I have been to Botswana three times with CWB. Each trip has been memorable even if I struggle to remember every day. Sadly I don’t remember all three thousand children I’ve met, most of them merging into a blur of smiles and chants and general recollections of vigorous batting and blowing. However within this wealth of experience some days will live in my memory. This was one of them.
What made it so memorable? Firstly stepping out on to the Francistown cricket ground, a bright green oasis surrounded by (according to local knowledge) snake infested brown rocky outcrops reminds you you really are coaching cricket under glorious cloudless skies. This is Africa.
A slightly slow start, as the college 18 of our trainee coaches attend decide it is more important to use their minibus to deliver letters rather than students. This is Africa. Situation solved when K. B., our driver, guide, photographer and all round good bloke organises a shuttle service and pretty soon 25 potential coaches are throwing themselves with enthusiasm into every routine,especially when they recognise the Va Va Voom they can put into the pull shot. Special mention must go to Carl’s Comedy Cricket Challenge as a perfect (deliberate) example of how not to run a warm up – it certainly got the important smiling muscles fully stretched and ready for action. There was a slight break from the action when Portia from the Voice newspaper turned up to interview and photograph us all. As well as being fully briefed on the aims of the charity and the success of the trip so far she was duly informed that we are Cricket Without Boundaries and not Cricket Without Borders as every other newspaper has reported us. She duly noted this down and we await publication. This is Africa.
The morning session finished and a variety of snack lunches consumed we set off for the fifteen minute drive to Matsiloje Primary School. Fifty minutes later we were still driving. This is Africa. We get the first indication that this is not an imaginary destination when we spotted signs to Matsiloje Border Post. We drive into what appears to be a ghost town until we come across an oasis of life in the well hidden school where we are enthusiastically greeted by Mr Sithole, a teacher we had the pleasure of coaching in October. We are introduced to all of the school staff and treated to a prayer for the success of the afternoon, graciously said by one of the trainee coaches who had travelled with us. Thank you Bernadette. Formalities formalised we set off to the school sports field to set up activities for the fifty children we are told will be attending. Round a corner and down a lane we march, modern day pied pipers as children emerge from nowhere and everywhere. At the end of the lane we could very well become Cricket Without Borders as a lusty Va Va Voom shot could deposit the ball in Zimbabwe, although it might require a Chris Gayle special to clear the might Ramakwabane River ( stone dry) which runs by the field and marks the boundary). The warm up requires ten teams. A quick head count. 160. Easy maths. So naturally we end up with eleven teams of twenty. This is Africa.
So two hundred and twenty children spent two hours running, batting, bowling, smiling and chanting, all the activities throwing up dust through which the sun threw hazy shadows over the field. All corners filled with sparkling action. Coaching drills adapted on the hoof to ensure the action never stopped. This is Africa.
And as the action settled all the children sat quietly for the closing ceremony, in which to thank us for our efforts and in gratitude for our apparently generous gift of a dozen tennis balls 220 little voices made a big noise and sang traditional songs in perfect harmonies whilst teachers danced and clapped along. This is school in Africa.
As the children drifted away we had, thanks to the persuasive powers of our driver K.B., one more treat in store – slipping through the Botswana Border Post and half-way over the Ramakwabane Bridge to Zimbabwe. Half way and no more. After all, this is Africa.
And so we sit sipping ice cold St. Louis and Windhoek beers sharing the smaller details – the cute little girl with dreadlocks; the five year old with a rocket arm, the cheeky grin, the perfect front foot drive — the way the children moved from shyly whispering their ABC messages to chanting out Abstain; Be Faithful; Condomise, the volume increasing as we all perform our best pantomime hard of hearing routines. Memories to cherish.
This is living. This is fantastic. This is Africa.