The World Cup and Unsportsmanlike Conduct

I love sports. I love playing them, watching them, and following them. Of the many hardships of life in Burkina, I'd rank my inability to watch and follow sports in the top 10, with lack of running water and electricity ranking above and lack of peanut butter ranking below. While the Lakers have had a couple abysmal seasons while I've been gone, UCLA football has grown from a struggling program to a regional powerhouse and the LA Kings recently completed an unbelievable playoff run to win the Stanley Cup. Nothing quite makes me miss home like pictures of my brother and his wife at a Kings game, one of my best friends with the Stanley Cup, or my UCLA friends at a football game.

While I suffer from an obsession with all sports, soccer used to be close to baseball in the “I'd rather just see highlights if I can't go to a game” section of the list. However, living in Africa has forced me to come to terms with the fact that soccer is the world's most popular sport. It is the only sport that can be consistently followed on TV here (if you have electricity and a satellite dish) and it's the only sport that people care about. Portraits of famous soccer players such as Ronaldo and Drogba are painted on bars and bush taxis throughout Burkina. Cheap soccer jerseys make up a significant percentage of Burkinabe menswear and can be purchased at markets in even the most isolated villages. When the national team plays, the entire country shuts down and tunes in.

Soccer's popularity in the developing world makes a lot of sense. It requires a minimal amount of equipment (a ball of some sort and a pair of feet), the rules are fairly simple (don't touch the ball with your hands), and it can be played anywhere there is a field. A ball can be as simple as a wad of plastic bags held together by twine. A goal can be as simple as a couple of sticks stuck in the ground. A field can be as simple as a broad expanse of dirt. And in a village with 100's of kids, there are always enough players.

Being deprived of playing and watching other sports has made me a soccer fan, at least for now. Thus, I was extremely excited for the World Cup to start. Finally I would have consistent competitive sports to stimulate my mind. My daily schedule became highly influenced by the times of the soccer games, most of which were in the afternoon and night. I was able to watch the first couple days of matches in Ouaga, most notably Brazil's win over Croatia and the Netherlands' destruction of Spain. My daily demeanor improved noticeably and I became highly motivated to finish my work before the matches. I couldn't help but smile every time I sat down, drank a beer, and watched a game. The World Cup was a welcome reminder of how important sports are to my emotional happiness.

Competitive sports tend to bring out the best and worst in people, and spectators are no exception to the rule. While I suspected that Burkinabe would not be the best crowd to watch competitive sports with, I had no idea what I was in for. I first realized how bad things could get during the USA vs. Ghana game. At the time, I was working at a girls camp in a fellow volunteer's village with 3-4 other friends. We were extremely excited to be able to watch the match with other Americans, especially because half of us weren't going to be able to watch the second USA match. So we giddily headed down to the bar early to get front row seats and drink some sports spectating beverages (beer).

Girls Camp in Moussoudougou

Taught kids tug of war.  Challenged kids to tug of war.  Lost.

Teaching kids soccer skillz

To provide some context, Burkina Faso didn't qualify for the World Cup after they split a series of international friendly matches with Algeria and came up on the wrong end of a goal differential. However, Africans like to think of themselves as all on the same “team,” at least when they aren't playing each other. A win by one African country is a win for the entire continent. Thus, even though Burkinabe were cursing Ghana throughout the Africa Cup of Nations last year, they suddenly became diehard Ghana fans when the World Cup rolled around. And diehard Cote d'Ivoire fans. And diehard Cameroon fans. You get the picture.

Back at the USA vs. Ghana game, the Burkinabe at the bar seemed to find our rendition of the Star Spangled Banner amusing, but we had made the fatal mistake of exposing how much we actually cared about the game. Tension was high as the game started, and within 3 minutes the US miraculously scored a goal, resulting in many high fives, cheers, and applause from the Americans in attendance, but cold hard looks from most Burkinabe. As the game progressed, we ignored snide remarks of “it's right” and “it's good” every time the US messed up (which was a lot), content to be ahead on the scoreboard. That all changed once Ghana scored their first goal. The Burkinabe erupted in wild yells, cheers, and applause. The Burkinabe directly behind Hallie and I leaned forward and began yelling in our ears niceties such as “IT'S GOOD!” “IT'S RIGHT!” and “THIS IS AFRICA!” The Burkinabe in front of us turned around and began yelling similar things in our faces.

Hallie and I cheering on the US.  Before Burkinabe started yelling in our faces.

Cheering for a goal is one thing, but yelling in someone's face crosses a line of sports fan etiquette, and general sportsmanship, that Burkinabe are apparently unaware of. It seemed like a gift from a higher power when the US scored again later in the game. We cheered and high fived once again, much to the dismay of the 30 Burkinabe present. Their disparaging comments to the US grew more common, and began to stray from the subject of soccer to Americans in general. Any foul against Ghana “wasn't fair” and any foul against the US “was right.” The game finally ended. We all breathed a sigh of relief because we knew if Ghana had scored again we all would have chosen a loud mouthed Burkinabe to punch in the face.

Once I returned to village, I was only able to watch matches if I biked 5km to the adjacent village with electricity. When I watched games in the adjacent village, however, I had to be back before dark, as the bike across the ravine between villages is dangerous at night. Fortunately, I'm good friends with the man who runs the yogurt shop in the adjacent village and he owns a TV with a satellite. He also happens to be a huge soccer fan, so I knew that he'd be watching every single game. Those matches were some of the most enjoyable of the entire tournament. The yogurt man is an incredibly nice guy. We'd often have friendly arguments the merits of one team against another, just like I like to do with my friends in the states. The crowd watching the games was also very calm, and often included kids I play soccer with in my village. It was cool to see that the kids cared enough to make the trek over to this village.

One of my favorite memories of this period was the Netherlands vs. Mexico match. In discussions before the match, the yogurt man and I had agreed that Netherlands was the favorite. During the first half, however, Mexico scored first. There was a larger crowd than usual watching the game, and they quickly became Mexico fans as the momentum shifted. One of the men got cocky and jokingly offered the yogurt man a wager on the match. The yogurt man responded that he'd make a 500 CFA bet with anyone who thought Mexico was going to win. After his friend talked some reason into him, he lowered the wager to 200 CFA, which five of the “Mexico fans” were all to happy to agree to. Later in the game, the Netherlands equalized. On a questionable penalty call, the Netherlands scored again and ended up winning the game. The yogurt man was overjoyed, gave me multiple high fives, and collected his money from the complaining men. After things died down, the yogurt man shook my hand and said “Thank you,” to which I replied “I wouldn't have made that bet.” We had a good laugh.

Watching the match on the yogurt man's 12"

A week later, I was working another camp with volunteers in Niangoloko (60km south of Banfora) and was once again able to watch a USA match with other Americans. After somehow managing to advance out of the “group of death,” we were playing Belgium in the Round of 16. We found a bar that had a small TV, cold beer, and outdoor seating: the perfect combination. As there was no one else at the bar besides us, we quickly became comfortable, happily cheered on the USA, and worked to create a match-related drinking game to keep things interesting. 30 minutes into the game, our America fan utopia was disrupted by a group of Burkinabe men who rode past on motorcycles, circled back to see what was going on, and decided to sit behind us and watch the game.

I tried to keep an open mind, reasoning that because it wasn't an African team playing against the US, Burkinabe would have no reason to be disrespectful. Once again, however, we made the fatal mistake of showing national pride and open support for the USA. The Burkinabe capitalized on our mistake and immediately became rowdy, fanatical supporters of Belgium. The disparaging comments came in rapid fire, and after several attempts to get them to stop, we were seething. At one point, we all stood up and blocked the TV, if for no other reason than to get the Burkinabe to complain about something else and stop talking shit. I found it difficult to stand in solidarity, however, as I was resigned to the depressing conclusion that they just wanted to piss us off and we were escalating things. The game went into extra time, Belgium scored, and the Burkinabe went crazy, yelling “IT'S FINISHED!” and “IT'S RIGHT!”

America didn't win the match and that was disappointing. But I was more depressed that Burkinabe had tried so hard to bring us down when all we wanted to do was watch a soccer game and cheer for our country. It was a rare opportunity for us to escape the isolation of Peace Corps service and feel a connection with Americans at home. Those Burkinabe brought us back to reality, communicating through their actions and words that we were not home. We were foreigners: a source of entertainment. When we care passionately about something, it's funny. When we get mad, it's a joke. There was not a shred of empathy or thought paid to how they would react if we acted the same way when Burkina Faso played a match against a team we cared nothing about.

Happily cheering on the US. Before the Burkinabe men showed up. 

A week and a half later, I was back in village and looking forward to watching the semifinal matches. On this particular night, Brazil was to play Germany in what will be remembered as the most embarrassing semifinal match in World Cup history. I got to the village bar early to get a good seat. As it was already nighttime, I couldn't recognize all of the people who showed up to watch the game, but I sat with a couple of my friends from village soccer, so I was content. The bar filled about with around 40 men. Many were arguing about which team was going to win, who was going to score the first goal, and whether or not Neymar was essential to the Brazilian team.

As the match started, the criticism of various players, teams, and referees commenced. Most Burkinabe men consider themselves experts in soccer coaching and theory, and do their best to display this knowledge during the game. For example, the director of the primary school advanced the argument that Germany was fast by repeating it every time they had the ball. After about 20 min, Germany scored their first goal, and the Burkinabe erupted in cheers. While there were still a few Brazil fans who didn't convert to Germany fans on the spot, by the time Germany scored their next goal 2 minutes later, the entire bar had been rooting for Germany all along.

Things started to get ridiculous when Germany scored yet again. Burkinabe jumped up and started dancing. The school director continued to advance his argument that Germany was fast by yelling it directly into my ear. At this point, it was extremely obvious that the match was going to be a blowout, and that the Burkinabe were going to enjoy every second of it. The sports channel began to show footage of distraught Brazil fans, some of them crying. The Burkinabe pointed and laughed at the fans, going crazy with amusement when they showed a female fan crying. The channel showed footage of Brazil's bench, most of the players with their heads hung low. Burkinabe pointed and laughed at their disappointment and humiliation. At halftime the score was 4-0. I had to get out of that mob. I wasn't a Brazil fan, but I couldn't sit through another 45 minutes of people laughing at the disappointment, and humiliation of others.

My experiences with Burkinabe during the World Cup reminded me of the observations I've made while playing and working with soccer in village. As much as soccer has the power to bring people together, imparting the value of teamwork and accomplishment, it often exposes the darker aspects of human nature in the context of village life. Because soccer balls are such a scarce commodity in village, the competition to play is fierce. Groups that are disadvantaged in Burkina society at large, such as women and young children, consistently get excluded from soccer. Age and size make all the difference in the competition to play. Older kids take balls away from younger kids, tell them that they're terrible, and sometimes even hit them until they flee. In the de facto child anarchy of Burkinabe village life, there is often no adult supervision and even if there is, a mentality of “let kids be kids” prevails. Kids aren't taught to share. They aren't taught to empathize or to apologize. The loudest, strongest kid gets his way, unless someone older intervenes. As the kids grow older, they are expected to take on more work and responsibility, eventually leaving soccer to younger ones. They retain the value of competition, but they often fail to adopt the values that make organized sports special, such as teamwork and sportsmanship.

During the World Cup, I was having bad experiences with a segment of the Burkinabe male population that can only be described as “bullies.” These were the strong kids that took the soccer ball from younger, weaker kids. These were the kids that laughed at others when they messed up. These were the kids that yelled “GOAL” until everyone gave up trying to argue that it wasn't. And depressingly enough, there are a lot of these types of kids in my village.  These are the kids that grow up to chastise and belittle women, reinforcing gender inequality in a society that desperately needs to modernize.  These are the kids that grow up and beat their kids, justifying physical punishment on the basis of what was done to them.

I've come to the realization that empathy is a skill that is taught, not something inherent to human nature. Throughout my upbringing, I was consistently taught to make an effort to understand the opinions and feelings of others. Burkinabe simply aren't encouraged to do the same, creating an environment that encourages bullying. If no higher authority is going to intervene and tell you to ask nicely or think about how your actions make others feel, most kids will just take what they want when they can. As hard as it is to accept that people can lack the ability to empathize, it explains a lot of the frustrating experiences I've had with Burkinabe.

The enormous influence of upbringing on one's personality and values has only become more apparent to me during my experience in Burkina. When another person has no idea where you come from, has never met your family, or haven't talked to you about your past, they really don't know you. I haven't been to the village that every Burkinabe comes from and met their family, although I am familiar with the general context of the upbringing of most Burkinabe. But I don't make predetermined judgments of Burkinabe based on it. That is why I find it incredibly frustrating to be judged by people who haven't the slightest idea where I come from or even an inkling of the general context of my upbringing.

In short, the world would be a better place without bullies. I'm glad I got to experience the World Cup in a country that actually cares about soccer. I love my family. I love my friends. I love where I come from. I love sports. And I'm still on the fence about soccer.