experience to see how losing a leg implies losing your hands!

My friend with the one leg is Santos. He is 34 and lost his leg in a motor vehicle accident 12 years ago. I’ve known him for four years now and what I love about Santos is his positive outlook, humour and zeal for life. This year for the first time Santos asked me if I couldn’t try to help him get a artificial leg; and so the process started. Immediately we hit the wall: Santos would have to be in Johannesburg for three weeks and the leg would cost R15 000 ($2200), for us that was a huge sum of money and way beyond our reach. Nevertheless, Santos and I decided to go to Joburg by faith and hope that someone would feel moved to help us. We often joked and said that at least we don’t have to do a need analysis or survey, since when you meet Santos it is pretty obvious to see what he needs.

So, armed with hope and humor we took the leap of faith, risking disappointment and went to Joburg. I was really scared that Santos would be submerged into this culture of wealth and that no one would sacrifice a bit of their luxury (money) to enable my friend to walk. Yet the moment we stared talking to people their hearts opened up and we within three days we had the money to start making the leg.

Now three weeks later, we’re back in Manica, Santos is walking with his new leg and is amazed by his newly found freedom. The leg takes some getting used to, but Santos is resolved to stick through the pain until the leg becomes easy and natural to use. Santos oversees an orphanage with 250 kids every day- a job that appreciates the ability to use your hands while walking around!

Before the trip to South Africa I told Santos 20 times that we can go and try to get a leg, but it’s impossible to guarantee or promise anything. Yet, the expectations were naturally so high that as we were leaving Johannesburg for Manica, Santos looked at his leg and said: “Thank you for keeping your promise- I can now walk”. With the help and care of believing friends Santos can now make his tea, carry it to a comfy chair and drink it.

End

Desportivo renovations going inspiringly well… [see photos]

An excercise in the community buiding

The principle purpose of any object is community building. All things material are tools to build relationships. Be it the sharing of a sandwich, the buying of a gift, the opening of a door or the passing of a cup; we humans can use visible items to build invisible bonds. You say that one can not buy friendship, sure, but without paying and giving there can never be a real friendship. Sharing is the central tool to build friendships- we share our food, time and money. Is ‘building relationships through sharing’ the exclusive paradigm through which you look at all things material ? Or are you still trapped in the illusions of private property and individual wealth? – Matrix Moerkofi

The building of a community and the buiding of a physical structure does not merely have much in common, but can become mutually generative when combined in a spirit of what Freire called consciencialização.

What we are undertaking here in the town of Manica, Central Mozambique is certainly not new in terms of its intellectual grasp nor is it revolutionary in terms of originality. However, compared to the prevelant social dynamic “the experiment of trying to renovate a building and building a social club that is not profit driven” is an exciting and inspiring breeze that is starting to stir leaves that has not been stirred for a long time.

Long gone are the naive myths of African communal living. Today, being integrated into the global economy and mastered by the market, most people in rural Africa wearing their Beckam or Ossama shirts and Nike shoes view themselves as competitors for the scarce resources and rare opportunities that is needed to make it to the top. The communal myth has made place for a dog-eat-dog realism. The rich ‘Westerner’ and the poor ‘African’ share a common love-hate relationship with the material: the material world (or the need to posses) is a feared and aweful enemy that most people try to beat through a proccess of ameliorisation! In Manhattan the struggle might be for wealth and prestige, in Africa the struggle is for survival.

In this context, for a Manica resident to buy a bag of cement (225MTn) and give it freely for the renovation of a social or sport club, is unigue and counter cultural. Now once one mentions a term like counter cultural one invites ideas like Long’s ‘actor-oriented’ approach or Guevara’s social activism to be considered as relevant and practiced world-views. No longer are men and women doomed to be the products of their cultural environment like a programmed computer, but people becom agents of change through reflection and shared experiment. Yesterday six people each gave one bag of cement. Their motives probably differed, but what is starting to stir is a vibration fueled by the idea of being part of a success story, the idea of being part of something fun and worthwhile- contributing and being valued for your contribution. Needless to say that for these cement donors the bags of cement corresponds to a very significant portion of their monthy income.

Thus her in our town we stand at the beginning of a new era: the comeback of ‘Grupo Desportivo de Manica’. We need to build a wall, replace the roof, redo the ceiling, tile the floors, renovate the toilets, get thing operational, manage the football team, empower entrepreneurs and contruct sound administrative structures. What drives it is the idea that many members of the society is willing to act in a way that is diametrically opposed to the status quo of individualistic self-gain that as a reality and concet has spread of our globe from London and new York to Manica and Machipanda.

We stand at this crossroad, in anticipation- not of where we will go, but in anticipation to see who will join us! I’ts a matter of freedom, an invitation to freedom.

Is there a place for money in rural football?

In this article I am reflecting as an affluent Westerner on the realities faced by poor rural African communities regarding sport, specifically football (soccer). My main argument is that poor communities deserve money to be invested in their sport activities. And so immediately our affluent friends are quick to skeptically ask “Why waste money on sport, while people are dying of hunger or while people are illiterate?” Off course all these things are important; yet poor countries need education, health, roads, entrepreneurship, etc. and all the various aspects of a healthy society needs to be addressed simultaneously. We can never say: “let’s fix all the roads then we’ll start with the clinics” or “first let us sort out health then we’ll start with education”! Recreation in the form of Sport is not a luxury guarded for a certain time or level of civilization. Even historically it has proven to be a part of most societies, much like culture and religion. No matter how one tries to justify or discredit the phenomena, one can never argue against the prevailing popularity of sport in normative societal life.

Culture and Sport is an integral part of the very fabric of a society. That is why we all during our schooling years had to (and liked to) participate in cultural or sport activities, as part of our education. Schools put a lot of time, energy and money into sport. Partly because kids and people in general love playing sport and partly because great sports teams create unity and pride. Yet this idea of sport as important enough to justify fiscal allocations is not limited to kids at school: our governments have ministers and departments of Sport- spending millions of Dollars. Why? Is it not irrational for Third World countries to ‘waste’ money on sport? Should all African countries not stop playing soccer and use their time and money for literacy and health? Should the national soccer teams not stop playing and rather help with building roads or teaching children economics and accounting?

Sounds absurd and is. Sport can never and should never be measured in monetary terms. Winning the World Cup or African Cup of Nations has a larger impact than that reflected in the budgets of the various sports bodies and player salaries. Mohamed Ali or the Brazilian Soccer team entails a lot more than the salary of an athlete or team. They are examples of sport that gives units of humanity to millions of people. That is why Manchester is not known for its natural beauty or effective municipality. That is why the skills of Zidane and Beckam are watched by millions. Likewise a football clash between Pirates and Chiefs or Angola and Portugal are never only between the players on the pitch!

Admittedly professional sport and especially football is made possible by corporate sponsors, but that is not the drive of the game. The logo on the chest of a player is a companies attempt at transforming an emotional currency into a financial one. Our love for Sport and heroes are so great that companies will pay millions to associate their product with the overpaid metro-sexual men running after a ball on a piece of grass. And there is nothing wrong with that. What I would like to advocate or ask is whether it is only affluent societies that have the right to having heroes?

In a community that is impoverished and where 95% of the population does not have televisions, the local soccer games perform an integral function in the construction of a community. In a poor community time is also money and many great players can’t play soccer because they have a family to try and support, thus, no money for food and no time for training. The hero is trapped in a cycle of desperation and need. Who would go and kick a ball when his sister or child has nothing to eat? In affluent societies playing is easy. Everyone has shoes, shorts, socks and even transport to get to the games. In rural African villages there are literally situations where the best player in the District cannot play due to not having soccer boots. We easily overlook and take for granted our own excitement and hero-making as we sit at huge stadiums or sit glued to our flat screen television sets… yet for countless suffering people, people that might need it more than we do, there is neither time nor opportunity to be simply human and enjoy life as we like to do. A man or a woman is so much more than their salary or ‘market worth’ and in democratic societies we simply cannot allow the market to be the only judge of what is fair, we cannot allow the market to decide who is deserving an we cannot allow the market to determine who gets to play. We are human agents with the potential and responsibility to act, not like machines, not like primates, but as humans. Realizing that there are those that are not as lucky as we are and that we can actually reach out and support them is an instance of such humanity.

The whole idea and spirit of sport necessitates an outward look and inclusive stance. If that means giving money so our hidden brothers and sisters can join in the fun, so be it. Especially if we consider that for the price of one ticket at one of the big games we can pay the monthly salary of a player somewhere in the bush so he can play and feed his family and become a star- even for just a few years in his remote district- somewhere in the bush…

No Butts…

Chapter one: Around my house in Manica live many kids that have been growing up in front of my eyes over the past five years. The great majority of them lives in absolute poverty and come from broken and harmful homes. Naturally then that as an informal part of our program we care and guide many of these kids. Like Zambito: both his parents are alcoholics and pretty violent. Zambito found some refuge and pride by completing our computer course. His fees were paid by a Johannesburg teenager that saw ‘Zambo’s’ potential when visiting Manica. Today Zambito (13) teaches other kids. One day I met Zambito and his dad on the street, the father being totally drunk said: “If you want to buy him you can take him, no problem.” I am still stunned by that sentence, one of the cruelest scenes I have witnessed in my life. Then, recently I was away from Manica for more than a month and upon my return I heard that Zambito was kicked out of school because he didn’t attend classes. Apparently, he wasn’t allowed to leave his home, because his parents gave him house tasks or duties to perform. To my great surprise, two days after my return to Manica Zambito’s mother shows up and blames me for causing Zambito to be kicked out of school because he is always playing with me instead of going to school. Poining out to her that I wasn’t even on the continent during the events leading up to and during the kick out, didn’t seem to ease her temper. Helping a kid and getting blamed by the parents isn’t really what I’ll call a positive or motivational incentive to keep it up! For those who saw the soccer World Cup finals- It’s kind of like a Zinedene Zidane head-butt on the chest, stopping you dead in your tracks…

Chapter two: Across the street from me live two brothers: Paizinho (13) and Alilo (10). Their mom died a long time ago and two years ago their dad simply disappeared. I saw and confirmed that they live alone in a large house with no water, electricity or windows. They were both kicked out of school, for not having money to pay. They survived by eating green mango’s of other peoples trees. Orphans. We started helping them: getting them back into school, buying them uniforms and shoes, giving them food to eat every day, checking homework, teaching them good manners and discipline. The result was amazing, a turnaround in personality and character that everyone could observe. Previously parents prohibited their kids from playing with these two, now they encourage them! Yet, there are still plenty of hardships and tears. They recently started asking me for my flashlight on a regular basis, always having a new excuse for what they have to look for or what they want to check. Then I realized that after they had been robbed they were simply scared to go into the dark house by themselves… now a friend of mine bought them each a little headlamp.

Chapter three: Last week, out of the blue Paizinho and Alilo’s father returned. Zambito told me they were crying, fearing that all the help and love will cease. I anticipated another Zidane world-cup final head-butt, perhaps accusing me of stealing his children or undermining his parental authority. So, when I got on my bike to leave my house at 7pm and I saw the tall strong figure of the dad approaching me I felt tired and dejected even before a word was said. He came up to me, stood before me and with an intense and serious face said he wants to speak to me- now. I felt the chest pain in anticipation of the blow… and then he started: First, he explained why he was away for two years. Then, he said that for the first time in his life, upon his return, the kids greeted him with respect. He said for the first time he didn’t have to nag them to help with tasks around the house. He said that for the first time they are at school, doing homework and being home on time. He said that his kids have changed and became decent young men. I waited for the but, that normally follows such positive sentences. You tried well, but… But, there were no ‘buts’. The father then started to thank me out of his heart, begging me not to stop the help. He was going to stay for two weeks then go again. So, he kept on thanking me and asking me that we should continue doing what we’re doing. I told him that I’m just a kid myself and that I know I’m not their dad, but that I will do the little things I can. He then said that if you give someone a little thing like 10 Meticais (50 US cents) with love it is received as if it is a million Meticais. The big man, a non-church going war veteran, then with uncharacteristic emotion said: “You showed, no you became God for my children, you brought God into their lives.”

Five years is 1825 days, which is a long time. After five years of living in Mozambique this was the first thank you I ever received from a Mozambican…

GET IT?

As with so many of the truths or secrets I’ve discovered, my most recent realisation came through a glimpse of my own shortcomings. I was reflecting on giving and the attitude with which I give. If someone gives you something , but later on reminds you of their gift and perhaps even how it cost them something, the good deed is transformed from a gift to a loan. This gift-loan metamorphosis is in no way limited to money. Mostly it is a transaction that involves time spent, hospitality or favours. How often do friendly invitations for a meal turn into coupons to be redeemed later, on demand for reciprocity?

I’m a great believer that we should not live for ourselves, hence I try to help or serve others as much as I can. Fortunately, I cannot claim to be an altruistic saint or selfless servant, because my motivations often reveal to be misplaced. The moment I conclude some service, help or sacrifice with a feeling of “is this even being appreciated?” I know that I’m not centred in the right place. The moment I feel the game is not fair, because I’m getting less than I give, I know that I am missing the crux; I know that my view of reality is malformed. A deed of self denial or service at some personal cost cannot be an act of investment in our own happiness.

Any act which places another person’s needs above our own needs to be miracle. How does that happen? Simply stated, I think it means that any act for the other needs to originate from authentic gratitude, appreciation and thankfulness. The familiar image of a fountain overflowing seems much more fitting than that of a banker, helpfully giving a loan. Sometimes, if our giving and sharing is not grounded in this attitude of grace and free-love we expect our return soon: “I won’t pay this lunch, I paid for us yesterday.” At other times our demand for return on personal investment only creeps out of the closet after months or years: “How many holidays have we invited you over to our mountain cabin and you never…”

I often wonder how many of the gifts (time, smiles, money, invitations) I receive are truly given freely, at no cost, with no expectation? I also often wonder how many of the gifts (time, smiles, money, invitations) I give, I give freely?

If I ever feel cheated or unappreciated after I’ve done something good, it is an unfortunate indicator that my act was not a gift, but a loan. Loans can be material or emotional, whichever the case, something is expected in return at some point in time. When this happens, we know that we were not giving, we were lending. Often church tithes are loans, perhaps to be repaid by God! At times a Christmas gift to a friend is a little loan and when we don’t get any gift from the receiver, we somehow feel cheated! Or perhaps, in the absence of a ‘thank you’ we get angry, revealing that we were not doing or giving freely.

A true giver gives gifts with no expectations; no need for recognition, thanks, reward or appreciation. To attain this state of humanity, we, I, need to be aware and grateful for the many, many things I have and that I have received. Then the giving can become, instead of loans expecting “thank-you’s”, our own “thank You” for the lives and life we have received. Giving becomes a deed that does not seek thanks and recognition, but gives it. Hence, we don’t speak of lending loans, but of giving gifts.

The other four letter word

Tafadzwa Mputa is an engineer from Zimbabwe in his late twenties. I met him here in Manica Mozambique while he was managing the building of a hospital. Bearing in mind the absolute crisis of the Zimbabwean economy, people like Tafadzwa had to work real hard when they got a chance of foreign employment; and he did. Working from seven to seven and studying from five every morning before work, Tafadzwa (Tuff) proved over the years that he’s not only a smart and great guy, but also dedicated and committed. With the Zimbabwean situation worsening even further, we were all delighted when Tuff was offered an employment opportunity in England! Getting out of Zimbabwe and into the UK is really difficult and Tuff was one of a few that managed to ‘save’ his career.

With excitement I told the Tafadzwa news to Short, one of my best friends in Mozambique, to which he plainly replied: “Yeah, he is very lucky.” And with those words we were sparked into a fiery debate that lasted months! Why? Because I took offence that he called a disciplined, honest, smart and hard working guy lucky. Why I hated the word luck was amplified by the fact that in Africa, white people are generally considered and called lucky. We are the ‘lucky ones’, as I’ve been told a thousand times. No matter how hard I worked or studied or tried to do good; I was simply seen as one of the lucky ones…

And so are you, just by being able to read this writing and having internet access. Running the risk of annoying you as Short annoyed me, I still want to inform you that we, that you, are lucky. It took me two years of really struggling with the idea before I accepted that the fact that I am lucky. I was born lucky. And so were you.

Luck: not a very academic or spiritual word. I’ve never heard a sermon preached on luck and I’ve read even fewer academic papers dealing with the complex little issue called luck. Yet, it is a word that enters our world with great frequency. For the more snobbish among us luck can be translated to ‘privilege’. My problem however with the word ‘privilege’ is that it sounds smarter, it has a more deserving ring to it, and is treated in more dignified privacy than the cheap and public word: Luck. So, if you were born in a hospital, into a middle-class family, if you had health care, if you went to a decent school, had a tv, had parents who earned money, if you grew up in a house that didn’t leak, if you had more than two sets of clothing, if you had books to read, nutritious food to eat, etc., you can safely be considered and labelled lucky.

You are lucky to the extent of being able (having the capacity) to be a success, or to be wealthy. Bearing in mind the lucky start to your life, success and wealth is not much of an achievement- you actually have to screw up not to be one of the smart rats reaching the top quarter of the ladder. And as we know, we normally dedicate our eighty years on planet earth to attain these material comforts and symbols, just to affirm, in case someone missed it, that we are the lucky ones!

To understand luck-theory one need to first dismiss a common erroneous belief: that in life, you get what you deserve. This mantra is a joke, a falsehood and a myth! We get taught this myth to try and motivate us towards excellence and good behaviour. Yet, it remains a myth and facing up to the myth is one of the major milestones on our road towards maturity. Let me state this clearly: Most people do not get what they deserve; as simple as that. If you were born into a family without starvation, illiteracy and violence, while other babies are born into such situations, it has nothing to do with merit. It does have everything to do with luck. Theologians like to say that we live in a fallen world, which basically mean tat many, if not most, people are unlucky. Yet these theologians hate the word luck or the phrase bad luck with such a passion and antagonism that the word is less spoken in church than all those other four-letter words. Luck and God is seldom mentioned in the same sentence. Yet we live, as the central theological coping mechanism holds, in this ‘fallen’ (unlucky) world.

How one responds to bad luck or ‘ill fortune’ can be a matter of faith, integrity, character, perseverance or application, but regarding causality different fortunes for different babies boils down to luck. If you resist the secularity of the term luck feel free to call it God’s Providence or Divine Will. However, I don’t want to be the one explaining to a kid why God chose a life of suffering for her while other kids her age plays PS2, eats three meals a day, has 20 pairs of clothing, goes on vacations, drives to school in a car, sleeps on a mattress,  etc. etc. etc. How we respond to our own bad luck or ill fortunes is up to us and generally we try to respond in a positive way. We know many examples of people fighting their bad luck in quite inspirational ways. Much harder though than responding to bad luck is the question of how we are to respond to good luck?

We already dealt with the myth that people get what they deserve. No baby deserves to be born with HIV-AIDS for example. A second myth we need to expose is that the matter of our good or bad luck is a private, individualistic matter. It is not and thorough reflection on the idea of luck should bring most rational moral people to a simple little equation: L=R, Luck = Responsibility. We can put a rubber band on our left wrist saying LUCK and a band on our right wrist saying RESPONSIBILITY, which ever colour, but these two, like left and right goes together. Let’s take a rather simplistic example: You are sitting with four friends watching sport on the television, when another friend arrives with two bags of potato chips. She hands it to you since you are the host. What do you do? You get a bowl and you share it with the group of friends. No discussion, no charging, no conditions, you simply share what you have just received. Why? Because generally we do share our good luck with a few people lucky enough to be close to us, those we love. Even the most selfish people I know takes their spouses out for smart expensive dinners, goes on expensive vacations and buys expensive gifts for kids, family or other lucky friends. Yet the thesis of my equation doesn’t hold that luck=selective generosity, it holds that luck equals responsibility. That is responsibility, firstly towards those with the worst luck- those neighbours that society hides from us, out of our suburbs, out of our churches, out of our malls and out of our country.

Once you look a fellow human being who has been less lucky than you in the eye and you realise simply that you are luckier, it becomes easy to distribute your luck to those who were born in the trap of poverty. The trap of extreme poverty can withhold all lifelines of luck, even withholding people or circumstances that could lead to a lucky break. For millions of people luck, a change in fortune is as unlikely as a trip to the moon is for you and me. Seeing a little kid without parents growing up without being able to go to school makes it easy to recognise and reinvest our luck. We, the lucky ones had (from infancy) open hands to receive innumerable privileges. What kind of person would close those very hands and live an individualistic life spending his or her luck without considering the unlucky ones? Hands that were open to receive should be open to give, open to give outside the little circle of lucky ones, drawing the circle of luck wider to include more people. Does this not in some way sound like ‘good news’? The recipients of our good luck sharing seem to think so.

But all of this starts with you standing in front of your bathroom mirror, pausing and realising that you are plain and simply lucky.