I am writing this from my friend’s office in a rather unlovely part (the locals call it “Siberia” of the otherwise lovely University of Botswana, where I will be based for the next week or so. I am staying with my friend and his family (he and I met after a conference in Pretoria four years ago, in fact we first talked at a pub as we watched Ghana take on Brazil in the last World Cup).
I do not for one second begrudge Ghana their victory over the United States last night, and indeed I am wearing a Ghana shirt proudly today. Part of my ambivalence about supporting Americans against African teams is one of meaning, which is to say: Last night’s victory means a great deal more to Ghana, and from what I can tell Africans generally, than what a US win would have meant back home, where my guess is that World Cup fever is already beginning to break, only to return in four years (assuming we qualify again).
The fact is, the Americans had been playing with fire from the beginning of the torunament, falling down 1-0 to England, 2-0 to Slovenia, and being generally outplayed for the first twenty minutes against Algeria. They escaped each time, if only with a draw twice, but there are no draws in the knockout stages, and giving a good team the advantage is a surefire path to a fast trip back home.
So from here on out: Go Black Stars!
National borders matter. We can argue about whether they should. Almost every Africanist can give you chapter and verse about the false nature of Africa’s borders that were nonetheless embraced by the emergent independence leaders who saw benefit in those very borders that oftentimes made sense for no one, not even, truth be told, the colonialists. But whether or not the borders should exist as they do, they do exist.
Botswana is adjacent to South Africa, just to the country’s north-central third, and wedged in between Namibia to the west and Zimbabwe to the east. (Forgive the primer for those — probably the majority, who know all of this. I know that at least some of my readers are joining in for the World Cup coverage, with Africa being at least somewhat incidental.) Botswana’s capital and largest city is Gabarone, which clings tight to the Bots side of South Africa’s border. And South Africa naturally has a great deal of influence here, through television and newspapers and the vast array of products of South African origin. Yet Botswana is an autonomous country with its own personality, its own quirks, and its own independent spirit. Indeed, in the minds of many who follow African affairs Botswana is one of the continent’s biggest success stories, with a stable democracy, moderate prosperity, a flourishing tourist infrastructure to go with its prosperous mining industry, and the benefits of proximity to South Africa, yet without some of its worst aspects (most notably crime, even in Gabarone, in negligible, especially in comparison). I have recently learned that Botswana has a considerable problem with xenophobia, although those issues have not manifested themselves in the form of violence, as has happened in South Africa, most notably to Zimbabwean immigrants in recent years.
I say all of this simply to point out that Botswana, while hugely influenced by South Africa, is not merely South Africa-North. This is important in the context of looking at the World Cup because it gives at least some insight into issues of what the World Cup “means” for not just South Africa, but the region and continent as a whole.
I have not yet spoken to a lot of Botswanans, having gotten in last night and with today being a Sunday. But my friend assures me that Botswana has World Cup fever in a big way. We did not go out to watch the game, choosing instead to stay in and watch with his family and so I could not see the local response to Ghana’s win. But what is striking is that the World Cup is not the first think to clobber you when you step off the plane in Gabarone. There are not signs or flags, there are no entreatments of “Ayoba!” or Mzansi!” The country is not welcoming the world, bending over backward to accomodate you (for a healthy markup, of course) or to sell you jerseys, vuvuzelas, keyrings, programs, posters, t-shirts, soccer balls, or any of the ten thousand things that only imagination prevents from being sold (again: at a healthy markup, of course!)
And all of this is true because while this might be Africa’s World Cup as an ontological matter, in South Africa the Cup is so much more: a showcase to the world, another step in nation building, an homage to Mandela and the rest of the liberation struggle, and let’s don’t be naive: a chance to make filthy, obscene lucre.
This is not intended to judge in any way whatsoever. As ought to be abundantly clear, in the (admittedly reductionist) cheerleader-detractor debate about the World Cup, I’ve consistently been on the side of the cheerleaders. And I honestly do believe that all of Africa (or at least sub-Saharan Africa) has a proprietary claim on the World Cup. But they are minority partners while South Africa holds the vast majority of the shares.
