Imagine loosing all the Red Sox players. No more Rocket, Pena,Vaughn, Fletcher, Greenwell, nothing. All gone. All at once. The buddingCharlotte Hornets, pride of North Carolina. Larry Johnson, Alonzo Mourningprimed, ready for the playoffs. Beating Boston, then gone. All in the blinkof an eye.
On April 27th, 1993, a military plane carrying 30 passengerscrashed into the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Gabon. John Starkshead-butting of Reggie Miller during the Knick-Pacer series received moremedia attention. The crash killed 18 of Zambia's top football (soccer)players as well as the hopes and dreams of 8 million people. The tragedy canbe likened to the Peruvian plane crash that eventually became a movie. Thedifference is, no one survived. In Africa, death is viewed with reverance, soyou can be sure there will be no movies.
Most of the players came from humble beginnings. As kids theywalked the streets seeking papers to wrap up and make into balls. They playedfootball barefoot late into the night. Their play was a means of ignoringthe growling in their empty bellies. This scenario epitomizes the beginningsof many "third world" players. From dust fields to plush greens, reaching theWorld Cup is the dream of every competitive soccer player. Our dust field,barefooted players were taking us to the World Cup, we had little doubt. In acountry where the average man spends his time figuring out how to get hisnext meal, there is little that can equal the loss. To fully comprehend this,one must understand that football is the main form of recreation in Zambia.It is the avenue with which the daily rigors of basic survival are forgotten.All political, social and economic differences are put on hold. The countryunites. Brothers and sisters with one goal, "cheer the boys".
Yes Africa has problems. People are starving in Ethiopia and Somalia,brothers and sisters constantly dodge bullets in South Africa, dictators,uneducated leaders, corrupt governments, large scale poverty, disease andother grave problems too numerous to mention. Africa also has manyquestions. Is the West perpetuating our plight? Are we being taught tablemanners and not how to grow and cook food? Has there been a systematicplan to target us for destruction? How much more of this forked tongue, doublestandard super power alliance garbage is necessary before Africa can get realhelp? We recognized all the questions but, like a cult, were oblivious tothem as we watched our team progress along the ladder towards the World Cup.
We were oblivious to discussions of reparations for descendants ofslaves, social and economic impacts of the slave trade, western influence inAfrican politics, the prosecution of those that assassinated Patrice Lumumbaand conditional aid. All we could see was the inevitable berth in oneof the World Cup groups. We didn't have illusions of grandeur. We would notwin but at least we would be there. As the dust from our drought ridden landrose around us, we ignored the little fingers of our children prodding us,innocent eyes begging for sustenance. Like avid baseball fans during thepenchant race we were glued to the television, beer in hand. We answered allquestions without once taking our eyes off the screen. Afterall we didn't wantto miss the "Bwalya pass" that set-up the goal. Similar to basketball fansnot wanting to miss a second of Micheal Jordans 54 point performance, weignored our wives. Our love-lives suffered. We put aside our hunger. We hadour football and we could taste the World Cup.
The Zambian team following became a cult. Born of a need to ventfrustration, our cult believed that the team could conquer all. We couldsee the promised land. The team, young and vivacious, led us on. The cultgained fevour after an exemplary performance in the Seoul, Korea Olympics.The highlight of which was, beating Italy 4-0. Yes, this was our triumph."Our boys" had beaten the hunger, colonialism, apartheid, illiteracy,violence, disease and neo-colonialism, if but for a moment. We cheered themon. They were representing us. Each deft move, each goal was a personalvictory for each Zambian. In their triumphs each of us won a personal battle.Our cult leaders led us in the pursuit of a little gold cup that would bringwith it an unimaginable national achievement. But alas, the ugly hand of fatereached out.
Two generations of players were lost. Godfrey "Ucar" Chitalu, coach,once the most feared and revered striker on the African continent died in thecrash. He in the 70's, was what Abedi Pele', Nii Lamptey, Charles Musonda andKalusha Bwalya aspire to be. Usually double marked by opposing teams, he wasdifficult to contain. As a player, he had led the national team to thefinals of the 1974 Africa Cup of Nations competition. It was the countrieshope that his leadership and that of Alex Chola (the first Zambianprofessional player) would lead us all the way. We lost these men and more,all in the span of seconds.
Our dreams were lost in those few seconds that it took to extinguish30 lives. Never in our history had there been a tragedy of this magnitude. Italso could not have come at a more inopportune time. A state funeral, a weekof national mourning with the burial of the players, officials and crew atLusaka's Independence stadium closed the chapter on Zambia's greatesttragedy. But our dilemma is just beginning. We can't pull out of the cup.This would not be fair on the nation, our fallen heroes or the players thatare still competing.The rebuilding process has begun with the new teamplaying a few local matches. We have also received great support from Denmarkand England. Denmark offered an all expenses paid training session England, aprofessional trainer. Even with all this help, many of us do not feel asdeeply about the new team. We find it hard to have similar expectations ofthem. So excuse us if our attention; to our qualifying for the World Cup; iswaivering.
We are now more cognizant of our children prodding us. Their facesare coming into focus. The grumble in our bellies is becoming prominent. We canhear the voices of our wives as they shout " you never listen to me". We haveno excuse to buy beer instead of food. Our televisions are off and we mustnow pay attention to what the kids are doing in school.
We want to blame someone for the crash? Who do we blame? God? Whatrestitution will we find as we now turn to face our daily nemesis survival?Will the two month grace period requested by President Chiluba of Zambia forthe rebuilding of the team bring with it a respite from our daily torment?Will this rebuilding translate into a more focused national agenda? Does theWest plan on standing by as Africa is ravaged by all imaginable forms ofproblems? We do not expect handouts but just like there was an inherentlystrong show of force in the Gulf (protecting oil); we expect similar muscleflexing to the cascade of problems that plague Africa. We shall continue topoint fingers until those responsible for creating and perpetuating ourproblems make a concerted effort to help or, the grumbling in our belliesbecomes less noticeable.
As if adding insult to injury, FIFA denied our request to postponethe first games until September. We would not get a chance to breath. Storieshave begun flying around our country about the condition of the aircraft. Wehear it was faulty, was not pressurized and had numerous mechanical failures init's history. If this is the case then "our boys" should not have been on thatplane. The government has set-up a trust fund for the families of the playersand yet what they really should be doing is paying out of their coffers.Afterall, it was a government plane and with the capitalist ideas thathave become inherent in our system, families may just up and sue for allit's worth. "Hey, that's what I would do". But then again, this is unheard of.
We grieve because our dreams have died and all that is left to us isanger, hunger, despair and the rantings and erratic behaviour of uneducatedpoliticians.
Written By,Soneka K. Kamuhuza.
14 Jul 1993
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