I have never liked soccer - I quit playing as a child and as an adult I find
it painful to watch on TV. The only time I have ever enjoyed watching a
game is when my younger sister is tearing up the field or the
occasional World Cup match. However, as soon as I accepted my
invitation to serve in Burkina I realized soccer would be a consistent part of my life.
It became a daily part of my life this past Christmas when my sister
graciously donated a soccer ball to the kids in my family. I thought I
knew what I was getting into...but boy was I wrong! I instead have
inflicted a daily migraine on myself that is the soccer ball. I
decided when my family brought the ball that I would be responsible
for its survival. The last time I gave my village family a ball (I
brought back a small ball from Ireland) to do with as they wanted, it
ended up not just deflated but completely ripped apart in less than 24
hours. So, I made the decision that I would keep the ball and the kids could
check it in and out like a library book. I thought that this was the
best way to keep the peace and ensure that the ball made it past New
Years. Every day since, sometimes starting at 6:30am, I have children
banging on my door asking for the ball. Recently they have discovered
that if they stand under my bedroom window and scream my name, it will
wake me up as the window sits right over the head of my bed. Needless
to say the ball has turned me into a grouch. They seem to have learned
that they will not get the ball until I come back from work in the
early afternoon, but there are still mornings I wake up cursing that soccer
ball.
When I do give the ball out in the afternoon, it usually goes to a
young boy. I constantly go on my tirade about sharing the ball,
playing nicely together and including the young children and girls.
However, even though I have given my speech about a hundred times, no
one seems to understand. Every time I give the ball
out, it somehow ends up going to a gang of older boys in the
neighborhood. When this happens I have every young kid in my family
coming up to me and repeatedly asking for the ball. At first this
annoyed me - obviously I didn't have the ball, I gave
it to the other kids - and then I realized that they weren't asking me
for the ball but asking me to get the ball for them. So every once in
a while I kept the ball back from the older kids and held a supervised game
in the evening with only the girls and little kids. The first time
this happened it went great. Everyone but the boys were happy, because
they think the ball is their given right. They sat on the
edges of the game and kept trying to weasel their way in. This ball
has amped up my "Grouch" factor. I yell at the boys for jumping in my
baby game, I scream at the gang of older boys for taking the ball away
from my kids, I scold the little kids for throwing rocks at the other kids when
they get frustrated (yes, they stone their opponents and get indignant
when I make them stop) and I become totally frustrated when I've been asked for the ball
20 times in one hour. Being the soccer police is driving me nuts.
Ensuring that everyone gets a chance with the ball and that no one is
taking advantage of having the soccer ball is a full time job. I am sure I have made
enemies and friends as I play god with the ball, but I cannot see
any other way to handle this situation. There are times when I am denying the ball to
make a point and I feel awful because I am denying these kids their
one real toy, but I also have to maintain some semblance of control in
order to keep my sanity and the ball in one piece. The ball already is
ruined (in the first two weeks) because the kids pulled the plastic
nub out of the pump hole, but I am trying to keep it going for as long
as possible before retiring it and asking my family to send another.
it painful to watch on TV. The only time I have ever enjoyed watching a
game is when my younger sister is tearing up the field or the
occasional World Cup match. However, as soon as I accepted my
invitation to serve in Burkina I realized soccer would be a consistent part of my life.
It became a daily part of my life this past Christmas when my sister
graciously donated a soccer ball to the kids in my family. I thought I
knew what I was getting into...but boy was I wrong! I instead have
inflicted a daily migraine on myself that is the soccer ball. I
decided when my family brought the ball that I would be responsible
for its survival. The last time I gave my village family a ball (I
brought back a small ball from Ireland) to do with as they wanted, it
ended up not just deflated but completely ripped apart in less than 24
hours. So, I made the decision that I would keep the ball and the kids could
check it in and out like a library book. I thought that this was the
best way to keep the peace and ensure that the ball made it past New
Years. Every day since, sometimes starting at 6:30am, I have children
banging on my door asking for the ball. Recently they have discovered
that if they stand under my bedroom window and scream my name, it will
wake me up as the window sits right over the head of my bed. Needless
to say the ball has turned me into a grouch. They seem to have learned
that they will not get the ball until I come back from work in the
early afternoon, but there are still mornings I wake up cursing that soccer
ball.
When I do give the ball out in the afternoon, it usually goes to a
young boy. I constantly go on my tirade about sharing the ball,
playing nicely together and including the young children and girls.
However, even though I have given my speech about a hundred times, no
one seems to understand. Every time I give the ball
out, it somehow ends up going to a gang of older boys in the
neighborhood. When this happens I have every young kid in my family
coming up to me and repeatedly asking for the ball. At first this
annoyed me - obviously I didn't have the ball, I gave
it to the other kids - and then I realized that they weren't asking me
for the ball but asking me to get the ball for them. So every once in
a while I kept the ball back from the older kids and held a supervised game
in the evening with only the girls and little kids. The first time
this happened it went great. Everyone but the boys were happy, because
they think the ball is their given right. They sat on the
edges of the game and kept trying to weasel their way in. This ball
has amped up my "Grouch" factor. I yell at the boys for jumping in my
baby game, I scream at the gang of older boys for taking the ball away
from my kids, I scold the little kids for throwing rocks at the other kids when
they get frustrated (yes, they stone their opponents and get indignant
when I make them stop) and I become totally frustrated when I've been asked for the ball
20 times in one hour. Being the soccer police is driving me nuts.
Ensuring that everyone gets a chance with the ball and that no one is
taking advantage of having the soccer ball is a full time job. I am sure I have made
enemies and friends as I play god with the ball, but I cannot see
any other way to handle this situation. There are times when I am denying the ball to
make a point and I feel awful because I am denying these kids their
one real toy, but I also have to maintain some semblance of control in
order to keep my sanity and the ball in one piece. The ball already is
ruined (in the first two weeks) because the kids pulled the plastic
nub out of the pump hole, but I am trying to keep it going for as long
as possible before retiring it and asking my family to send another.
And at that point we will have come full circle and it will start all over again.
But sometimes when everything is going right, the look
of joy on my little shoeless children when they get to kick the ball
is pretty good ... I guess soccer isn't so bad after all.
But sometimes when everything is going right, the look
of joy on my little shoeless children when they get to kick the ball
is pretty good ... I guess soccer isn't so bad after all.
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