Rainbow Nation: Different Strokes

Singh had played football with the likes of South African president Jacob Zuma – when they were imprisoned at Robben Island for nearly 10 years,from 1964 to 1974.

Singh,married to ANC colleague Urmila who was our “Gandhi guide”,was a member of Umkohnto we Sizwe,the armed wing of the ANC,and had received training in the erstwhile Soviet Union and Angola. “That was my University. (Nelson) Mandela and Walter (Sizulu) were there at that time — Zuma was there,too,with me,and we used to play soccer,” Singh recalls.

Asked about the alleged rampant corruption in the ANC government,he says: “We all came from our shanties to the forefront of the liberation struggle,and now when all that is over,we get lured by the candies (of power) — this is a country in transition.” He adds that besides Mandela,one leader who wouldn’t have fallen for such “temptations” was the late Chris Hani,who 17 years after his assassination,is still revered by the locals you meet,even teenagers.

Singh hopes that this World Cup will give a boost to foreign investment in the country. He also has a word of advice for the local Indian community. “I don’t think Indians here should invest in India. They should help this country which gave them bread and butter first,” he adds.

He signs off by saying that often leaders failed because they didn’t get the required support from their ranks. He cites Portugal’s example. “Cristiano Ronaldo didn’t get (much of) the ball to play.”

Fear pitch

Walking in the by-lanes of Johannesburg’s Bree Street and Jepee Street at night,with wallets and bags indiscreetly (and,in hindsight,foolishly) filled with credit and debit cards,cash and three very expensive cameras,we arrived at the conclusion that there is nothing to fear when football was your saviour.

Due to the World Cup,the South African police are said to be on constant alert even in the meanest streets of Johannesburg,the much hyped violent city. As someone later explained: “Instead of two cops on a road,there would be seven of them now,thanks to the FIFA World Cup.”

Then again,we were armed with Brazilian jerseys that we occasionally flaunted by unzipping — our jackets,that is — whenever anyone gave a menacing look. It worked.

Walking away,with grace

It wasn’t a World Cup to remember for Didier Drogba,the continent’s biggest footballing star. First he got injured and then his team Ivory Coast,who were in Group of Death alongside Brazil and Portugal,failed to advance.

He may not have scored against Korea DPR in their last World Cup match but was instrumental in his team winning 3-1. He later thanked the emotional crowd by giving away whatever he wore at the match — except his shorts — including his boots. And yet,the 32-year-old Droga walked away with grace.

Mahatma meets Messi

Far from the maddening crowds at football stadiums,in Pietermaritzburg,where a certain 24-year-old from India was thrown out of a train for travelling in a “white man’s compartment”,the only thing that reminds you of the sport is the signal post of the train station that resembles a goalpost.

Football and Mahatma Gandhi have a more direct connection as well. He had organised football matches in Phoenix Settlement and in Johannesburg. Historians call it as encouraging a game that was destined to become part of the anti-apartheid movement. And so we decided to carry his memories back to Soccer City.

A Brazilian fan in his slum

All passengers on the night flight to Port Elizabeth from Durban were whites,except a few of us Indians. The elderly white woman seated next to us squirmed when she saw one of the books we were carrying. Chris Hani was on the cover of Raymond Suttner’s ANC Underground in South Africa and most co-passengers,to be honest,were hostile.

However,there was no such problem on our way from the airport to the hotel. Fernando,the cabbie who picked us from the airport,was a die-hard Brazilian fan,and one of us still had a canary yellow jersey on. He picked us up the next day again for a drive around the city. Fernando didn’t expect us to ask him to take us home — to his gaav,sort of a slum,off Walmer. He introduced us to everyone as friends from India who were supporting Brazil. He didn’t know however,one of us wasn’t.