“We need more paper,” Sango said as he balled paper around small rocks.
“Here!” yelled Sipho.
Making a soccer ball takes a lot of work. Finding the paper and rocks is easy. Compacting the paper around the rocks is hard and especially in the hands of a ten and a five year old. When a ball shape is formed, it is rolled tightly in saran wrap so it will not unfurl while being kicked.
“It's done,” announced Sango.
The boys had never been to the stadium in Cape Town, but lived in sight of Table Mountain. They had watched several of the World Cup games on TV but had never seen the game live. Life in a township does not often allow for such luxuries.
The game was dusty. Dirt kicked up by the players hung in the hot air and slowly drifted downwards. A car marked one goal, a pile of rocks the other. You don’t need anything official to play in a township.
The players converged near one goal. They turned into a frenzy of arms and legs trying to chase after the ball.
Goal.
Score one for the home team. A goal for Sango.
The game restarted in the center. The saran wrap had a few tears in it but the ball was holding together.
The away team came back with a vengeance. The ball batted back and forth, then flew and slipped passed the goalie.
It was a tied game.
Sango called a timeout.
“We need to win,” he pleaded, “this is our home. We can’t lose to them.”
The game resumed. The ball, now even more tattered, was starting to lose the protective saran wrap. The game wasn’t played by the amount of time on the field, but on how long the ball lasted.
It didn’t look good for the home team. With every kick the paper started losing shape. Sipho rushed the ball towards the goal. Blocked by a defender, he passed to Sango. He kicked the tattered ball hard, it flew past the goal line and exploded on the car.
The game was won. High on their victory the boys paraded around the neighborhood singing and shouting. In a township soccer is not just a game, it is a staple of life.
