Game Over

I have never felt as much excitement and disappointment watching football as I did on Tuesday.

Even though Ghana lost to Brazil (3-0), there was still partying in the streets. Ghanaians were celebrating that the Black Stars had made it as far as they did in their first World Cup--and further than any other African team. And losing isn't so bad when it's to a powerhouse like Brazil.

I was hoping that Ghana would get at least one goal---to appease all those Ghanaians that were predicting--or maybe it was hoping--"we score Bra-zil." The Black Stars made many attempts, but no ball would go in the net. It was a frustrating, painful game. They put up a good fight and played much better than the score indicates.

It wasn't all happiness afterwards though. One guy on the street told us to go back to our home countries as we passed by. The girl at the internet place across from our house said that all the whites should go home because Brazil had won. At Circle, a man came out of nowhere and started throwing water sachets at Olivier, shouting and cursing at him once the game had ended. Others tried to intervene and stop him, but Olivier said he'd already been drenched.

At first I was confused, thinking about how the Brazilians share more heritage with Africans than they do with 'whites.' Then I realized it was about the Slovak ref, who was blamed by many Ghanaians for making bad calls (and some did seem bad). The Daily Graphic said as much on its cover and on the back page reported that the ref had tried to get a Brazilian player's jersey after the game--demonstrating his bias. The negative reactions from some Ghanaians on the streets were based on their belief that the ref was racist, not just biased. I couldn't help but think they were the ones being racist though.

Fortunately, these incidences seem to have been pretty isolated and exceptional. We got many smiles and calls of 'my Ghana sisters!' as we walked down the packed street. One group of marching/dancing fans even had a rag-tag brass band with them. My favorite sight was of the makeshift video cameras and pretend reporters: they'd fashion a mock camera out of a hunk of wood, complete with a cord, and another would hold a water bottle up to passerbys as a microphone. Another used a plastic petrol jug labeled "TV" as his camera.

Four years from now I hope I'm in another World Cup qualifying country to see how the hope and pride compare to what I saw this month. But even if I am, if Ghana's in the game, they've won my support!

Ghana All the Way

From an email just sent out by a Ghanaian coworker:

"This is what a newspaper headline read in London this morning in a story that was talking about the chances of the English team at the world cup:

"WE'RE GHANA MAKE IT"

Note the use of 'GHANA' for the word 'GONNA'.

This just goes to show that the team has sent shockwaves around the world causing even the Queen and her people to mention Ghana in every conversation."

Yesterday's Chronicle newspaper had a huge headline that read: "Ghana Goes Gay." Oliver said they used the same bad word choice in a headline about the solar eclipse earlier this year! Gotta love alliteration...

"Brazil Up to Dirty Tricks"

From the front page in today's Daily Graphic, Ghana's major newspaper:

"Brazil may resort to weaken Ghana's Black Stars before the kick-off with Ghana by unleashing beautiful Brazilian women sex workers around the Stars' camp at night.

According to a German journalist, the Brazilians are adopting this tactic so that the Ghanaian players will be exhausted before the match kicks off at 3:00 pm tomorrow.

Indeed, true to suspicion, the Wurzburng camp of the team was on Saturday, invaded deep into the night by girls and women of all hues, each of whome tried to catch the attention of the players."

More Fire!

The government offices, foreign embassies, and international development agencies all closed at noon yesterday. The whole nation was at a standstill for 2 hours, but that doesn’t mean that it was quiet!

Ghana beat the US in the Black Stars’ third World Cup match, advancing into the next round with 15 other teams.

My office set up a TV projector, hung balloons and both a US and Ghanaian flag, although every American there was rooting for Ghana. After the game, people poured into the streets and my neighborhood was party central, with honking traffic crawling because the roads were full with groups of people marching about, waving flags, grinning, and cheering. As I walked down the street in my green Ghana t-shirt over two hours after the game had ended, the level of enthusiasm was amazing. Americans never would have taken to the streets in celebration in this way and I love Ghana for this vibrancy and soul. They would shout out to ask me if I was a Ghanaian and I would respond with a little victory dance to appease them. The spirit and pride are still palpable today.

Next up: the formidable Brazil on Tuesday. The Ghanaians are confident and they want it, badly.

It’s a daytime game, so time to close up shop again!

What I Am

The stewardess made me dislike her. She, with her done-up hair and tightened tan but wrinkled face, put me in a situation that required it.

"There’s a gentleman who is nearly 2 meters who was hoping one of you might be willing to trade seats with him," she dared to say.

Immediately I flashed to G and all his leg, squished up in a window seat on a trans-Atlantic flight and I knew what I should do. All the tall people I’ve ever known came to mind in a flash. But this giant remained nameless, faceless-and what’s 2 meters anyway?

I’d gotten to the airport hours early and had been rewarded with an exit row seat--earned it, really. And it’s not like I had that much room, I reasoned. There was the bulkhead--part of the plane’s door--that stuck out in front of me so that I actually had less room than in a normal seat unless I put my legs out at an angle, all the while careful not to encroach on my neighbor’s space too much. He wouldn’t have wanted my seat anyway, I told myself.

The stewardess' response--that it was my seat, my decision--could have let me off the hook, but it didn't. The Dutch woman next to me hadn’t give up her seat and I wonder if it haunted her like it did me. I felt that tried and true American feeling of guilt. I was disappointed in myself, but also unwilling to sacrifice my own comfort.

In less than 30 seconds I had new insights into what Kind Of Person I am and I wasn’t satisfied. I had only one thing to do: blame the person responsible--the stewardess, of course.

Putt-putt

I lost terribly at miniature golf tonight and was the only one not to get a hole in one! : (

First time in 1.5 years my brother, sister and I have all been together and Tyler took the opportunity to show us his new animal-taming techniques (last photo by Katrina--she made me come back and edit this to give her credit!).

Memorial Day Weekend

Good friends
Good food
Swedish lawn games!!! (Kubb)
Attempts to name a dog (Sputnik, Nelson, Cooper, Uturn, Gustav)
Actually naming 59 ewes and 49 ram lambs, all with some variation of "Jeanne/Gene" (as in Generic, Jeanielocks, Female Hyjeanne)
No bonfire, but an evening enjoying the ocean front breeze