Sound the vuvuzela!

God prepared my heart for Haiti in the unlikeliest of places. I became a fan of watching the World Cup in June; it was more difficult to continue the tradition of breakfast and football in New York, but I managed to watch a game or two. The entire world plays soccer, especially boys (and grown men) in Haiti.

Soccer balls were on the packing list sent out by Adventures in Missions. I blew it off. I have learned my lesson. Adam always made sure to have a soccer ball in his "bag of fun" a.k.a. his backpack. The soccer ball was conduit to form a bond between complete strangers. I'm sure we all looked strange to the kids with our varying soccer skills.

After my first morning in Haiti, I realized I was going to need to learn some footwork. I found members of our group frequently engaged in a circle with Haitian boys, either kids we met while walking around, kids we met in tent cities, or the kids who lived next door to where we lived. I wanted to join, but I knew my skill level was a joke.

During our siesta on July 21, I saw Dorly kicking around a small, inflated ball the size of a grapefruit. I asked him for a lesson. I practiced bouncing the ball off of my foot. I could only do it twice in a row, a third time if I got lucky.

The next morning, after Pastor David shared his testimony, Zick became my soccer coach. He taught me some footwork as we kicked the ball back and forth. I received my second lesson that afternoon during our siesta. I learned how to aim the ball (in theory; sometimes I'm able to apply the skill).

I started joining the soccer circles. Most of the boys were kind and brought their skill level down a notch. Usually, I'd be much to proud and demand their best, but not even my pride could blind me of my skill deficiency. I appreciated the mercy (which is a better word than "pity").

In fact, one boy offered to play for me in the middle of the circle during our keep away game when it was my turn to go in the middle. I allowed it the first time, but I insisted on playing the second time. The only way to improve is to play.

I was feeling like a soccer player, a Haitian soccer player to be exact. I told myself early on in the trip that I'd leave Haiti a soccer player.

Saturday morning our group returned to the tent city associated with a Catholic organization. We challenged the boys on the soccer field to a match. The "American" team consisted of Adam, Joel, Jeffrey, Ernst, Dorly, Phanor, Branden, myself, and two other Haitian boys. Ernst, Dorly, and Phanor were our intrepreters. The boys kept saying that we were missing a person. "She's playing." was the response. After a second time (if not more), they finally accepted the fact that I was playing. A group of boys had crowded around me. They kept talking to me and laughing. I finally asked Phanor to intrepret for me. He listened, responded to the boys, and never told me what they said. I think I'd laugh at white girl trying to play soccer in Haiti wearing goofy hiking sandals, too.

Ernst told me that I was going to score a lot of goals; he told me to play in the front line in the center. I thought he was crazy, but I went to my position. My goal was to stay on my two feet. The field by the opposing team's goal had a giant patch of mud (at best). Not only did I meet my goal, but I also passed the ball to a teammate and stole the ball from a member on the Haitian team. BAM! I was excited despite the fact that I mostly just ran around on the field, pretending I knew what I was doing.

After about 30 minutes, we were winning 2-0. Zick had returned from an errand, so he wanted to play. He's a good soccer player, not to mention a very patient coach. He wanted my spot on the team. I did not want to leave the game, but I also knew it would be best to quit while I was ahead. I could not say no to my brother, Zick. The game continued for 2 hours. The Americans lost 6-12.

I can at least say I left the game a winner, and I left Haiti a soccer player. :)


[photo credit: Kansas Corley]