ONLY IN AFRICA

My own story happened long time ago when I was about 8years old in the bustling, notorious and fun-to-be Ajegunle inside the hearts of Lagos .

It all came about, when our street was called to a football match by the hefty boys on the other street about five streets to be precise from my own. On the match day, I was a bit scared of their intentions as their eyes were bloody red but with courage I chose to be part of the team because I knew I had a goal in the match. A cup was presented by our opponent and mind you, it was made of a JIK container with a bulb beautifully placed on it, then it was carefully wrapped with the shinning paper in the cigarette pack. This cup was our own way to signify that it was a world cup.

The match began, and I was on the bench. Our opponent scored the first goal in the early minutes which lasted until the 75th minute which I was substituted in which I equalized with a beautiful header. The match continued until the 90th minute. Our opponent refused that we should go into a straight penalty shoot out. So we began another marathon of 90 minutes, just because the first to score a goal will automatically win and take the cup home. Fatigue and dizziness set in, so the referee had to whistle for penalty shoot out. We played four each all scoring. Then our opponent lost their own giving us the chance to take the cup if I scored my last As soon as they lost theirs, the cup bearer went to sit on the fence ready to run away if I scored, and unquestionably I did.

We had won! ‘But where is the cup?’ every one asked. It was gone into the thin air as our opponent were the organizers, so they all felt if anyone should have taken the cup, then it should have been them.