I can honestly say that I never thought my life would include things like sitting in a stadium with twenty-five thousand other fans, watching a World Cup qualifying match and cheering frantically for Les Ecureuils. Fortunately, I was wrong.Yesterday, I got to watch Benin triumph over Ghana 1-0 in the last minute of extra time. I paid five thousand Cefa (about ten USD) to sit in a white plastic garden chair, surrounded by Beninoise people dressed in various shades of yellow, green and red. Not to be outdone, HoJ and I donned our jerseys and blended in with the crowd. (Well, more accurately, he blended. I stuck out like a sore thumb. As usual.)
The atmosphere was like nothing I've ever experienced. The fans were almost universally well-behaved, perhaps in part due to the presence of at least half of the Benin police force carrying tear gas guns. (Maybe not half, but during a quick count at one point, I saw a hundred and twenty uniformed officers around the stadium.) An entire section was fenced off and housed the Ghana supporters; I don't think they ever stopped jumping up and down during the entire ninety minutes. Our section, however was not to be outdone.
You know how, when you watch a sports game on TV, you kind of know when something awesome is happening because you can hear the noise of the crowd start to swell? I'm pretty sure this was happening at the Benin-Ghana game, too, but that's going to be purely a guess. You see, we ended up sitting directly (and when I say directly, I mean I think I got hit in the head with a drum once) in front of the West African equivalent of a marching band. Really it was nothing more than a bunch of guys with rusty, dented trumpets and a trombone. The percussion section consisted of a few African drums (obviously painted yellow, green and red) and some metal shaker things, similarly coloured. The less important members of the group just got two pieces of wood to smack together, and thus the band was born. I am not even exaggerating when I tell you that they stopped playing for all of about two minutes during half time. The rest of the time, from warm-ups until the final whistle, was one long celebration. The drums were ear-splittingly loud, and I heard a few worship songs thrown in there among the more traditional Allez les Ecureuils fight song.
And when Benin slipped the ball in off the post with about thirty seconds left in extra time? I have never heard a more joyful celebration in all my life. We drove home, our taxi driver winding his way through back alleys lined with throngs of people who just wanted to be in on the action. Every time they saw our yellow jerseys through the windows they screamed and cheered, and by the time we got back to the ship, I felt like I was the one who had scored that goal.It was just what the doctor ordered after a tough week.
(All photos are courtesy of my good friend Murray.)
