THE Match

The atmosphere was palpable. Excitement ran through every vein of the 22 boys and 18 girls had been selected for the inter cluster football and rounders teams. Children had been ferried by tractor and trailer, full to the gunnels, since early morn, clutching strip and picnic lunches to be joined by parents, guardians and anyone else who happened to be around.

The sight was one to behold. Nearly 800 people had gathered at the uneven, sunbaked grounds that were to be the site for this event, held in Bakary’s honour, or so they would have you believe. A rumour had been circulated that he was to be the referee. How to loose friendships that had been formed over the year. Luckily an athletic looking man, fully equipped with tracksuit, trainers and whistle stepped into the breach.

 As we waited the girls designed a merry game of bashing a ball onto the roof and standing beneath the corrugate to catch whilst the boys were bantering about the dreaded game as only excited boys can. Head teachers looked calm and collected and chivied their pupils between sips of attaya and handshakes. A good feeling pervaded all.


It began late. Great excitement as someone had provided a new ball – a posh shiny leather one, but sadly no one had thought that it would need a pump as well as an adapter. Person after person attempted to variously tempt and force air through the tiny hole but to no avail. A child was sent to a different nearby school with the important task of finding the necessary equipment and returned on battered bike amidst cheers.


And so it was nearly five thirty rather than the allocated 4 o’clock slot that the teams moved to their mission. The girls in one area, stones as bases, tennis racket and ball at the ready, the boys on the pitch, four tall sticks beaten into the ground for goal posts, slightly older children grasping leaf sticks as linesmen.


At this point we separated, Pete to watch the football, and I the rounders.


It was a merry time, sticks were beaten onto old cans to drum the girls as they ran and screamed. Singing and dancing that would put American cheerleaders to shame for sheer exuberance and enthusiasm. Dust filled the air as bare feet stomped the ground and hands reached to grasp elusive catches. At one point a horse and cart drove across the pitch but no one batted an eyelid. It was hardly unusual.


Meanwhile back at the football the game went on. There was some skillful moves despite the lack of premiership grass. A croquet field it was not. Head teachers lost any semblance of calm and respectability, as they invaded the pitch with the rest of the crowd at each goal, berated the ref and rules and vehemently argued their corner of push or foul. The game went on. The ringers that had been brought in by one side had a clear advantage of being six inches taller and two years more experience which allowed even more shouting and high feeling to penetrate the ever decreasing visibility of the game amid the setting sun and dust fog.


It was a joyous occasion, an opportunity for children, parents and teachers to meet and shout and dance. As for health and safety – don’t even go there.