In the eyes of Inequality

December 6, 2012

Today I finally understand inequality. A hockey bag stuffed to bursting with football gear; 60+ jerseys, 20+ pairs of shorts, 2 balls and a pair of cleats for one of the coaches rested precariously on my shoulders. It had just rained and the slick red earth gave way to a bloody slip n’ slide as I navigated the steep slopes down to the Officer’s Mess football pitch. Into the middle of the field I trudged and plunked the bag down. I stamped the encrusted mud from my Adidas and went about sorting the sizes. I quickly realized that we were not going to have enough gear for everyone to walk away with a jersey. Even the coach doesn’t know his numbers, because up until this year (at my behest) there had not been a formal registration of the players so there is no way of knowing how many you are catering to on a regular basis, nevermind the day you’re giving out football gear.

I asked the coach to translate for me, to make sure even the little ones understood what I was saying and I firstly apologized for not having enough to give to everyone. This was the hardest part. There was no way around this without knowing each players size and shape, exact numbers and needs. After explaining to them that these kits are not coming from me, they are coming from our community at home and people who care about their dreams I explained that these kits need to be kept in a way that displays their love for their game and their pride in the academy. I explained that they would all be wearing new kits for their games and that these jerseys were for those who didn’t have anything to wear on the pitch except their street gear. They seemed to understand but it was obvious that some of them knew that today would not be their lucky day.

We started with the players who barely had anything, shorts with holes, bare feet and tattered T-shirts. From these the most beautiful smiles tore through the tough outer shell and made an appearance as they put on their new-to-them jerseys in a whole array of colors. Next were the little ones, 6, 7, 8 and 9 year olds and again smiles split their faces apart as they raced off in a new piece of pride, but we still didn’t have enough to clothe all of them. The next groups were harder, we only had a few mid-sized jerseys and they vary so much in size between the age of 10 and 13, but even then the ones who were blessed with shirts that fit and were chosen had secret smiles that could be seen as they turned and laughed with their friends. Still some smiles were muted as we had to turn some away when the well ran dry. It was like giving out gifts at Christmas to expectant faces knowing full-well that not all kids will receive a smile from us this holiday season.

We then had to turn them loose to the field so that they could train and we called in the senior team (the cubs) to receive some of what we had collected for them. Next time I will focus solely on cleats and balls because I have realized that it is the playing conditions that remove opportunities for the players here. Nevertheless we had adult jerseys to give away which brought me to another realization, we are BIIIIG people. Many of the jerseys we had didn’t fit a single player on the team.

We had more jerseys for adults than for kids and so each player in attendance received a jersey that fit them. They squabbled over who got what, complained if they didn’t like it, or wanted something different, we even had a random guy walk up and stand in the ranks and take a jersey that I handed out, something the coach quickly put a stop to. Alas I had not been present at enough senior team practices to know and I was ashamed that I didn’t know them all by sight. 250 players is not an easy number to keep track of and I had to credit the coach with how he manages with the 400+ players he works with every year.

Once they were all back to training I decided to break out my medical kit and do some work with the wounded. The kids in the academy bleed football and you have to pull them kicking and screaming from their boots to stop them from injuring themselves further.

Today I treated Isma, who was missing the entirety of his toenail and yet still had his feet crammed into his size-too-small boots to play.

Razim had a wound from his too-small boots which he removed the inserts from so that they fit. The metal nails holding the base of the shoe to the leather boot had ripped a hole in his foot. His foot was filthy, his wound filled with dirt and mud. His Flip Flops offered little protection as he hobbled around the pitch to watch his friends play.

Junior was probably the most serious injury of all, I had watched him for a couple of days and he had been struggling with his left leg. When I asked him about it before he simply shrugged it off. Today I pinned him down and examined him. He has a minor injury to his LCL and possibly a small meniscus tear, I told him he needed to ice it and be gentle on it for the next couple weeks, he shrugged while he stared longingly at his comrades playing barely 15 feet away. All I could do was offer caution and tell him to ice, even when I told the coach he simply shrugged. This is Africa I guess, but it broke my heart to know that at home we would have taken him to the hospital to get an x-ray, his doctor would line up an MRI 6 months later and he would be in physio until that time and all of this would be paid for. Here that is not the case and going to a clinic or hospital can be expensive and even hospitals are segregated by income and the holes in Juniors’ jersey tell me he wouldn’t be going to the high-end hospital. As strange as it might sound I had to let it slide, realize my place in this world, within this pecking order and simply send him excitedly hobbling back to his muse, his passionate love.

Today I understand inequality. Today I feel understand what it means to be blessed. Today I feel ashamed, but at least I understand. I have hands that work, eyes that are open and a voice to share.
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Thank you, the kids love the chance to play and sometimes it’s all they have!

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