Out of Africa

As readers will know, Bra midfielder Bridget recently journeyed to Seth Efrica to indulge her passion for the Socceroos and all things football. At my request, she kindly agreed to write a wrap of her World Cup adventure and, well, she's provided in spades. So sit back, pull up a faux Zebra-skin pouffe, and enjoy her wonderful tale of jumpsuits, monkeys, cheap cider, vuvubloodyzelas and, yes, football...

A Zebra In Her Natural Habitat (or 'What I Did On My Holidays')

by Bridget “Timmy" McPherson


It was a chilly morning in the winter of 2009 when I, my brother Simon, his partner Robyn, and my partner Frank Farina (otherwise known as Jeremy, otherwise known as Adrian), met for an early breakfast at Mess Hall. After weeks of deliberation, failed ticket ballots, squandered attempts to rort the FIFA ticketing system (how I did not pass as an Afrikaaner still baffles me…), and general dismay, we used bacon and eggs to mark our official commitment to partake in the Sportsnet Socceroos Safaris and Sombreros tour. That’s right – we were going to the 2010 FIFA World Cup.

Twelve months, and many down-payments, later, we headed off to South Africa and embarked upon a journey that had it all: devastation (Australia vs Germany), hope (Australia vs Ghana), and bittersweet elation (Australia vs Serbia). Not to mention the non-football-related experiences: incredible views (Cape Town from the top of Table Mountain), amazing humility (touring Robben Island with an ex-political prisoner), raw fear (whispering as lions sauntered within metres of us at Kruger National Park), ridiculousness (to all those people who texted – no, we did NOT get taken hostage!!), high fashion (homemade jumpsuits) and buffet after buffet after buffet.

But of course I hear you ask how one managed such a rollercoaster of emotion. The answer to your question is simple. First, I am a Zebra – albeit a Brunswick Zebra, but this ensured I was welcomed with open arms by all the African Zebras I had contact with. Second, I love football more than anything – my partner is very clear that should I ever reach a maturity level where I become capable of bearing children, I will not love them as much as I love football. And so this football-loving Zebra was very much in her natural habitat, soaking up as much football as possible while embracing the wilderness of Africa.

However, there were certainly some lessons learned, and in preparation for Brazil 2014, I have commenced writing Affirm Press’ next best seller…



“A Zebra’s Survival Guide to the World Cup”

1. Wear a sombrero (especially if you can find one that has your name on it).

Apart from our extremely capable Sportsnet guides, our tour was led by the Four Diegos – football analyst extraordinaires of SEN and ABC Radio fame. All tour participants were provided with a Diego name – for three weeks of my life, I was referred to as Dottore, a name borne from the Diegos’ seeming fascination with the “Dr.” in front of my name, and their decision, despite all Psychology-related ethical principles and legal stipulations, to upgrade my qualifications from “Psychologist” to “Sports Psychologist”. This allowed them to harness the bus microphone after Australia’s loss to Germany and announce, “Don’t worry everyone, we have Dottore to help us”. Eek. I wracked my brain for something, ANYTHING that I could say that would make this situation better, make people feel better, more hopeful, more positive. It was one of those moments were you could hear crickets rubbing their little legs together. I had nothing.

Diego names were emblazoned on the green and gold sombreros also provided by the Four Diegos. Not only did these stylish numbers provide excellent protection from the elements (I’m pretty sure the Slap of the Slip Slop Slap slogan has been changed to “Slap on a sombrero”), but they also ensured that none of our fellow travellers were able to be lost. Picture 147 Aussies standing at the airport in Durban; it was a beautiful sea of green, gold and sombrero. Even more beautiful was the symphony that emanated from the sombrero sea as a group of four Germans walked past – the tuneful “Who are ya? Who are ya?” assured us of plenty of attention and thus, numerous photos with local airport staff.

2. Get used to biltong.

South Africa is famous for its range of dried meats, sausage, dried sausage, and so on. I’m a purist, so I wasn’t keen on any of the fancy versions; my personal favourite was biltong, which is basically little pieces of dried beef. Salty goodness.

Given we were staying in Cape Town on the day of the Australia vs Germany match, which was in Durban, we endured a 22-hour day of transit, which was definitely worth it given how well Australia played. Oh, wait, hang on… Anyways, I digress. After the coach trip from the hotel to the airport in Cape Town, followed by a lengthy waiting period at the airport, followed by a flight to Durban, followed by another coach trip to the stadium, there was little opportunity to eat, and we were all looking forward to the wonders provided by FIFA at Moses Mabhida Stadium. Much to our dismay, the queues for the bars and food outlets were EXTREMELY long, so we sauntered around the ground, a little lost and unsure of how to replenish ourselves. Finally, like some miraculous mirage, we happened upon an outlet with a relatively short queue. We stood for about 15 minutes, during which we debated the sanity of a local South African wearing a Germany shirt standing behind us. Eventually we reached the front, and as I opened my mouth to place our order (“Three hot dogs, one bag of chips, three beers, one cider, and four ice creams please”), I was greeted with a stark, “We only have biltong and water left”. What??? Biltong and water???

And so we watched the ball sail into the Australian net on four occasions while munching on biltong and drinking water. As much as I like salty dried meat, it didn’t have the same pain-reducing qualities as cider and chips do.

3. If you don’t know what brought you bad luck, change EVERYTHING.

Many months before leaving for South Africa, Adrian/Frank Farina and I were fortunate enough to be at a pub that was giving away Wallabies jumpsuits. So in the week prior to our departure, with the help of iron-on transfers, my highly talented Industrial Designing brother, and my very committed and helpful mum (who knows how to sew), I transformed the jumpsuits into four World Cup specific Socceroos jumpsuits, fully pimped with pictures and our names on the back. They were outstanding, and I am still unsure of what brought my friends to exclaim, “Oh my, that is HIDEOUS!” when I showed them photos of me wearing said jumpsuit. Anyways, we donned our jumpsuits prior to the Australia vs Germany match, and again our progression toward the stadium was frequently stilted by the requests of locals to have their photo taken with us. Somewhere in South Korea, there is a couple showing their friends a photo of themselves with me and my jumpsuit-wearing co-travellers. Priceless.

As we all know, the Germany match didn’t go so well. Robyn refused to wear her jumpsuit at all, and Adrian/Frank Farina took his off pre-match, claiming to be “too hot for such a serious occasion”. Simon persisted, but too succumbed just before kick-off. I, being all too aware of the effort put in to making these jumpsuits, kept mine on. Well, I kept it on until we were 3-0 down. At that point, it was clear that the boys weren’t going to change the outcome of this match, so I surrendered my jumpsuit, hoping that the gods of superstition would hear my plea and somehow deliver us a goal or two.

After the match, everyone on tour decided that we weren’t able to pin down exactly what brought the bad luck (yes, yes, I know Pim buggered it, but that was way too obvious), so we made a pact to do EVERYTHING differently next time. Arrive later, eat differently, drink, walk, talk, breathe differently. And of course, wear something different. So sadly, the jumpsuits never again saw the light of day. But on the up side, the Socceroos did get better.

4. When you fear you’ve spent thousands of dollars to see the Socceroos perform worse than they did in ’74, chant.

Not only did we eat, drink, breathe, dress differently, but Bus 2 (our tour was divided into three coaches. We decided early on that our bus was by far the coolest; that is, until we realised that Bus 3 was total luxury and we’d been given a complete dud that had no suspension and filled with dust every time we went off road) banded together and made some solid decisions. As much as we all loved the vuvuzelas, we noted the distinct lack of chanting at the Australia vs Germany match. And everyone knows that the Socceroos love a good chant. Thus, during yet another lengthy day of transit, we spent a great deal of time on the coach forming a choir of chants. One guy tried to find the opening lyrics to “Land Down Under” on his iPhone; two others mocked each other after they both screwed up the lyrics to “Waltzing Matilda”; Simon and I tried our hardest to think of the lyrics to the Socceroos Posh Spice chant (why doesn’t anybody remember that??); we pleaded with Warren Diego and Pablo Cruise Diego to lead us in any type of chant, song, poetry reading, anything. It was abysmal.

But if nothing else, it lifted our hopes and spirits, which carried on as we took our seats in the sunshine at the Royal Bafokeng Stadium in Rustenberg for the Australia vs Ghana match. Chants were started by groups more capable than us, but we joined in with voices raised. We were told later on that you couldn’t hear us chanting on TV, but I have no doubt the players heard us. We were at full voice when Holman scored, and I’m sure I saw a skip in Kennedy’s step when he came off the bench to us worshipping him with our arms while shouting, “Jesus! Jesus!”

5. Never hate a Socceroo.

To all those Holman Haters on tour and out in the vortex: I told you so.

The two best moments of my life have now occurred, and I’m struggling to see how they will be matched at any point in future. I didn’t think it would get any better than me, sitting six rows from the front at Mbombela Stadium, watching my namesake, Tim Cahill, score against Serbia. And then Brett Holman scored. I have a clear memory of being squashed inside a mega-hug provided by Socceroos supporters beside, in front, and behind me. We could actually win this! Sheer bliss. We willed the boys with all our might to score again, to push for qualification for the Round of 16 based on goal difference. Alas, it was not to be, but seeing that match will forever remain in my memory.

6. Drink. It’s really cheap.

As much as everyone on tour agreed to keep this a secret to prevent a mass influx of Australians avoiding Bali and travelling to South Africa instead, I can’t help myself: everything in South Africa is really, really cheap. Particularly alcohol. A bottle of wine cost the same as a glass does in Australia. A cider costed the equivalent of about $2.00. And there’s heaps of different varieties! For this gluten-intolerant and thus non-beer-drinking Zebra, it was a dream. There are no funny bits in this part of the Survival Guide. One shouldn’t joke about cheap cider.


7. Close your window.

Due to some accommodation-related confusion, Simon, Robyn, Adrian/Frank Farina and I shared a two-bedroom apartment, as opposed to two separate hotel rooms, outside of Johannesburg. We arrived late at night (dust-filled Bus 2 struggled to traverse the 11 kilometres of dirt road) and amidst the mishaps, we were given two warnings: some of you are sharing apartments with complete strangers, and don’t have a shower between 12am and 8am because the water pipes will be frozen. However, the staff neglected to provide the third warning: don’t leave your windows open.

The next morning, Robyn opened her window, and through a mixture of bad luck and miscommunication, failed to close it. The four of us set off for an amazing day in Johannesburg, featuring the Apartheid Museum, Nelson Mandela House, and a tour of Soweto. Early in the day, Adrian/Frank Farina received a text message from a co-tour participant, Brett, asking if we had left our window open because there were monkeys wandering around the grounds in Socceroos gear. Adrian/Frank Farina and I had no idea about the open window, so texted back: “Very funny. We’ll just borrow your Socceroos jacket for the next match then”. Brett’s reply: “No, really, there were ten monkeys in your room and they took your toothpaste and your coffee”. He was obviously being ridiculous, so Adrian/Frank Farina wrote back: “Oh well, at least they’ll have minty fresh breath”. And our day continued.

We returned to the resort later that night and joined Brett and his partner, Liz, for dinner. Half way through the meal, Liz asked whether our rooms were ok. We stared at her, blankly. She repeated herself, but with more detail: “Your rooms. Did the monkeys damage anything?”

What?????????

As it turns out, earlier that morning, the people staying in the apartment next to ours spotted BETWEEN TEN AND FIFTEEN monkeys scooting in and out of our apartment, and leaving with a poncho, our toothpaste, and the coffee provided by the resort. Our neighbours alerted a cleaner who, after some minutes, managed to scare the monkeys out of the apartment and close the window. But the monkeys were angered by their abrupt ejection, so they sat on the windowsill and furiously knocked on the window, demanding to be allowed back inside.

Apparently there are photos of the monkeys with coffee and dried milk around their mouths. I’m not kidding.


8. Embrace the vuvuzela.

Since returning from South Africa, I have been confronted with several things. A week of jet lag. Bronchitis. Cravings for buffets. The harshness of being in the wrong time zone for World Cup matches for the first time in several years. Being completely unable to breathe after Em kicked a ball into my ribs from point-blank range (this has nothing to do with my trip but I wanted it in print for posterity). And the same question from every single person I have had contact with: “How did you cope with those f**king awful vuvuzelas?”

Folks, the vuvuzelas, like everything in South Africa, were completely embraced by everyone present. EVERYONE, regardless of age, gender or race, owned one. Sure, they were irritating at times, particularly when someone sitting immediately behind you blew into one with all their might. In fact, there were lots of things in South Africa that were irritating at times. Once our coach stopped in a parking lot for 30 minutes for no apparent reason, and then continued on our journey. We paid more for one five-minute taxi ride than we did for five nights of drinking in Durban (thanks to me announcing to the driver that we were very foreign and undertaking our first South African taxi ride). FIFA wouldn’t allow me to bring my gluten-free crackers into a Fan Fest. Oh and did I mention that there were monkeys in my room, quite possibly trying on my sombrero?

But all of these irritations, vuvuzelas included, were part of an absolutely amazing experience, one that has not been matched in my 30 years of life thus far. On days when South Africa was playing, it was impossible to find a local that wasn’t wearing a Bafana Bafana jersey, or carrying a flag, or donning green and yellow face paint. We met countless people who, despite having lived through various traumas, repeatedly proclaimed how “proud, passionate and patriotic” they were. We visited townships where locals lived well below the poverty line, and they excitedly waved to our bus and invited us into their communities. South Africa is a country with a tormented history, and one that remains fraught with social and economic problems. But its people have an incredible capacity for joy and celebration, despite their difficulties. Plus the cider is really cheap! The World Cup itself was phenomenal, but the country made the trip all the better. Definitely check it out one day. But don’t forget your Survival Guide!


Acknowledgements: Special thanks to Jess, Em, Rhi and Merissa for their excellent contributions to this piece of literature, and to the Great Northern for providing shelter while these contributions were formed.