Little by little (an African story)

The Super Eagles, led by Victor Osimhen, eliminated Riyad Mahrez’s Algeria (2-0) last Saturday in Marrakech at the Africa Cup of Nations. In the final quarter-final, the Egyptian team then prevailed over the defending champions, Ivory Coast (3-2), and will face Senegal in the semi-finals.

Listen to this story because it took place in Lagos, in the vibrant Surulere district, on the day our glorious Super Eagles faced the Algerian Fennecs in a match that was sure to be explosive!

There was this Algerian shopkeeper, Mr. Ahmed, a brave man but as stubborn as an old Peugeot 504, who sold televisions and who had decided that day to defy the gods of Nigerian football by hanging an Algerian flag across the entire front of his shop, so big it could have wrapped the whole stadium with it.

It was green, it was white, it had the crescent and the star, and it flapped in the wind like a provocation right under the noses of the Lagosians passing by, smiling with an expression that didn’t bode well, because where we come from, silence is often louder than vuvuzelas.

The match begins, the atmosphere is as tense as a guitar string, and in the tenth minute, our star striker feints, sending the Algerian defender running to buy bread at the nearby market. While everyone shouts « Hey! », a local tailor discreetly pulls out his professional scissors and, zip, neatly cuts off the bottom left corner of Ahmed’s giant flag.

Poor Ahmed, he’s inside, his eyes glued to his screen, he can’t see a thing, he’s stressed, he’s sweating, and then the first Nigerian goal goes in, GOAL! It’s pandemonium in the street, motorcycles are honking, and in the general confusion, three mothers from the market, quick as lightning, each grab a good square meter of green fabric to make scarves, reducing the flag to the size of a restaurant tablecloth.

The second half arrives, the tension rises, the Algerians try to come back, they fight hard, but our defense is as solid as Dangote’s concrete, and every time Mahrez misplaces a pass or the Nigerian goalkeeper makes a miraculous save, poof, another piece of the flag mysteriously disappears, cut off by anonymous and expert hands, so that by the 80th minute, Ahmed’s national pride looks more like a tattered handkerchief than a conqueror’s banner.

And then, the final blow, the Super Eagles’ second goal, 2-0, it’s over, it’s ruined, the stadium trembles, and the last shred of the flag, the one with the star, is torn down by a group of gleeful young fans who use it as superhero capes.

At the final whistle, Ahmed leaves his shop, his heart as heavy as a 50-kilo sack of rice. He looks up and sees his bare storefront, the gray wall staring back at him, and all around him, the whole neighborhood dancing with pieces of HIS flag tied to their heads, arms, everywhere!

He stood there, mouth agape, ready to explode with anger, when his Nigerian neighbor, Papa Chukwudi, proudly wearing a piece of the Red Crescent as a bandana, handed him an ice-cold beer, patted him on the back, and said, laughing:

« Ah, my friend Ahmed, don’t get angry, your flag was too big for just one country. Today we shared the victory and the fabric; that’s what Africa is all about! »  »

…And Ahmed, despite the defeat that stung his eyes, ended up bursting into laughter and drinking with his tormentors, because here, football can steal your flag, but it will never steal your brotherhood, we’re all in this together! »