Africa Cup of Nations - 2004
(a very biased account of)
Moral | Chance | Home |
20.00hrs Still waiting for the bottom to drop. Waiting for the staff of Total to jump out from behind the couches and yell, "Fooled Ya!" But more than that, I'm worried about the fact that I'm going to miss almost 10 episodes of Neighbours, 2 of Felicity, 2 of Charmed and 2 of 7th Heaven. Bother!
At the airport, we all gather together to get a group photo, happily wearing our Total T-shirts etc. (OK, I don't have that photo, but I'll instead use one I took during the match of Kenya vs Burkina Faso.)
| So the bunch Total has sponsored includes (from left) | |
| Ngawana* | Total Dealer. Runs a service station in Narok. Married, 2 kids and posseses the dryest sense of humour. Delicously sarcastic. Life lesson learnt from him: He had this one expression he liked "What is Diouf* in my mother-tongue?" (*This word can be replaced with any suitable noun/verb/adjective e.g. project deadline, Nzomo, national debt... etc.) Simply works out to mean, if there's no equivalent of the word in mother-tongue, then it simply doesn't count. |
| Dad* | Winner of the Total Kenya Support Harambee Stars competition. Over - protective, over-bearing, exhaustingly extroverted, never listens... best father in the entire world. |
| (Little kid who helped us cheer. Awesome drummer.) | |
| Anyona* | Works in finance department of Total Kenya. Knows everything about football. Know's each of the H. Stars down to their shoe sizes and names of their pets. Of the entire group, I sincerely believe that he's the only one who truly deserved to be in Tunisia. |
| Mustafa (the guy who took us around Tunisia. Severly indebted to him.) | |
| Hiten* | Total Dealer. Runs a service station in Parklands. Vegetarian and a even less punctual than I am. (Yes Ken, tis possible.) Clued us in to the problems vegeterians face while travelling. For all vegans out there, note: 1. Inform the airline when booking your ticket so that they have dishes for you. 2. When ordering salads, remember to warn chefs that no, eggs and fish are not vegeterian. 3. Be prepared to be doomed to a holiday of eating only salads. COoked and raw. |
| Charles* | Total Dealer. Runs a service station in Mountain View. Reader of trashy novels (yeah yeah, he claimed to have hated it. And then he read the next book in the series. Imagine that, someone turned a soap opera into a book.) Best friend during the trip by virtue that he understood how to play the posh-accents game (which is a game where you talk in post accents.) |
| Andrew* | Works in Sales for Total Kenya. Great at his job. He took every opportunity to plug the name of Total Kenya. Lot's of fun to hang out with. Easy to talk to and full of great stories. Has a 4 year old daughter who I feel I know very well and is planning to marry his girlfriend in April. (He bought the engagement ring in Tunis and now has spoilt me. I now have grand expectations of what to get.) |
| Josephine | Pretty, intelligent lass. Holding the camera. |
| *(Name's have been changed to protect the privacy of the parties concerned.) | |
(This journal biz is actually a lot duller than I thought it would be)
JKIA... In movies, they make the whole airport process seem so easy (apart from for the situation's where the actors' baggage is being searched for drugs and noxious substances).. but the whole system is so DREARY. First there's the checking in of baggage, then entry gates and exit gates and... oh, that's it then.
23.45hrs The original plan was to fly Kenya Airways to Tunis, but all were booked so the flight plan is now NAIROBI - DUBAI, DUBAI - PARIS, PARIS - TUNIS... which seems a rather convoluted flightplan for a country a few nations North of Kenya.
We fly emirates, good food, like the little screen thingi and the joy of finding a dedicated Comedy Channel, woo-hoo!
07.00hrs(Nairobi Time) The flight lands in Dubai. I'm outside Kenya! The architecture is amazing, lot's of metaphore (columns representing palm trees) and I like the effects they've achieved with the lighting. Pity we're only staying here for a couple of hours. I spend the time browsing through the airport, then rush to the gate to start boarding the plane.
My dad's there looking slightly pissed off (he wants to board and I have the passports). Few minutes of tense panic as I realise I don't have the passports. In the meantime the Emirates attendant is watching us suspiciously. Panic over, the passports have been found! Much joy and celebration. My dad hands them to the Emirates dude who looks them over, then says, "Stand aside please,". Serves the next bunch of people then when Hiten shows up, looks at his passport and asks him, too to stand aside. Pretty soon the entire bunch of people have boarded the plane apart from the 7 of us.
"So," says the Emirates Attendant, who by this time I've began to think of as AP, (which could mean Arrogant Person, but doesn't, because Person isn't the rude word I was thinking), "You're going to Tunis then?"
"Yep," someone says, "To support Kenya in the Africa Cup of Nations,"
"Oh, so you're footballers", decides AP
Now, of the 7 of us, the only people who remotely resemble footballers (if you squint your eyes and tilt your head sideways) would be Anyona, Charles and Andrew.
"Okay then, so we'll change your tickets and send you through Istanbul" says AP as he begins to order for our luggage to be offloaded.
There's of course much outcry to this suggestion (WHY? WHY?), Kenya's playing a match today against Mali for one, and why does he just decide to throw us off the plane like that? After much arguing and yelling, the plane to Paris leaves, without us, and we are relegated to sitting on the uncomfortable chairs outside the security office (yes, now we are a security problem.) Suddenly, this airport isn't even that nice.
The sun rises, the city skyline is not even impressive (Say, have you even sat on the terraces in Uhuru Park just before sunset? Now THERE is one heck of a skyline.) Eventually, we decide to send a couple of emails to LG, the md total Kenya and the MD Total Tunisia. LG mails us back to say that she's called Emirates, but the dudes at the security office say that no, they haven't seen us. (Yes, despite the fact that we've set up camp outside the security office and keep popping in to see why we're not on our way to TUnisia yet.) Eventually, the MD of Total Tunisie sends a fax to the Emirates dudes and they agree to let us get on a plane to Istanbul.
The flight was great. There's nothing as much fun as travelling with people going back to their own country. The Turks were loud, noisy, boisterous... they stole alcohol from the stewards trucks, they sang, they danced, they smoked (yes, all Emirates flights are non-smoking.) I was watching the comedy channel when I see an air hostess running with a fire extinguisher to the back of the plane. Everyone's worried as she slips behind the curtain. Shortly afterwards, we hear an announcement, "This is your captain speaking. Please remember, this is a non-smoking flight, smoking is prohibited in the lavaratories".
Andrew, who was nearer the action later told me that some guy had decided to smoke in the lav, then left the smoking butt under the smoke signal. While the crew were frantically looking for the source of the fire, he sat down and started smoking in his seat. Apparently, it was uncomfortable smoking in the lav, so he set up a decoy. I hear it took 5 crew members to get the cigarette off him.
We land in Istanbul. Yeah! Problems solved!
Wrong.
Buck passed. Turns out the reason Emirates dudes are so keen to send us to Istanbul is cause they have no office in Istanbul. Basically, we're stuck in Turkey. This is a little worring for a number of reasons:
- It's 20.00hrs: the plane to Tunisia leaves at 21:00 hrs. If our case isn't handled by then, the next flight to Tunisia leaves on Thursday
- It's snowing outside. Our baggage is somewhere, goodness knows how we'll survive.
- There's is one lady who has been stuck in the airport for 4 days and 5 nights. She's screaming and weeping. We wonder how long before we too are screaming.
- There are two German dudes (high as hell! on hashish) also screaming and yelling. But they are friendly and one is willing to teach me German. I learn a new word, schiezen who's english equivalent is sh*t.
However, the guys at Istanbul are really helpful (I suspect because they are not hired by Emirates) and our fax comes in. At 21.10. Luckily, due to the bad weather, the flight was delayed and we manage to make it to Tunisia.
We
are met at the airport by a man, Mustafa, who's gonna drive us to our
hotel in Bizerte, 65km away from Tunis town. THe drive is comfy, the roads
are nice, and we arrive at the Residence Essaada about early Tuesday Morning
(00.15 - ish.) We are given the keys to our rooms which turn out to be
entire apartments (wooh!). My own lounge! My own kitchen! My own bathroom
with my own bathtub! Only... the taps are not the conventional red/blue
ones I know, instead the taps are labled C and F. Okay, must be french
for hot and cold, but which is which.
I turn on F first. Cold water. Okay. I try C. Cold water. Hmmm.... Okay, I get it. C for Cold, F for Frigid. I take a Frigid bath, then fall asleep.
 |
the lounge, got two long couches, and a balcony with a view to the sea. oh, and my own television! I could get used to this. |
...kitchen, so I can be a cheapskate and not have to buy food from the restaurant...
|
 |
 |
... my bedroom... I love that I can sleep across the bed.
|
-the joy of having a balcony. But dont be cheated, just cause tis sunny doesn't mean it's warm.
|
 |
The
view from my room is amazing. That's it. I'm never leaving this place.
I got up after 10, so I was too late for breakfast. First item on the
agenda, find some of the bare essentials, aka, clean clothes. As we are
loitering around the reception waiting for Mustafa to show up, Anyona
apprears in a cab. Of course I'm terribly jealous, cause this means as
I slept, he was learning how to get around Bizerte on his own. That's
my dream!
Cool thing about Bizerte, they've got a Gikomba. (A rather pricey one, once we did the conversions, but still a hell of a lot cheaper than in the main shops.) Immediately hooked up with a pair of gloves, a marvin and a sweater. (Michael, Katarina... I'm so sorry, I'll never laugh at your weather issues again.)
Bizerte is the fourth largest town in Tunisia, after Tunis(the capital), Sfax and Sous. It's a lovely sea-side town about 65 km North of the capital Tunis. (Yep, tour guide mode.)
To
be honest, I was worried that there may be racisim issues and stuff, but
Tunisians are the lovliest people on earth. All friendly, kind and DISGUSTINGLY
GOOD LOOKING! I tell you, something is quite wrong. Why oh Why
did I promise not to come home with a Tunisan boyfriend? Andrew and I
tried to play "spot the ugly person" but eventually gave up
because everyone looks like they stepped out of a beauty magazine. (According
to Charles, they must have bundled out the ugly people during the cup
of nations to increase their chances of hosting the world cup.) After
shopping we generally hang around the town centre taking touristy photographs
and chatting up the locals.
There are two Rwandan lassess staying at the Residence Essaada. Anyona is being friendly so that when Kenya plays, Rwanda fans will come help us cheer our team along. Andrew is being friendly because they are Rwandan lasses. (Rwandans, like Tunisians, are disgusting attractive, you know.) There's Gigi who's a major football fan. She runs a soccer school in Rwanda to train 10 to 15 year olds. There's Amina, who's boyfriend we all just know as No3, cause he's a mid-fielder for the Rwandan team and wears No3. I like listening to Gigi and Anyona talk; I've never heard anyone talk so passionately about football. Wait, no, I have, but the difference with Gigi and Anyona, they talk mainly about Rwandan and Kenyan football respectively before moving on to boring topics like Manchester United and Arsenal.
In
the evening, Dad, Anyona, Charles move on to the Bizerte Resort (which
is where the Kenya and Rwanda teams are staying) cause they hear there's
some dude from the BBC who'd like to Interview Kenyan fans. A little while
later, they are back cause they need (ha! ha!) a female voice. The reporter's
called Martin Davis, I get they wonderful opportunity to talk on International
Radio, and of course, I stutter, ohm and uhm and that's it, my fifteen
minutes of fame is up. Oh well, at least, I'VE BEEN HEARD ON THE BBC!
WOO!
At 11.30pm, we drive the 65 km to Tunis, but at the airport, no, our baggage hasn't arrived. We gotta wait until tomorrow. Oh, well, at least the BBC tshirts we got from Martin gives us a change of clothing.
We drive to Tunis to meet our guide for the day, Fathi. (pronounced Fatty.) Fathi, luckily, can speak Arabic, English, French, German and Italian so at least we don't have to go through the gesture laden conversations we've been having with Mustafa. We're all dressed in matching BBC t-shirts today. A change from the Total t-shirts, but still gives the effect of a bunch of mismatched school-children.
We
do a lot of touristy stuff today, first to the Bardo Museum which is famous
for being the only mosaic museum in the world. This museum has a lot of
mosaics. (No, really, it was quite exciting, just that I don't know if
I can be bothered to go through all we learnt.) It's home to the best
mosaic in the world (yeah, this mosaic even won an award for being the
best mosaic in the world cause the colours and details are so well preserved.)
Oh, and this is me standing at the feet of Jupiter. (From a statue that was found somewhere in Tunisia.) Yeah, imagine so poor nitwit went through the trouble of making that gigantic statue only to have it destroyed (I don't remember by who, we learnt a lot of stuff that day) such that only the feet and head remain.
After
we got perfume from the gift shop of the museum, we headed out to Carthage
which hold the ruins of the ancient Roman town, Carthage. (Shudder! Something
makes me feel I'd be a lousy tour guide.)
I love Carthage, it's like stepping back into time. Only with more clothes and fewer (none) lions. It's amazing to think that people once stood in the place I'm standing and then were eaten by lions, or killed by gladiators. Or in the case of Androclese, were reunited with long-lost friends.
I suppose in a way I never really believed that some of this things really existed.
From Carthage, Fathi asked if we liked paintings, then promised to show us the lovliest panoramic picture in the world. This involved taking us up some wierd alley paved with cobblestone (yes! cobblestone) which was very beautiful to look at, but forgive me for not thinking happy thoughts. It. Was. Friggin. Cold. After about a mile of huffing and puffing along a street, we come to like a parapet and he cries, "Behold, the city of Tunis!"
Okay, so he didn't say that, but that's how I felt. The view was breathtaking. Behold the city (Islamic style architecture in the fore background, the glorious Mediterranean in the middle background and in the back background the Atlas Mountains. From this view, the mountain is said to resemble the goddess Athena lying down. (For the non-imaginative, I've taken the liberty of detailing in yellow marker where Athena lies.)
After partaking of the view, we strolled down the road stopping at specially chosen shops where we went on to buy ridiculously expensive item. (it was later decided that Fathi must be charging the shop-keepers a hefty commission for bringing tourists to their shops.) But I'm not complaining, Anyona and Andrew got some phat camel leather bags and briefcases, Charles got a lovely Tunisian rug and I got opal and gold jewellery, the genuine article as it turned out. Either way, the money had to get finished, cause we discovered that once you change dollars into dinari, that's it. The forex joints don't change back. The country doesn't allow it. neither are you allowed to leave Tunisia with vast amounts of Tunisian currency, so you gotta use all you have while you are there. (Unfortunately, we discovered this having changed all our dollars into dinari so...)
Shopping
done, Fathi took us to a local cafe so we could warm up before heading
back to Bizerte. Coffee and tea all around, and for Charles and I, shisho,
whidh I found out is the name of that thingi Arabs and Turks are always
smoking in movies. Apparently, tis supposed to be an herb (say, opium,
hashish, mj) and mollases burnt and filtered through water then smoked
through the pipe. In our case, we got good old-fashioned tobacco. To be
honest, twas a little disappointing. I'd expected ... I don't know, something!
But no, the smoke didn't go down my windpipe dancing and singing with
any particular flavour. I didn't even get to exhale those huge smoke rings
that people so effortlessly manage in movies and cartoons. I want my money
back. The only thing I got was the same tight sensation I get in my chest
when I'm walking next to a diesel car with lousy exhaust system.
Oh well, let this be a lesson to you. Dont do drugs.
That done we go back to the Residence Essaada. My dad goes to the Bizerte Resort and comes back with the news that Waweru (one of Kenya's players) is in a coma in hospital.
Everyone's quite bitter about this of course. Apparently the guy had been complaining of a stiff neck, but the team doctor had seen fit to send him on the field. True Waweru's one of the best players in the team, but does that mean that his health's going to be risked just so that we can have the team play.
Either way, news is the team's morale is very low.
At 11.30pm, we're roused from our respective rooms and begin the journey back to Tunis again. Once again, the baggage hasn't arrived.
Everyone's
curious about how Waweru's doing, so we decide to go to the Bizerte Resort
to enquire on his health (and look for minor/major celebrities.) The Bizerte
Resort is a 3 star hotel, very classy but also very ordinary (in the opulent
hotel manner). I'm much happier having my own apartment at Residence Essaada.
The one advantage Bizerte Resort has is the heated indoor swimming pool,
where I followed the stern advice I got from Stacy, Mark and Mutwiri,
to support the Rwanda team. (Yes, I am selling photographs of the (ahem)
well built Rwandan team at the swimming pool for a small price. Some proceeds
of this will go into Gigi's football school for 10-15 year olds, so as
to build the Rwandan team.)
We meet Joshua Okuthe who's the chairman of Harambee Stars; from him, we find out that Waweru's in hospital at least he's stabilised. Andrew and Anyona, being the focused individuals they are, want to go see the way Total Tunisie runs their business and see if there's anything they need to learn which they can apply in Total Kenya. My dad also decides to go along.
Okuthe decides to treat the rest of us to a tour of Bizert Proper. At first I'm not to keen on the idea of going through yet another group activity. I want to wander around on my own walk and get a feel for the place, tired of riding everywhere in the bus with the rest of the gang...
Then he says, "Marouan! Come, you'll be our tour guide".
Marouan.
Where do I start?
Have you watched Lord of the Rings? That's the first thing that passed through my mind the first time I saw Marouan.
He's like the Elves in the movie. First, he's extraordinarily good-looking in a tall, lanky, Elven way. And I swear as he walked towards us, I heard that wierd music that was always on the Score every time that elves were having conversations in the movie. (So maybe it was the piped music, but work with me here.) So, he strides to us, his cape (long black coat, great fabric, great cut) billowing in the wind and speaking to a friend in that wierd Elven tongue (Arabic) and surrounded by that ethereal white light (cigarette smoke) that envelopes Elves.
Why, oh why, oh why did I promise not to come back with a Tunisan?
I eagerly bundled into the bus, where Okuthe informed Marouin that he'd be our tour guide on a trip around Bizerte. Now this is quite wierd cause none of us can speak French and Marouin can't speak English. But it works out somehow. Marouin speaks french, we speak english and the info passes around. Now courtesy of the 1 month of French I did back in 1990, I know a little more french than everyone else, so I get the job of repeating our questions very slowly in English (but with a French Accent and occasional sil-vous-plaits and ouis and nons) to Marouan.
First
he takes us to see a house. My first impression of Bizerte is that all
people are under strict instruction to build in the traditional Islamic
style to maintain the tourist appeal of the city. Or maybe they are so
used to building like that, that that's they only way to build. This house
is unique inthat it's the only building in Bizerte I saw that broke away
from the Islamic Style and took on a form. Behold, the boat house.
From my limited french I gather that this is the house of the child of the Minister of ... something.
From
there, he takes us down to see the beach. I've never quite seen a beach
like this. All cliffs and very little beach. And despite the sun, alsolutely.
bloody. cold. Nice though, it smells fantastic and the air isn't humid.
I think I'm beginning to like African Winters. "But you should see
it in summer," Marouan says. (I don't know how I know this is what
he said, but I just know.) He's an interesting guy, he's the liason officer
for the Kenyan team and he's half Algerian. (Half Algerian, so it would
be okay to go home with him, right seeing as he's not fully Tunisian?)
He was in the army before he moved to Tunisia. (Okay, I'm not sure, he
said the french word for gun and when I didn't understand, he mimed a
machine gun shooting action. Maybe he was saying he was a guerilla fighter
or maybe he was saying he likes playing Mortal Kombat.) Either way, if
he was involved in weaponry, it further enhances the Elve metaphore.
The
view duly appreciated and butts solidly frozen, we huddled back into the
bus and we drive to the Petting Zoo. (Charles' words, not mine.) I didn't
consider it a zoo really, just reminded me of a farm cause there were
chicken(with wattles so long they hang over their left eye like an elaborate
fringe), ducks, turkeys, goats (angora goats though, I'm still amazed
by these creatures!), sheep and a little pony. The only odd things (odd
as in generally not found in farms) were a warthog, a parrot (hanging
out with the guinea fowl) and some monkeys. Oh, and the ducks mooned me.
From the zoo, we dropped Maruoan back at the resort so that he could join the Stars for their training session. Okuthe then took us to Bizerte downtown. At last! Trash on the streets, felt like being back in Nairobi. First stop was to the fishmarket to get Fishmongers "... to beat drums for us at tomorrow's game" I'd thought he was speaking metaphorically, but apparently, we did go to the fish market and he did work up the crowd. Amazing really, he walks in and five minutes later all the fishmongers are screaming for Kenya. For a minute I longed to be the sonrt of extrovert who'd be confident enough to try and lead a merry band of fishmongers. The minute passes. Those fishmongers make a whole lot of noise. Must be cause of all those early mornings fishing. Must have strengthnened their lungs.
After that we head back to the flea market, I find my music shop and those fella's have kindly got me my bootleg copies of Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park. Joshua then treats us to lunch at this joint where for 2 dinari, we get 1/4 chicken, chick-peas, salad, fries and all the bread you can eat. Great stuff.
Us guys hang around the flea market for a while while Okuthe left with the KBC dudes, then back to the hotel. Chill out, watch the match on TV (yes, I watched an entire football match. The first time I did was to support Chelsea and they were thrashed by bloody ManU, thus ending my brief but doomed attempt to get into the English Football craze.) Algeria won the match, yay.
I'm exhausted so I ask Ngawana to wake me up when we're going to the airport to look for bagage at 11.30pm. I wake up to the phone ringing. Apparently, I totally slept through their attempts to wake me up when they were going for look for bagage. Finally they gave up and went; luckily, Andrew had my passport, so they were able to get me my bagage. At long last, clean clothes. An end to the "pray the underwear dries by morning" cycle. Take a long bath, then change into my maroon pjs (missed you!), in my lovely warm double bed, good book, dappled, drowsy, ready to sleep and all's well with the world.
The day dawns bright and sunny. And for once, it's even warm. Once again, we're a row of matching ducklings, only today, instead of Total or BBC t-shirts, we are wearing our umbro H. Stars team shirts! Woo-hoo!
So there we are, feeling quite stylish only to find that the Stars are wearing Masita. Now originally, I'd thought that maybe Masita is the new name for the Kenya team, "Oh, I get it," Anyona had said somewhat sarcastically, "They decided they don't want to be called Harambee Stars any more, huh?" But actually it turns out (this is strictly heresy, rumours and speculation, note) that after some amazing kick-backs were offered, Umbro was hastily dumped and Masita® (some Swedish label, I believe) were doing the team uniform for the Stars.
Basically, we've got the wrong kit. On a happier note though,the Kenyan flag remained the same, so we were cool on that one point.
Dad's gone to Tunis with Mustafa to meet the people of the Tunisian Red Crescent society, so we get cabs and move on to the Bizerte Resort. Okuthe's offered to give us a ride to the October 15 Stadium (yes, that's the name of the stadium) which means we get to enter free and travel with the delicious looking Marouan.
I
love the atmosphere at the Stadium. Finally, it's a warm day in Bizerte,
so warm that I'm comfortable without the gloves, marvin, leather and thermal
underwear (no, I didn't have thermal underwear, but I've never written
down those words before, would you believe?). There's the energy,the excitement...
all this from all 12 Kenyan fans present. (Truly, we were a miserable
little bunch, especially since Senegal fans have filled up their bleachers,
have body paint, drums, cheering songs and what appears to be a PA system.)
But the Kenyan team are in high spirits, cool comment from one man Opiyo
INTERVIEWER: So, are you nervous about meeting up with such football greats as Diouf?
OPIYO: Why should I be nervous? Diouf is just a footballer like me, only he makes more money.
Yesterday's fishmongers are beginning to fill up the bleachers chanting football songs and waving Kenya flags, ah, it feels good.
14.00hrs, kickoff.
14.01hrs, Senegal has won the match.
Well, we didn't know that by that time, just that the way they scored in the first minute was vaguely disconcerting. And the turn-coat fishmongers put away their Kenya flag and started waving their Senegal flag. Serves us right for trying to buy fans.
Things rapidly deteriorated as by the 18th minute we were down 3 goals. Charles and I calculated that if there are 90 minutes in a game and every 18 minutes Senegal scores thrice, by the end of the game the score should be... (carry one, carry two, times 3)... 15 - Nil.
Either way, I did manage to have a lovely time (learnt lots of Tunis cheering songs), and because I looked so miserable, the Tunisians were all very kind. The second half, the Kenyan team did play well (as in they didn't let bloody Senegal score any more), but the thing was, according to my Statistics (yeah, and I'm an expert having watched a grand total of one entire football match once in my life) the Kenyan team had like 69% possession. The only major difference in the way that Kenya and Senegal played is that Kenya had like 15 shots on Goal and 0 Shots on Target, while Senegal had 3 Shots on Goal and 3 Shots on Target.
Either way, my man of the match was the indefatiguable Emmanuel Ake, who worked really hard on the pitch. The man who pissed me off the most was Oliech who happens to be a brilliant player, (the way he sliced through Senegals defense like oil through water was unbelievable), but who always wanted to score a fancy goal instead of just bloody scoring.
Apparently, the team appears not to have learnt much cause this is the same thing that let them down on Monday's game against Mali.
After the match, Anyona, Hiten, Andrew and I hit out to this underground restaurant that Anyona discovered. Looks like it was welded out of the rock, really nice. The rest of the day passed in a pleasant warm blur.
We get up early and drive like 300 km to this place called Dougga. Now Dougga is 25 hectares of wonderfully preserved ruins from the Roman time. A lot nicer than Carthage, but still, so far away. It's beginning to hurt that the visit is about to end and I'm slightly irritated that I have to spend most of the day in a car driving to see some broken down buildings. (Once we get there, it's really nice, but honestly, I'd rather be meandering through Bizerte.)
 |
This one's just a theatre, for plays and the like, not for gladiators and lions. Apparently, this could seat up to 3000 people.
|
... I felt very poetic as I took this one. All the Doric columns and God's blue sky and green hills just slightly out of reach...
|
 |
 |
... I hope I'm this well preserved when I'm 60, let alone 3000.
|
... when in Rome... this is how they used to go to the can. I'm not in this picture, cause I'm too cool to go to the can. |
|
My dad's a good Catholic, so he wanted us to look for a church. Now, Tunisia has a population of which 99% are Muslim. The other 1% consits of about 6000 Christians(mostly Coptic) and 3000 Jews. Most christians, we hear, worship in the church in Tunis. (Notice use of the definite article the.) We however got into a cab and asked the Driver to find us a church in Bizerte, which he did. Which was locked. With a rusted padlock. So much for that. So the driver drove us up until the Bizerte Resort where we got out cause my dad wanted to find a cyber cafe. So far, I'd been enjoying the fact that my phone was silent, and I didn't have to check email but, hey, my dad loves communications technology.
Today
however, happens to be Eid. So far, I've only heard of one Eid, the one
celebrated after Ramadhan, but apparently, there's this Eid, which is
Eid ul Hajj. Apparently, every family is meant to slaughter a sheep, 1/4
of which will go to the poor , some will be used during the celebrations
and the rest of which is eaten throughout the year. (Please forgive my
misinformation, I gathered this from Mustafa who speaks no English.) In
Tunisia, each sheep costs about 250 dinari, which when converted to Kenyan
shillings (and used in Kenya) could buy, say, 10 goats. This prompted
a lot of serious discussion on the probability of exporting sheep to Tunisia
once a year for Eid.
Anyway, so most places are closed. My dad and I decide to take advantage of the rare sunshine and the whole laziness of the day to take a walk. So, we decide to just stroll back to the Residence Essaada. Many people are up, preparing for the feast. A large number of sheep have already been slaugtered and one family allows us to take photographs.
Did
I mention how nice Tunisians are. The way the whole bunch of people are
friendly is a little unnerving sometimes. I'm amazed by their generosity.
Half an hour later, we are back at the hotel.
I'm high on the fact that today's a free day and I can get down to what I really wanted to do since I got to Tunisia. Walk.
It occurrs to me that I 've been here almost a week and I still haven't made it to the beach (tis beautiful but this place is really cold. I don't get that.) My dad's bored with all the walking, but Charles and Ngawana are cool with the idea so we go down to the beach. I'd somehow assummed that all beaches were like Kenyan beaches, hot and sandy and all, but these are more like cliffs. 1 metre of sand, at most and no visible sea creatures (no crabs, no jellyfish, no little shells left by snails. And cold.)
We pick up pretty stones then head back to the hotel. I'm feeling generous (and I haven't used the kitchen in my apartment yet), so I act all domesticated and make lunch for Dad, Andrew and Charles.
Rwanda's
playing a match against... (man! can't remember!). Anyona, Hiten, Ngawana
and I decide to go offer support (I'm still not over the fact that there
I am, using my own money, without being forced). Shortly after the match
begins, the Stars come to watch the game and cheer the team on. Marouan
comes over to say hi, then heads back to join the team. (They are sitting
in the VIP area, we're sitting with the team.) It's a great match and
I'm slightly jealous. The number of Rwandese that have shown up to support
their fans is nothing short of amazing. And they have cheer songs and
big drums and flags and crazy outfits. I like how the Rwandan team plays.
Their team work is amazing, they play like a single unit. Amina's No3
is also pretty decent. According to Ngawana, all that Rwanda needs to
get far in football, would be say, Oliech. Rwanda wins the match and it's
a great show, especially seeing as this is their first foray into the
Africa Cup of Nations. They are going home, true, but they are going home
with pride.
We leave the stadium, walk to the town centre. I guess everyone is beginning to feel the fact that Tuesday is rather close, so we're trying to absob as musch of Bizerte as possible. The town's quiet, on account of the holiday, but a few of the shops are open. We buy nuts, take nostalgic photos then grab a cab back to the Essaada.
Evening, we are having dinner in the restaurant, I'm facing the telly, Andrew's facing the door, so when he says, "Check it out, your boy-friend's here" which sets me spinning towards the door, but no, it's Marouan. Okay, so I'm wildly infatuated with him, but how would they have been able to crack through my calm stoic demeanour to have discovered how I truly felt? Unless, off course, they were clued in by the persistent drooling. I try to discretely slide under the table. He's with his friend (some other equally dishy Tunisian dude), they say hi to all and then leave.
"Go," says Andrew. For a moment I'm clueless. "You don't think...?"
I go and sure enough, they are waiting for me. Marouan's friend turns out to be his cousin, Fares. They are going back to the hotel, but first they've got to drop their sheep home. Marouan lives near the Essaada (which Fares tells me is arabic for Happy) so we walk there. Fares and I wait outside while Marouan takes his sheep to the house and talk. Like most people who've grown up in Tunisia, Fares speaks Arabic, French and enough english. I'd always assumed that you could only display a sense of humour once you've understood a language, but I find out otherwise. Fares is very funny. He teaches me Arabic, he even teaches me English (like now, I know the meaning of the word transduce), and he keeps me laughing.
Marouan comes back and we walk back to the Essaada. They drive back to the BIzerte Resort. I don't want to sleep yet, but on my way to my room, I find Anyona, Hiten and Charles at the hotel bar. Charles and I discuss books, which leads to a discussion about jazz, which leads to a discussion about Theophilius Monk (I learn that he used to play piano with his fingers streched out, but this did nothing to cramp his dextreity in piano), which leads to a discussion of musical instruments, which leads to a discussion about parents get it wrong, (He wanted to play sax and got straddled with piano. I wanted to play piano and got recorder.) which leads to a discussion of our current musical passions (he cant afford a sax, so he's gonna learn how to play the trumpet. I eventually found the piano limiting, and now I'm passionate about Sky, my guitar, who's taught me so much...) at which point the management switched off the lights, having gotten bored about hinting that now, ladies and gentlement, that it is 11pm, the bar has to close. (Yep, in Tunisia, bars close at 11pm.)
Back to my room, hot bath and But, beautiful (the book that I'm reading which clued me into the existence of T. Monk in the first place). Accidentally drop said book into the bath.
Today's Kenya's last match in the Tournament. Burkinabe drew their last match against Mali, so no one's really expecting the Kenya team to win this match. Pity. The fans are even fewer than the ones who showed up for the match against Senegal (infact, I strongly suspect that the Kenyan's who did show up that day came to see, live, the infamous Diouf.)
But it's not bad, Kenyan fans turn out in all shapes
...and sizes...
...aint she the cutest?...
As
usual, you could count the Kenyan fans on one mans fingers and toes, while
Burkina had filled up the stands with their people. This however worked
out for us because a school in Tunis had sent their students to watch
the match and because our bleachers were so empty, they sat on our side.
Now, the advantage of this particular group of young ladies is that they
were (drumroll...) a matching band. Yep, complete with drums and trumpets
and cute uniform. And just our luck, the first beat they played went perfectly
with the song, "Kenya taifa letu" so we took total advantage
of this to make it seem like we'd hired the lassess to help cheer on our
team. (Shameless, true, but all's fair in sports and war.)
Now that was one fantastic game. The team were unbelievable! As usual my personal favourite, Ake, was everywhere causing a huge amount of grief to Burkina Faso in the midfield. The team was super, working like an organism, (picture, for instance, a giant squid, with each of the tentacles able to work independently, but such that each tentacle knows what the other is doing and can easily find it to work for the good of the squid.) Oliech still kept sliding through the defense, but on that day abandoned theatrics and just scored. He also played unselfishly, passing the ball and assisting Ake to score too. By the final whistle, Kenya had won 3 -0, it's first match in the Africa Cup of Nations in the 40 years of it's existence. And I got to watch it. Thanks God.
After
the Match, we all go to the Bizerte Resort to welcome back the team. For
some strange reason, someone leads the fans in singing Mwanamberi
(NB: traditional Luhya dance sung to give away first born
daughter in marriage) as the team walks in. Fares comes in dancing,
which is nice cause he actually has a sense of rhythm. (I'm quite impressed
because I've had the dubious honour of having watched very many people
look dubious dancing Mwanamberi. Self included. It's not as easy as it
looks.) Manage to grab photos of the team, and photos with Ake and Oliech
(before he's whisked of back to Katar. By the way, there's the issue of
him being turning down 200 Million. Aparently, that's the amount he was
offered to become a Katar citizen but he refused. Personally, I was really
impressed, cause I like being Kenyan and I'm glad that Oliech liked being
Kenyan enough to turn down 200 million. Apparently though, I'm the only
one cause everyone else said he was stupid to turn down the money. Especially
as his mother is still selling fish in the market. But I'm thinking, maybe
his mother likes selling fish. I mean, it's a job, it keeps her young,
that's where her friends are...)
The match is over, we've convinced the Masita dudes to hook us up with the correct team shirts... (which one man Swaleh stole from us! Nitakustaki! I don't care!), all's right with the world. Marouan's sad that the job's over, but he's happy that he's gonna start eating normal food again. (I understand. I'm sad about leaving Tunisa, but I've missed home cooking. I now despise fish, eggs and yoghurt. All that protein had me breaking out in the nastiest of spots.)
Back to the hotel, pack for home. At supper time, Anyona brings over Opiyo, midfielder for the Stars so we get to hang out. Hiten's gotta finish his dinari before tomorrow morning, so he's feeling generous and buying wine far and wide. (In the morning, I'd been shopping at the Medina in Tunis, so I was officially, broke and dinariless. (Actually, I did get a contact in the black market (for obvious reasons, I won't mention his/her name who managed to change some of my dinari back to dollars, so I was set for the international market.)) Amina joined us for supper and kept us amused with stories about how Diouf "alikuwa akilambalamba wasichana" in a nightclub in Tunis. (If you don't get swah, pole, I won't bother to translate cause it just wouldn't sound the same.) Apparently that's how he decides who's sweet enough to hang out with. Sad part is that according to Amina, there was no shortage of lassess who were willing to be lambalambad by Diouf.
Marouan and Fares swung by the Essaada to invite me out. Before I leave, I get a photo with Opiyo and he says, "Thanks for the support, we'll see you in Kasarani then?" And I say, "Naturally" Then it occurs to me that no, I'm not being sarcastic. I do actually want to go home... and watch soccer. What's become of me? Am I actually... a ... sports fanatic? (Noooooooo!) But it's not serious though. It's not as if I've agreed to follow... the English Premier League or anything. I'm still me.
We
went back to the Bizerte Resort so that Marouan could finish some business
there then we drove out to the habour. Now, I here during summer, the
habour is the chief hanging out joint, but cause it's winter, there wasn't
much crowd. Midnight picnic, apple soda and conversation (Fares has picked
up Swahili, I've picked up some Arabic and French and Marouan has picked
up some English) so somehow, twas nice. (Despite the freezing cold.) I
got enough time to shamelessless stare at beautiful Tunisan men and commit
them to memory (but just in case I didn't, I took photos) for future reference
when I Need to have beauty around me. We talked about Islam, Christianity,
significant others, dreams... (and in the lulls, we stared at the sea
and Fares sang mwanamberi) and I listened to them talk in Arabic
(and further strengthen the Elven metaphore), and Marouan smoked his packet
of Mars and we drank soda and the sea smelt nice and we froze. Eventually,
it just got too cold and they drove me back to the hotel.
Took the last bath (C is for hot water; how I'll miss taps with running water when I get home), sat in my bed to contemplate the joy of having a double bed all to myself, then went to my lounge and watched Tunisian television (they have Days of Our Lives in French, The Bold and the Beautiful in Arabic... why? I thought they whole point of not knowing English was so that you didn't have to watch disgusting soaps!). Eventually, it was 05.30hours and Mustafa had come back to drive us to the airport.
Goodbye apartment with radiator that warmed everyroom apart from the toilet. (Yes, the rest of the apartment was toasty, but peeing was like a trip to an outdoor pit latrine. Cold.) Goodbye bathtub. Goodbye television.
I'm too much of a seasoned traveller to go into detail about dull things like the flights from Tunis - Paris; Paris - Dubai; Dubai - Nairobi.
(Okay, the truth. Since I was on my way to my beloved country, I decided to make like the Turks and made sure I stayed severly inebriated for the length of the journey. Thank you Emirates minibar.
I now know:
I hate red wine;
I love white wine (chardonay);
Jack Daniels and ginger-ale is a sure fire way to spoil a good ginger ale, and anyway,
whiskey only tastes good when mixed with coca-cola and shared with KV over a game of scrabble.)
Moral | Chance | Home |