When women journalists meet The Black Stars!

| Friday July 9, 2010 00:00

I thought it was more childish until I travelled to Johannesburg for a leadership workshop organised for Women In News. I was not looking forward to it because I did not know what to expect from it. We arrived at the OR Tambo International Airport at 10am and looked all over for the sign that we were told to look for.

We slowly moved around with our luggage scanning the area like lost sheep until we saw a group of women standing next to their luggage.

We approached them and realised they were part of a delegation of  journalists from Namibia and Zambia. The hotel shuttle that was supposed to pick us up had delayed and we waited for almost an hour. The happy faces turned sour.

The airport was buzzing with activity with people waiting for their friends and relatives to arrive. The stalls selling World Cup merchandise and mementos from South Africa and the Vuvuzela were a hit with the tourists.

It seemed like every other person had one. The World Cup was on and everyone was trying to cash in with whatever they had, while others were there to offer their translation skills to the tourists who were clueless in English.

I found it funny, but it was serious business for those guys. We went to a MTN shop to buy sim cards which were going for R60 and we looked at each other with quizzical looks that say 'are these people crazy' because we know sim cards in South Africa are very cheap.

 We went next door to the Vodacom shop where the salesladies were waiting at the door giving out sim cards to tourists for free. We registered our names and got them too.

We moved to the other women and still the shuttle van had not come. After an hour, a short man dressed in a black suit arrived with a board.

He apologised profusely that there had been a miscommunication about the time of arrivals and no one had given him proper instructions.

We followed him to the parking lot and boarded the van, which went through down-down Johannesburg to the Parktonian Hotel in Braamfontein.  'Eish, this place, how are we expected to walk the streets because of the brothers hanging out on so many corners?' one woman from the group asked.

In its day, the Parktonian was counted among the most prestigious of hotels, often accommodating heads of state as it also hosted elite conferences of the most respected intellectuals in academia.

ZakumiFunny that most of the stories that people read in the international media could scare one. We arrived at the hotel where at the gate stood a huge ball and the World Cup mascot, Zakumi.

The Ghanaian flag flew high beside the South African flag. There were Ghana flags draped all over the walls in the apartments in front of the hotel. At the reception as we were checking in, we saw the inscription: 'This is official FIFA accommodation'. 

No one took notice and I just joked with one of the ladies that maybe the Ghana team was booked there. She laughed and said maybe they were just showing their support as the rest of the continent for the only African team that made it to the quarterfinals.

The following day on Thursday, during our workshop, it was revealed that the team would be arriving that afternoon. I am not one to get excited over stars. None of us were excited at all. Then when their bus marked 'Hope of Africa' arrived, we moved to the hotel entrance near the reception area.

I am sure the players, having stayed there before, were shocked to receive the kind of attention they got. The lady scribes moved to one side, barricaded by the police, and then out of nowhere there was one Ghanaian man who also lodged at the hotel.

When they disembarked, someone asked him the players' names, typical of women because most us are not really into football, but we shouted their names like 'Hi Ayew! Hi Gyan and Hi Milo' to the amusement of the players as they waved. It was so funny we all joined in as we were the only women there so we behaved like typical groupies. We went back to the conference hall and continued our workshop and then went out for dinner at Moyo's.

When we came back, the players were mingling with fans on the lobby and we joined in the fray as cameras started clicking away.

Brag The players were extremely friendly and agreed to all the requests to pose even though the female manager of the hotel was quick to remind us not to bother them.

I posed just to come and brag to my friend and colleague, Mosah Mokganedi, a sports writer, that I definitely know all their names, which she probably does not.

On the Friday we left, the players were to meet the most hated team amongst the African teams, Uruguay. I uploaded my picture on Facebook with the team's top striker, Asamoah Gyan, and guess what; Mosah was the first to comment, green with envy.

When I arrived home, my brother could not believe it when I showed him the pictures and I laughed.

Now I understand why those crazy fans are always hungry to pose with these celebrities and stars. I behaved foolishly like them now when I look back.

What the heck! I could not pay to watch one game because I was broke, but I will look back when people talk about the day the hand of the Uruguay player denied the only African team a place in the semi finals, and I will say, 'I saw those players just before they went to play.

It was fun, but not something to be repeated, unless I am with a bunch of crazy women like those journalists.