Football Fabulous

Kumasi's famous soccer team has a call sign its supporters use when passing on the street: the initiator yells "Fabu!" (short for Fabulous, the club's nickname), and he expects to hear "Kotoko!" in reply. Wearing the red uniform of Kumasi Ashanti Kotoko I executed this passing ritual every 50 paces or so this morning.

Today was gameday in Kumasi. It was the last day of the season in the Ghanaian premier league, and the first day that I have ever witnessed a live African soccer match. I picked a good one to attend, too, as the game pitted two clubs from Kumasi against each other: Ashanti Kotoko and King Faisal. Ashanti Kotoko is the club with the largest support base across the country and possibly across Africa, so I'm guilty as charged to the claims of jumping on the bandwagon. Even so, it's difficult not to like a team with the swagger of the Yankees, a history that involves its inception by an Ashanti tribal king, and a porcupine as a mascot.

I attended the match with my trusted guide Adjei (pictured with me in front of the stadium's gates), an arist and friend of our team's Ghanaian counterparts. Like in England, hooliganism puts a stain on the game of football in Ghana. Adjei helped me look out for violent fans and thieves, both of which we saw at the match.

Two Kotoko fans and 'tigo' (a cell phone service provider) phone vendors, who gave me a free shirt like the one the girl has on, in exchange for getting a picture with me on their phones.

It was an exhilirating spectacle. Two goals were scored - one by each side - in the opening 10 minutes. Two more beautiful goals later the match ended in a 2-2 draw.

The football match essentially came with a soundtrack, as a band complete with drums and trumpets started playing music and leading chants during the warm-up period and didn't stop until well after the final whistle. The crowds were at once passionate and intelligent about the sport and their team (a rarity at American sporting events), and enjoyed watching me stand and chant, cheer and sing right along with the locals.

The King Faisal players celebrate a goal by running towards the crowd.

Adjei and I were dissapointed when the final whistle blew, as we wanted to see the Kotoko side come out with a win instead of a draw. But alas, that's football. And today it was fabulous.

Supporters of the Kumasi Ashanti Kotoko football club.

Kumasi's Central Market

A trip the market in Africa is like doing your Christmas-Eve shopping in a mega mall with only used car salesmen as vendors. The crowds are endless and the salesmen are aggressive. Shop after shop are lined next to each other for miles in every direction, creating a scene that looks (and smells) like shots fromSlumdog Millionaire.

Kumasi, Ghana's second largest city and home to the largest market in West Africa was the destination for our team's second weekend getaway. So far, I've found that it's a good place to find bargain priced soccer jerseys, learn about the culture of the ancients in Ghana, and enjoy a roadside omelet.

We had the opportunity to tour the palace of the most renowned tribal king in Ghana (of the Ashanti tribe) and visit a few crafting and potery villages, but time spent in the marketplace has been the highlight by far.

The market's merchandise options are many. There are vendors who specialize in cleaning and selling shoes (my new Nike Sandals cost less than $10, my friend's new Teva's only $3), to those who sell chickens, to silverware and dining sets, to Bibles, to apparel, and just about everything else in between.

While in the market, there are a variety of refreshments to choose from. Bread and margarin (2 dimes), pure drinking water (3 pennies), cornbread (dime and a nickel), and plantain-chips (35 cents) are what I usually opt for, while many of the girls buy the ice-cream packets (a quarter) at every opportunity. Each of these delicacies is served in style, too, as the vendors carry their products on their heads, hands-free most of the time, as they bob and weave through the hustle and bustle of the market. My favorite treat remains the roadside grilled corn and fresh omelets. The omelets aren't difficult to make, but when the professionals do it (the 10-12 year old girls and their mothers) they toast the bread to perfection and pack the veggies in with the eggs just right, all in about 3-4 minutes flat. And for the American equivalent of 2 quarters per omelet, you can't beat the price.

Shopping in the market is a contact sport. Elbows and shoulders bump constantly, children grab at your arms to try to drag you to their mom's establishment, and taxis and tro-tros screaming down the side roads turn walking down narrow streets lined with gutters into quite the balancing act. My highlight was yesterday, dragging a child on my arm, being followed by a middle-aged woman who wanted me to take her home with me to America, ducking my head and shoulders to avoid the massive bowls full of merchandise the young girls carried on their heads, and watching my feet so as not to step on the loose chickens that had escaped their owner's nets. A bit more hectic than the Midland Mall.

The most exciting part? Bargain prices. The common saying is that "there are no fixed prices in Africa." So depending on your approach, you can walk up to a vendor and name your price, or ask his, in what becomes a spar for a compromise somewhere in the middle. This is at once the most enjoyable and the most stressful part of shopping anywhere in Ghana, as the vendors will surely hike the price when they see a foreign skin color. The cards I play are to say that I'm a volunteer (which lowers the price slightly from 'tourist' level) and a football fan (which amounts to a brief conversation each time that shaves off a few cedis) first, before demonstrating that I speak and understand much of the native language, and know when I'm being told the "obruni" (white man's) price rather than the "obibini" (black man's price). I always want the obibini price, of course. And while I'm sure I never quite get it, I like to think I get close. All of this, of course, takes time, begging the question of whether it's worth 10 minutes to save a quarter on a soccer jersey. Maybe it is - maybe it isn't. But to pay the face value is not only a lame attempt to engage in the pursuit of a lower price, but also an insult to the Ghanaians, who expect to have to work for a high price on each sale.

What makes it all worthwhile is the glimpse into an entirely unique style of business transactions and commercialism. The public aspect of the culture is made especially clear in the markets, where salesmen often seem just as interested in socializing with one another as they do in making their sales. Amid the excitement of the market I've had many conversations about soccer (I'm headed to a match here Sunday afternoon), my family life, and the culture in Kumasi.

So during the Day-after-Thanksgiving sales this November, when folks around are yelling, falling, and stressing, I'll be thankful for my training in the markets of Kumasi.

Ghanaian Ping-Pong

I've learned that playing table-tennis here is a good way to make friends, earn trust, and learn about Ghanaian culture. But it's not quite the same as it is back home.

In Michigan, I have a ping-pong table in my basement. It's a beautiful table with hardly a scratch on the surface. Our paddles are well kept, and if they ever started to tear I used to drive out to a local sports store to replace them with the new, cool, professional-style paddles. My basement's floor is also flat.

Over here in Ghana - where I'm convinced that 'table tennis' (not ping-pong) is the second most popular sport behind soccer - the playing conditions and equipment are a bit different. The table wasn't bought, but built. The paddles, some of which are wrapped in black electric tape, have been used for an endless number of hours on every day that it hasn't rained (and on some that it has) for over a year. And the wooden surface (rotted and slanted in some corners) sits upon a slight hill next to the main road through the village, requiring players to alternate sides at the end of the first game, and halfway through the third game, to be fair.


Over the course of the last few weeks, I've played more than a hundred games of table tennis, and count each of the more than 20 competitors I've faced as a new friend. Initially, most were surprised to learn that the 'obruni' knew how to play the game at all. But after watching me win more than I tend to lose, and do it with a smile and a handshake after each match, the guys in the village now count me as a respectable opponent.

Because of the emphasis on community, trust and integrity are the backbone of a Ghanaian's reputation. Playing table tennis allows me to prove my value of fair play, honesty (did the ball hit the side or top of the table?), and integrity over time.

And the greatest part of it all? The players are incredible. Playing in basement ping-pong tournaments back in the day prepared me somewhat for the talent pool here. But, for better or worse, while American children are studying, riding bikes, going to organized sports practices and dance recitals and heading off to the mall, the children in Marfokrom (who aren't playing soccer) are playing table tennis. This accounts for why it took me over a week to beat the 12 year old boys here, and why I'm just now getting good enough to win consistently with some of my peers.

The Crossroads Cup

While the arrival of President Barack Obama to Ghana may have been the primary focus of most Ghanaians last Friday, the Crossroads Cup was the main event in Marfokrom. The Crossroads Cup was a "football gala competition" (or, as we put it more simply in the U.S., 'tournament'). The event was a smashing success, despite the consistent rainfall throughout the day (reminiscent of the Midland Invitational Tournament back home) and the home team's heartbreaking second place finish.

The planning process stole most of my attention on Monday and Tuesday, as we invited six teams from local village primary schools to participate in the event held on Marfo's pitch. Tuesday we met to discuss rules, prizes, and 'balloting' with the school headmasters and the coaches. I explained the organization of the tournament: two groups of three, winners play for the silver Crossroads Cup, second place in each group play for 3rd place. A total of eight matches would be played starting at 11am. We agreed on 20 minute halves, a 36kg 'weight limit' for players (weighed before the matches), and that every team would get a prize for participating, while the winners received footballs and the cup. After the intense meeting came to a close, the men balloted for which group their schools would compete in, and left to inform their players to start training.

Friday morning school was canceled in Marfokrom for the event. The kids made final touches to the field with their machetes, built a shelter using bamboo and palm leaves for us to sit under, and put the nets on the goals. Meanwhile we tied the banner that our group painted to bushes next to the main entrance. All was ready for the arrival of the players and the opening kickoff.

Once the tournament itself was underway for a few minutes, I got goosebumps for the first time since my arrival here. Making this soccer tournament a reality for this community was one of the most rewarding things I have ever been part of. The games were close, the kids were soaking wet but still excited, and the spectators were so jittery that they encroached well onto the field from all sides.


On the sidelines, children beat drums and sang chants as the home team played its matches. The adults yelled out Cedi (dollar) amounts to the players, essentially offering bribes for the first goal, and yelled in the tribal language. By midday, the entire community and many members from the surrounding villages had shown up to the field to watch.

Fortunately for the spectacle, the home team emerged as the winner of the first group, which put them in the final match. The finish could have been taken right out of a movie's script, as a 0-0 tie forced the teams to resolve the match in a penalty shoot-out. With hundreds surrounding the goal and the 10-12 year old players, the shoot-out was quite the scene. Unfortunately, the home side lost, forcing us to let another village's team hoist the cup we purchased as the first prize.

Hugs, tears, high fives, smiles, and thank-yous were all shared with us as the prizes were presented. These kids aren't likely to ever make it to play on the world's stage with Ghana's great football heroes. But thanks to the Crossroads Cup, these kids had a chance to experience the thrill of competition to its fullest in Marfokrom on Friday, just like I did in the 'glory days' in Petoskey, Midland, and Ann Arbor.