'Beautiful game' offers escape
National Post
Brian Hutchinson
Published: Saturday, February 23, 2008
KANDAHAR CITY, Afghanistan
Violence, poverty and myriad forms of serious crime plague this city, among the world's most dangerous, but there is one means of escape that doesn't involve AK-47s or drugs: the "beautiful game."
Soccer is resurgent in Kandahar, thanks to an assist from Canadian soldiers and philanthropists back home.
Soccer balls --5,000 of them, paid for in Canada and shipped here recently from Pakistan -- are kicking around everywhere and putting smiles on faces too often plastered with grief.
Diversions are welcome, especially this week. Two suicide bombings in Kandahar province killed at least 135 people. One of the attacks occurred just outside the city, at a dog-fighting rally. And a car bombing in the city on Tuesday left one civilian dead and injured three others.
"The violence affects us negatively, of course," says Abdul Rahman, 22, limbering up on a local pitch with mates from his men's league team, Breshna (the Pashto word for electricity). "It's impossible to avoid."
Soccer, he adds, "gives us a break from all our misery." He takes a new ball, balances it on his forehead, lets it drop to the ground and then boots it. "At least now we can do this, whenever we like."
It wasn't always the case. People here never quit the game, but for years they played under difficult, if not impossible, circumstances. Secretly, sometimes.
Equipment was scarce; so were playing fields. But the biggest problem was politics and a perverse take on religion. When the Taliban ruled Afghanistan, its theocratic leadership issued directives from an armed camp in Kandahar. Preposterous rules were applied to many activities, including the game.
Girls were forbidden to play. Males also faced severe restrictions.
They were not to wear pants hemmed above their knees. Players in violation of this dress code were subject to arrest and humiliation by Taliban agents. A visiting squad from Pakistan once violated the knee ban: The players' heads were shaved clean.
Unbridled expressions of joy on the pitch -- after, say, a pretty goal -- were frowned upon. Play was confined to certain areas. And kicking a ball after 4 p.m., anywhere, was expressly forbidden.
None of his players look back on those days with fondness or nostalgia, says Breshna's gregarious coach, Aman Kamran. But the general situation in today's Kandahar may be even worse.
Unemployment, a lack of security and basic services, and rising discontent all spell gloom.
It's a sad thing, he says, when his players "have kind of accepted this way of life. It's been going on for 30 years. It's not a new phenomenon."
A native of Kandahar, Mr. Kamran worked for years in New York and became an American citizen. He returned to Kandahar a few years ago, expecting to build a thriving business and something like a normal life. That hasn't happened.
But he has managed to nurture his love for sport, soccer in particular. He volunteered to coach Breshna three years ago and helped move the team from a lower form to the city's top division.
This week, a day after the latest bombing, he assembled his players on a large grass field on the edge of the city. The air was still. No dust, no noise, no anxiety. It was a peaceful scene, and to these eyes, at least, quite unfamiliar.
In the distance, an imam called Muslims to Salatu-l-Asr, the mid-afternoon prayer. One by one, the players knelt on a large mat and gave thanks to God.
That done, they hauled on their practice jerseys, their shin guards and cleats, all the while cracking jokes and playing pranks. Then they hit the pitch.
Mr. Kamran put his players through their paces. Blasting away on his whistle, he had them sprint up and down the grass surface, recently upgraded from a miserable dirt patch. "We put down one foot of soil and made quite a proper field," he says, proudly. Mr. Kamran contributed his own money to the cause.
His team received 30 of the 5,000 new soccer balls that arrived last month. The donation, valued at $30,000, was the brainchild of Vahan Kololian a Toronto businessman and chairman of the Mosaic Institute, an organization devoted to diversity, international peace and development.
Canada Company, a group committed to supporting the military, was also involved. Canadian soldiers distributed the balls to various organizations and leagues in Kandahar. Children received most of them.
Mr. Kamran blew his whistle. His players formed a cluster. Time for knee bends and more stretching. "Look at their faces," he says. "You see? They are smiling. But underneath, I know there are frustrations."
"Some of these guys have just had friends and relatives
killed or wounded. They come here for a few hours, just to forget and enjoy the game."
Sultan Mohammad, 22, says his uncle, the principal at a local high school, was injured in Tuesday's car bombing.
"He was hit with shrapnel while sitting outside the school, sunning himself. These things happen," Mr. Mohammad says with a shrug.
His mates call out to him, and they begin to scrimmage. Some move adroitly around the pitch. Others lumber. These are ordinary Joes who drive trucks for a living, or sell food from roadside stalls. Several of the men are unemployed.
They aren't world-beaters, but Mr. Kamran says the players inspire him.
"They have hard lives. Just getting out to practice can be dangerous. But they're here. It says something about the guts of these people. They still have spirit. And they won't surrender to terrorism."