Son helps us stay strong

On September 1, 1996, Neil Tovey became the father to a son, his third child. It was a dream come true, but 18 months later it almost ended in tragedy after his 19-month-old son Sheldon climbed into the bath and turned on the hot water, burning his lower

WHEN Nadine and I drove home after the first operation, we had been told that Sheldon might not survive the night. I didn’t know what to say, because I wasn’t sure how Nadine was feeling and whether she wanted to talk about it. Everybody has their own way of dealing with these kinds of traumatic experiences. Some people want to talk or cry, while others prefer to remain quiet, keeping their true feelings to themselves. The next morning, we woke up without having received any phone calls during the night. That was good news; Sheldon had survived. We were elated. Our son was a fighter.

It was like this for the next few months. Signs of improvement were often followed by a setback. It would be one, two, three steps forward and then one step back. We were told five or six times that he might not survive the night, and each time we’d spend the night closely monitoring our cellphones. No calls meant that Sheldon was still with us. “Yes, we survived another night,” I would think. “Our boy is still there and he’s fighting.” I got a huge fright every time my phone rang. It took us about three months to get over the most critical situation, but one thing was clear: our son had an unbelievable power and will to live.

I never missed a single training session at Kaizer Chiefs during this whole period, and I played in every match. In fact, I used soccer to break away from the stress at the hospital, although it usually meant driving straight from training to the hospital, sometimes even popping in at the hospital between the pre-match meal and the match. It was all about the passion I had, and still have, for Kaizer Chiefs. Showing up for them even while my son was fighting for his life demonstrated my dedication and professionalism.

It was far from easy. I had to keep my performances at a high standard despite being constantly stressed about Sheldon. At times I struggled to focus on the game, but I didn’t want to let the club down. I seldom spoke in the dressing room about what was happening with my son, as I’m quite private and prefer to keep things to myself, but everybody was aware of the situation. Nearly all my teammates were supportive, frequently asking how it was going. Marc Batchelor was the closest to me, and always asked how Sheldon was.

Only a few failed to understand what was going on in my private life and would complain if, for example, I arrived a little late for camp before the game, obviously not realising that I had come straight from my son’s hospital bed to the hotel. It was tough, but, as I often say, it’s all about mental strength. I loved Kaizer Chiefs so much that I was hungry to do well, despite all the off-the-field issues. I also never wanted to let down club boss Kaizer Motaung, who had been good to me and who was very supportive during this difficult period. Many people called or sent messages, which was comforting. Among those who made contact was then minister of sport and recreation, Steve Tshwete.

It’s important, however, to point out that while I had football to relieve my anxiety, Nadine wasn’t working and was busy with Sheldon 24/7. I may not have explicitly said so, but I had immense respect for the way she handled the situation and for what she did for our son, not only during the five-and-a-half months he spent in hospital, but also in the years thereafter. Every week, she took Sheldon to physiotherapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy and preschool. Besides that, she assisted the two girls with their extramurals. She was unbelievable throughout. At the same time Nadine will be the first to admit that she was, and is, sometimes a little overprotective of Sheldon, who once quipped in a magazine interview, “It’s much easier without my mother bossing me around”. It was just a little joke, which he relayed with a smile on his face. Nadine and Sheldon are very close.

Sheldon survived his burns, threeand-a-half months in a medically induced coma and five-and-a-half months in hospital. After everything that had happened, the small things in life that had worried me before ceased

South Africans of all races remember the moment when Neil Tovey raised the Africa Cup of Nations trophy in 1996, with Nelson Mandela at his side wearing his number 9 jersey. It still represents South Africa’s greatest success in international football.

In his long-awaited autobiography, Tovey tells his fascinating life story, describing his modest upbringing in Durban, his entry into a mainly black sport in a deeply segregated 1980s South Africa, and his time as captain of Kaizer Chiefs and Bafana Bafana. He recalls his introduction to ‘muti’ rituals by team members and his growing popularity among Chiefs supporters, who nicknamed him Mokoko (boss chicken).

Tovey also writes about his experiences as a coach and as technical director of the South African Football