GAME DAY, PART 1: PREPARATION

Contributed by: Dave

There are just some things you can’t prepare for.

Last night, we spent hours—literally, hours—dissecting how today would go. Two days of shooting Kei Kamara’s training with the Leone Stars had forced us to re-evaluate our strategy. From day one, we knew that the torrential downpours that appeared at a moment’s notice threatened to destroy our equipment or, at the very least, severely limit our mobility.

Day two had yielded a much larger threat. At the end of a relatively calm training, Kei made his way over to the Leone Stars supporters, took off one cleat and hurled it into the stands. Not surprisingly, mayhem ensued in the crowd. What was a shock, though, was the reaction from the small number of fans who had been watching the practice from the field. These supporters each had some connection to one of the players. They were each allowed in by security before the entrance gates were locked. They were screened. But when they saw Kei’s boot was up for grabs, they rushed him and began grabbing at him, tearing for his other shoe, literally lifting him off the ground at one point. Always the fan favorite, Kei somehow managed to escape the madness with both his body and status among his supporters unscathed (he did, however, leave shoeless).

Calm was quickly restored, but only for a moment. The gates on the far end of the field swung open to allow the Leone Stars bus to exit. As it did, fans came running towards the few remaining players who chose not to board the bus. Kei had opted to ride home with his brother, which placed him on a collision course with the mob rushing towards his car. He quickly hopped in the passenger’s seat and we were given an idea of what Beatlemania must have been like. People surrounded the vehicle. A dozen fans quickly turned into 50. Then there were a hundred. Kei’s brother couldn’t get his car free of the masses. Kei opened the window a crack, then tossed a stack of player cards into the air, sending men and boys scattering to get one. Kei’s car sped away with hundreds chasing.

We knew that if the reaction of 200 fans could make us feel unsafe, the 45,000 inside National Stadium on gameday could pose a problem. Our fears weren’t unwarranted: not only had my dummy wallet containing $20, an expired license and a 2009-2010 New York Rangers schedule been pickpocketed during the madness, but we heard the government had already called in 1000 additional members of the military for the game. Apparently, the two governing bodies of Sierra Leone’s football association had disagreed on ticket prices. Rather than reach a compromise, two sets of tickets were issued, rendering one useless. Tension was on the rise. We needed to be ready for anything. And we thought we were.

We had dissected every possible scenario. What if we’re separated? What if one of us is injured in a stampede? What if we can’t find the car and need to cab it home? Our preparations went above and beyond. First and foremost, we had decided to leave the game at least 10 minutes before the final whistle (I had excellent preparation for this as I never stayed for a complete game as a child so my dad could “beat the traffic.”) We stashed money in secret places on our body. We left our passports behind, but carried a copy on us. Non-essential electronics stayed in the room. We gave each other the Disney treatment—which is to say we took digital pictures so we could show the authorities what we looked like and what we were wearing on the day we disappeared. We even had headlamps stashed in each bag so if we had to make our way back to the hotel in the midst of one of Freetown’s famous blackouts, we’d at least be able to light the way.

In short, we thought of everything. Or had we?