Natalie De Sole reporting from Accra: Ghana & the World Cup

Ghana was Africa’s last chance in the first African World Cup. To all past African travelers, you know how deeply embedded football is in the culture. If not, imagine boys in both dirt villages and any empty patch of land in the city, kicking around a round object. Shirts or jerseys are used to mark the goalposts. They run in the heat, often without shoes, and happily go at it. Despite this almost continent-wide love for football, no African nation has made it to the quarter-finals of the World Cup before. On Friday night, Ghana had a chance to do so.

Accra hummed with excitement. For the past week, since Ghana’s defeat of the US, locals have dressed in completely Ghanaian colors. By game day, skirts were created with two flags sewn together, flag scarves were wrapped around heads, jersey shirts with the names “appiah” “muntari” and an increasing number of “gyan” covered torso’s all over the street.

I live a block away from downtown Accra, and I was excited to take my roommate and her colleague to “Oxford” street to watch the game. Our actual location was at a local tilapia restaurant. When I say a restaurant, I mean a set of outside plastic tables covered with plastic sheets. The game is projected onto the white section of the apartment complex’s wall. You have to wait for dark, 10 minutes before the game starts at 6:30 pm before the game is visible.

The food at this simple restaurant is splendid. Fresh tilapia, marinated, slowly grilled for 30 minutes, and served with fresh vegetables and banku. All is eaten with the right hand, fingers actively skin, and debone the fish, all of it then wrapped in the banku (a fermented starch) and the veggies.

The game itself was the most suspenseful I have ever watched. Ghana and Uruguay were evenly matched for most of the first half. In the last minute before the half time, Ghana scored. The restaurant erupted. The waitresses, waiters, our table neighbors, and the people watching from the staircase ran all around, screaming, waving anything with Ghana colors.

People ran up to strangers and hugged each other in shared jubilation.

Well, from here, you must know the rest. Uruguay scored in the second half. In the last minute of overtime, Ghana’s winning goal was blocked by the hand of a defender, not the goalie. So with less than a minute to go, Ghana was awarded a penalty kick. Gyan against the goalie, it seemed we must win. We held our breath, leaned toward the screen, and watched the ball hit the pole and bounce out. Ghana missed its penalty goal, and the 30 minutes of overtime were over. In the penalty shots, where five strikers from each team get to shoot towards the goal, we lost. Uruguay missed once, Ghana twice.

The silence was deafening. Sadness, disbelief, and rage smothered the air. Its pressing weight seemed to squeeze out the oxygen. Walking home, heads were bent, and occasional swear words, another calling out, “don’t be sad, It’s okay .”The whole weekend was surprisingly quiet in Accra.

Over the next few days, some people criticized the Ghanaian player, others Fifa, and Uruguay for citing the hand block by a non-goalie as the source of ghana’s failure. My favorite response came from a Ghanaian I met on Saturday. He said those who criticize are not grateful. Ghana played well, and we can be proud. There was no one mistake; every shot or chance we missed was a mistake. It was a game, and we played well. We should be proud. In the next world cup, watch Ghana. We will play and advance farther next time.

On those words of wisdom, I will leave you. Below are some pictures of Friday night. Sorry I didn’t get a picture of oxford street! I was worried about pickpockets.

Ready for the Game!: Ghanaian Trader Woman (Left), Roommate Suzanne & Me (Center)