Jonathan’s Blog

Bumbire Cup

I have had the opportunity to come to know several locals during my time here, but perhaps none better than Masambuko. I met the man on my first day on Bumbire when he came by to welcome Bob and Dorothy back to the island. Bob and Masambuko have a mutually beneficial friendship whereby he teaches Bob Swahili, and Bob teaches him English. Masambuko is very friendly and it is probably his intact, pearly smile which makes him look much younger than his 40 years. He stands about 5’5’’, with both a soul patch and Hitler mustache, and he is always well dressed. Despite the fact that we have seen each other many times over the past 2 weeks, he still speaks to me in Swahili as if my vocabulary of roughly 10 words has given way to fluency. I always answer him with “Hakuna Mtata” which he finds funny because he has never heard that expression before. In addition to being a farmer, Masambuko is a VIP of sorts on Bumbire, where he has over the last few years organized a soccer league. There are now several teams on the island, and he is their de facto commissioner. Even more importantly, as commissioner he takes it upon himself to tell Bob who should and should not receive the soccer balls which have been donated to the Clinic. Earlier in the week when he came by for his weekly English lesion, Masambuko said that he would try to get me into one of this soccer games on Sunday (yesterday). I told him that I was not very good, but he said everyone would just be excited to have an American playing with them. So yesterday when Bob, Masambuko, and I (fully dressed to play) were walking to the soccer field, I was surprised to hear him casually mention that this was actually the league Finals. Bob laughed. Typical Masambuko. At least I wouldn’t have to play. I was badly out of shape, which would only be compounded by playing at an altitude of 3,000 feet. I wouldn’t have to embarrass myself and more importantly my country in front of a group of people who would probably never see another American play. I was sure that decades later the people of Bumbire would be telling their children of America’s athletic inferiority as demonstrated in the Championship game of 2010. So I dodged a bullet there. The field was in the vicinity of the Lushongo fishing village and in view of the Lake. When we arrived there was not a person in sight. Just an empty field swarming with dragonflies, and soaring above them the black kites hunting their late afternoon snack. Before I could ask the commissioner whether we missed the game, he pulled a whistle out of his front pocket and blew. Within seconds dozens of people emerged from the jungle on all sides in groups of four of five. Each group had a hand held radio, and they were all listening to a Tanzanian soccer match between two teams from Dar Es Salaam: “Simba” and another team whose name I can’t remember but means “yellow”. The game on Bumbire was between Lushongo (the home team) and Maasi who had made the long walk up the hill. For 30 minutes the players stood around suiting up—the Maasi players in their knock-off purple Arsenal jerseys and the rag-tag Lushongo players in whatever they could find to put on. Some wore shoes, most didn’t. Then the ball arrived. Balls are scarce on the island, and I was worried we might have to walk back and retrieve one from Bob’s secret stash. The net-less goals were assembled at either end of the field, and after the players were brought to the center of the field for a quick talk by the commissioner, the game began. I hesitate to say that the players weren’t good, because they are far more talented than I am, but the play resembled the kind of foot shuffling and juggling I saw the kids do with their makeshift balls in the villages. It was like watching “And-One” Basketball on ESPN and thinking, if they had ever once tried to run a play they might be somewhat decent. There were no shots taken outside of 20 feet of the goal, and the passing was abysmal. I took several pictures, but tried to keep this to a minimum because each time I took out the camera, every child under the age of 10 huddled behind me to see the screen on the back of the camera. This would cause Masambuko to pick up a stick and shoo them away. As if Bob and I didn’t stand out enough already, the commissioner made sure to secure for us two wooden and place them at midfield so that we could watch the game in comfort. Nobody else had a seat. It was embarrassing. I only hoped that the players thought that I was some kind of MLS scout scouring the continent for hidden talent. Masambuko had his own motives, as earlier on our walk to the field he hinted that now that I was rafiki (friend; also the monkey in Lion King), I  might send him a television when I am back in America so he can watch the games. The match went the full 90 minutes, punctuated by three goals from Maasi to Lushongo’s two. Maasi had won the Bumbire Cup, and the children who had made the 30 minute walk to support the visiting team went wild. Several of the players shook my hands after the game was over. “Sorry”, I told them. “You’re just not Arsenal material”. Tomorrow we’ll be leaving Bumbire by boat for Maisome Island. We will stay there for four days and work at their clinic. I’m told it is more rustic and that I won’t have internet access. When I get to Mwanza next weekend I will post what are sure to be good stories.