The Big Field

I recently discovered that some big soccer fields do exist in northern Haiti. After my experiences with tournament play on the small fields I was asked to play with a team in a neighboring village called Loire. This team selected two players from our village to come and practice with the team. I was asked simply out of curiosity about the white guy or more commonly referred to as “Blan.” The practice left a bad taste in my mouth because of the way I was treated. The team was made up of 18 men from age 21 to 26 that enjoyed making fun of the new white guy that could not understand what anyone was saying. I felt extremely isolated but was determined to earn respect by how I played in practice. I didn’t really succeed at that because after practice I walked the two miles back to our village at dusk with more comments aimed at me to complete the comedy hour.

I was shocked when I was asked to come and play in a game two days later. I skeptically agreed to play but was anxious about the interactions with the players. Popito is the other player from our village and he can speak English pretty well. He is the link to information about games and other happenings. Popito came to the orphanage and told me we would be playing at 3pm but had to meet at 12:30 to go to Loire to meet with the team.

At 12:30 I printed off a picture from the computer for my player identification card and thought it’s really going to be hard to miss the white guy, just follow the stares and the chorus of “blan, blan.” Cynical I know. Transportation is sometimes the most exciting part of the experience when I go play. This trip began with a short moped ride to Loire with Popito. We were dropped off and headed past a wall of cactus down a dirt path to the house where we would be meeting the players. Only one player had arrived at the scheduled time and he was lounged under a mango tree on a straw mat half asleep. We walked up and were greeted by the home owner. I was invited to sit with our goalie on the straw mat. The food came before I could fully sit down. I was served a huge plate of rice, beans, potatoes, and goat meat. It is custom to prepare food for the team before the match. I had eaten breakfast about 2 hours prior and saw no way of consuming this large quantity of Haitian cuisine. I dug in and got about half way until I was full. The goalie licking his plate across from me continued to encourage me to eat more, stating, “W’ap bezwen gwo force” and flexing his arm. He was saying I need to be strong for the game. Juice was also paired with the food and it was delicious, I showed too much enjoyment and was served three glasses despite my resistance.

Players filtered in throughout the next 2 hours and all had a comment about the “blan” that was going to play with them today. Some tried to speak to me in English and felt that raising their voice would somehow improve their ability to communicate which I found humorous. Our uniforms were distributed next and consisted of donated P.E. uniforms with Harrison Panthers on the chest and bottom of the shorts. A number had been spray painted in black on the back. I liked the uniforms because they were big and actually fit my tall frame. We changed into our P.E. uniforms behind the house in a half built section of the house. A man showering also in the area we were changing asked Popito to ask me if it was ok that he was naked. I didn’t have a problem with it if he didn’t.

The town we were playing in was called Owbiya; it was about an hour away by bus. After the bus secured all its wheels and the battery was rewired we were ready to go. Oh, when I say bus, I mean a flat bed truck with a metal cage arching over top and two benches running alongside the sides of the flat bed for seating. I was told to ride in the cab of the truck with the driver, our goalie, and by far the oldest man in the village. A tight squeeze for four men with no shortage of sweat was lost by my focus on balancing my weight through the shifting road way. The road was terrible and looked like a mixture of waves and moguls.

We arrived to the field complete with grass, PVC goals, and nets. We warmed up and I started the game on the bench which I had expected. Before the game started music was being played and a little person was coaxed into going out to dance at half field to entertain the crowd of 400. The play by play announcer persisted throughout the first have despite the rain and yelling of irate fans. At half time I was told I was going to play the second half. They wanted me to play forward and shoot a lot. I was told to warm up along the sideline which turned the attention of all the fans to watch the blan jog up and down the sideline. Then I was grabbed and shoved on to the field, to then be motioned off the field and then told to go on to the field. There was reason for the indecisiveness but I had no gauge as to what that might be.

I used my head a lot and was encouraged by the crowd each time. The play was fast but I got free at one point and crossed the ball to an open player in the goal box who was ripped down as he headed the ball wide. This play sparked an interest from the other team’s players in me. I began to get multiple forearms to the back throughout the rest of the game regardless of where the ball was on the field. I was double teamed and slammed in the back constantly. I kept my cool but made the mistake of telling a player to relax when play had stopped and he got in my face and rattled of a string of Creole I was happy not to translate.

They scored twice in the second half and as the game was coming to an end I got behind defenders and was taken out at the edge of the penalty box. A penalty kick was awarded to our team and we converted. The game ended 2-1, we had lost and our coach was furious about the refereeing of the game. After the whistle blew he came out to mid field and proceeded to punch the ref in the face, cutting him just above the eye. The ref grabbed a piece of metal to go after our coach but the crowd got between the two parties and only words were exchanged.

I left the field and was complimented by many people with handshakes and big smiles. “jwe bon” was the phrase used meaning “you played well.” I felt good about my play but was ready to get back. It was dark before the bus arrived to pick us up. As the skeleton of a bus pulled up a horde of people piled on and the driver turned the bus off and started the process of getting access people off the bus so we could travel without being overly weighed down. I sat in the cab of the bus again, this time against the door that was revealing its insides and had trouble latching. This proved true as the door swung open during the ride back almost taking me with it. I was held in by the other passengers.

We got back to Loire and the players wanted to know when I could play again. I think they were beginning to give me some respect. Popito and I got a ride with a fan on his motorcycle back to our village. The day proved to be long but a good experience playing on the big field and another interesting experience. I was told by the older men in the village that I am officially the first white person to ever play competitive soccer in northern Haiti.