The Finale

Sadly the World Cup ended on Sunday. And sadly, the Dutch, who I’ve supported for the entire cup, went down 1-0 in a brawl of a game to Spain (though I did appreciate the adaptation of Ole, ole ole ole! to Offsides, offsides offsides offsides, regardless of whether that was correct). Madness hit the streets of Cape Town, where a pro-Dutch crowd sadly watched as the South Africans who had luckily bought Spanish gear before the game celebrated their victory.

Although I’m going to miss the frequent commercials telling me that it’s Ayoba time and to Feel It because It is Here, or the little boy who screams Ke Nako (we can/it’s time) before every game, it’s been a fantastic month of games to watch. And with Waving Flag and Wakka Wakka still at the top of the charts, it’ll always feel like the World Cup here.

My host dad said something really interesting the other day while watching an interview Shakira gave in Johannesburg for a girls’ program she was speaking at. “Did you hear Shakira’s accent? I really enjoy walking out and hearing different people’s accents here at the World Cup. Because before, only white people used to be able to travel. And now people from all over are able to come here. It’s fantastic man.”

It’s little things like this that make me realize how much of an impact this World Cup has had on post-apartheid race and class relations. While Quynh and I stood at the fan park for the Netherlands-Uruguay game, we were surrounded by people of all races, students, foreigners, businessmen- all talking to one another, blowing each other’s vuvuzelas, mostly cheering for the Dutch (a revelation in itself given the Dutch’s reputation from colonial times and their association with the former Afrikaner government). I was always told to avoid taking public transportation (and even my colored family avoids taking trains late at night because if you go any further from the city than our area, you have an increasingly higher chance of getting robbed), and yet I could take the train back from Green Point stadium with people of all types late at night without any worry. If the biggest worry your government has to face is Paris Hilton’s marijuana-toting friends or someone breaking into England’s locker room, I’d say you’ve succeeded.

I was also reminded by how small the Yale bubble makes the world. While in Cape Town, we've had 2 Yale friends- Emily and Tasnim. But while sitting at the Old Biscuit Mill, a hipper, more upmarket sort of farmer's market held in what used to be a factory that made teabiscuits and cookies, we ran into our friend Jake Amatruda. We've only met Jake once or twice dating back to the orientation for people going abroad to South Africa, which is where we met Tasnim. This visit, however, was even stranger because, to our knowledge, Jake should have been somewhere around Durban, which is way far away in the northeast, working with Grassroots Soccer with some former Piersonites (one of whom has a bowl that is in my former roommate Chris's possession). So we spent the day catching up and driving around with Jake's parents who had come to visit, leading to us eating springbok and ostrich while watching the Germany game. South Africa has also done something to our sleep schedules, as all 3 of us were passing out in the middle of the restaurant. Also, I really need to go on a safari.