In Touch With...
BENNETT CHENENE – UNATTACHED (PART 1)
Bennito, you were last on the books of Williamsville in Ivory Coast. That must have been an interesting experience… When I arrived there, most of the guys were panicking because they had been told who I am, and then they saw that I had gained some weight and, to make matters worse, I was not a youngster. Bavele banginyatsa (They just looked down on me). We had two bosses at the club and, on my first day, the one boss was complaining to the other one about me in French. So, the other boss told me, “This guy is saying you are fat and you are just here to waste our money. I told everyone here about you, but there seem to be doubts now.” Ha, ha, ha. Well, they forgot that there was still a month of pre-season ahead where I had an opportunity to lose some weight, plus it was very hot there. The coach was also a foreigner, from Morocco, and he understood me. He signed me after two training sessions. Although I was hearing all this talk about me being overweight, I didn’t go out there to prove them wrong. I didn’t play in the first few games of the season, but after a few matches under my belt, I got used to things and began enjoying myself. Then xenophobic attacks broke out back in South Africa and that’s when the coach started sidelining me. He was sabotaging me. I played well in one game and then the next game I was out. The boss asked the coach, “This guy played well in the last game. Why is he not playing?” The coach told him that they had left my playing card behind. He could see that I was hot, so he thought the best thing to do was to sabotage me. The supporters wanted to see me in action, the TV guys were asking questions about what was happening with me, and then he told them, “It’s not safe here and the player is scared because in South Africa, they are fighting foreigners.”
Hmmm.
He was just telling them lies. One of our strikers got injured and I told them I wanted to play up front, and they said I was too short. I said, “No, let me play as a false striker. Please give me a chance.” Ah, Skhokho, from the first day I played as a striker until the last day, ngibulala abantu (I was killing people). Everyone was crazy about me, they wanted to talk to me and the fans wanted to take photos with me after games. I was taking penalties and free kicks… everything. Then the boss came out to say, “Chenene is old, but he was our best player. When he came here, he was fat. I didn’t like him and I spoke ill of him. I thought he was going to waste our money.” Ngithi hee bafethu! Hayibo (I was in disbelief)! It was painful, but it taught me that you don’t judge a person just by what you see at first. But Skhokho, hayi suka, la bantu bakhuluma kakhulu, but abakhokheli ama player. La bantu bayakhuluma Skhokho, yho (those people talk too much, but they don’t pay players. Damn, those people can talk). But it was a good experience.
Go on. The language there killed me, Skhokho, especially when I wanted to communicate with women, ha, ha, ha. I didn’t know where to start. I would just say ‘Bonjour’ (Hello) and that would be it… I didn’t know what to say when asking for a number. I had a friend of mine, though, who could speak both English and French, and he would act as the middleman. I would take him along whenever I went to see ‘someone’, ha, ha, ha. I would just tell him what to say and at times I would just see him and the lady laughing and I knew that maybe there was something I said that turned the woman off. They have an app there where when you have someone’s WhatsApp number, you can type your message in English, and it automatically translates the text to French and then you can send the message. That’s how I survived there, Skhokho. After about five months, at least I knew how to go about things. It’s not easy though, Skhokho. French is a nice language, but it’s difficult to learn. And when you have money that side, you’re boss. Life is easy that side if you have money, but if you don’t have money… ah, very difficult. Uzosokola (You’ll struggle). You see, West Africa, I’d never advise any player from here to go there.
It’s a struggle you reckon?
Kakhulu (Big time)! You know, the thing there is that uma uphethe umuntu, uphethe yena kuphela. Thina la eMzansi siyajikajika (when you’re with someone, you have to be with that person only. Here in South Africa, we dilly-dally) hey – Friday you’re with this one, Saturday you’re with another one, Sunday it’s a different one. There’s some serious ‘tight-marking’ in Ivory Coast, Skhokho. A lot of the women over there aren’t employed, so they depend on you, so when they see you have a ‘plan’, they don’t let you go. Every day, they will be calling, “Baby, where are you?” Hayi suka (No, man). When I was there, I would see amajita (guys) every day, umuntu uhamba nomuntu wakhe (couples walking together), and the South African in me would be quite shocked. Here, on Friday, sipheth’ (we’re with) ama yellow bone, Saturday sipheth’ ama black bone, Sunday it’s a different type. Over there, there are few people who are moneyed, while here, it’s quite the opposite, so the ladies have more of a choice so to speak. There, they don’t have a choice. When you have a plan, they stick to you and won’t even cheat. That’s the nice thing about the life there.