Rebottling the genie: Fairness in absence of rules

IVIVIDLY remember the money-games we used to play at Chidyamatamba, a makeshift playground in our Glen Norah A ‘hood. The revisiting of the nostalgic yesteryear is not so much prompted by the tussling, enervating and yet immensely entertaining soccer games of our ghetto upbringing, but the rules that applied to them.

In the absence of referees, the composition of the sides determined how these rules would be implemented.

Because the goalposts were mere stones, it was tasking for goals to be allowed; leading to disputes, oftentimes nasty ones. The other team could simply say “high” or “over-bar” - in the absence of the bar itself; imagine; or “sticken”, which was considered as hitting the woodwork. Everything was assumed, yet it had to be agreed.

The games were devoid of permanent goal minders as anyone could simply say “change keeper”, and dive for the ball if the “actual” keeper was beaten clean, to deny the other side an obvious goal. The other interesting challenge was the lack of timelines on the changing of halves. It could only take a player’s fancy to say “change gate” and tap the ball into the yawning goalmouth that a moment earlier he might have been defending. One may ponder how winning such games could have been possible. As befuddling as it could have been, it was not always a challenge.

The teams had to be balanced. There were individuals who could influence decisions because of their brawn, intelligence or pugnacious nature.

The idea was that such individuals should not play on one side, because doing so was a recipe for disaster. It was considered unfair as the weaker team would suffer the brunt of the rules.

Quarrels were abound, sometimes fierce ones, but the rules could always be implemented effectively if the teams were in equilibrium in terms of composition. It was an unwritten rule that Doritori and Dololo should never be on one side. But there was another vital element in the whole setup, who could only be blotted out of the picture at the teams’ own peril - Juti Babylon - the owner of the ball. As he usually lacked in both skill and stamina, he was rarely selected by either side. He could also not bother himself as he could get a fee for his troubles by virtue of being the owner of the ball; a real soccer ball not the usual plastic one.

If Juti Babylon, or Juti Babbie, felt that the game was becoming violently disposed, he could simply grab his ball and dash home. He could also do the same if in our frustration we hit the ball with reckless abandon into the thorny trees of the nearby Chembira Mountain, or forget to pay him his dues.

So in a way he played a crucial role in the games. And if he happened to take a side, then naturally that side would have an upper hand. It was not uncommon for the games to end in fistfights, as those who might have lost on the soccer “tuff” challenged the other side on punches. It is against this backdrop, that the socio-economic and socio-political games that pervade our lives today can be scrutinised. In this labyrinth, how can we, who wallow in financial dire straits, buy our own balls so that we can play our own game at our dictates? We, the people of Zimbabwe, who democratically vote for one political party against the other, do we really matter after all?

We, who know what we want, and exercise our constitutional rights to give a five-year mandate to a political player of our choice, as opposed to the other; should we also not be considered when one contender grabs the ball, tacks it under his armpit and declares that there is no fairness if he loses; that he will unleash violence on us?

We, whose voices are gagged, are small in stature or have no political muscle to determine outcomes, who will come to our defence in these enervating and frustrating economic and political games, which have become the order of the day through political grandstanding, selfishness and immaturity? Are we also insignificant pawns in this political gamesmanship, who should suffer the brunt of perceived and real anarchy?

Now that the rules are determined by team composition and brawn - political or social; and the ownership of the ball epitomised in the donor community and investors - in whose hands do we commit our hopes? An election, like a game of soccer, has winners and losers, and those who lose should not cry foul after the last whistle, or declare themselves winners before the match.

If Doritori or Dololo doubles up as Juti Babylon, the owner of the ball, what becomes of the outcomes, especially when the lot of us only enjoy playing supporting roles but own no balls, not even plastic ones? It is improper, selfish, retrogressive and outright thuggish for political players to take the entire nation for granted, because they want to score political marks. The rules of engagement must always be put across before the game, and must be respected no matter in whose disfavour the outcome is skewed.

Acceptance to play is in itself a clear indication that one has agreed to the rules, and should not hold the winning team and its supporters to ransom if the outcome is not favourable. Yes, the exhilaration of winning echoes in mountains far and wide; and the depression of losing is as nauseous as it is heartrending and numbing.

But one should always learn to take whatever comes graciously, for no condition is permanent. You win some, you lose some; such is the nature of humanly existence. We are Zimbabweans too, and deserve as much a piece of cake as everyone else. We may have been bruised for too long, but it is our sincere hope that the future is not as much bruised as we are. That is why when we vote our preferred representatives into office, our expectations are that beyond politics we remain a united people; no colour, no tribe, just Zimbabweans.

Now that the genie is out of the bottle, who then can grant us our wishes, in these politically mischievous times where losers masquerade as winners and call on all and sundry to play ball, yet the ball remains ensconced in their armpits?