Sitting on the tarmac in Libreville, Gabon the DHC-5 Buffalo military plane refueled but, unlike in Malawi a few months earlier, this time there was no dispute about payment—this time the bill for fuel was settled in cash. There’d always been something, though–ten-hour flights turning into 24-hour debacles because of airport closures or the captain asking all the passengers to put on life jackets, just in case. At least this time, they wouldn’t be stuck on the plane, restricted from using the airport facilities, arguing with the authorities about what currency to use. Gabon was almost halfway to their destination in Senegal. They’d make it in time.
The passengers were no doubt tired. The pilot had planned to leave Zambia—the country where the aircraft was flagged—and two-stop hop to Senegal. Congo, however, had not allowed the military plane to fly through its airspace even though all the passengers were civilian. Instead, the rickety plane had skipped the Congolese stopover, dodged south, and flown straight to Gabon.
There, after routine checks and the undisputed fuel payment, the plane took off into the night sky. Two minutes later, over the Pacific Ocean off the west coast of Africa, the Zambian Air Force plane exploded. All 30 passengers and crew were dead and Zambia—a country only 30-years old—had lost the greatest soccer team it’d ever known.
It was April 27, 1993—spring in the parts of the world that matter, but fall on the bottom side of the world. The team had been on its way to Senegal to play the first of its World Cup qualification games against Senegal. Hopes had been high. At the ’88 Olympics in Seoul, Zambia had defeated a strong Italian squad and it hadn’t been a fluke. Winning 1-0 might have been luck, but Zambia’s 4-0 domination signaled something else: skill.
Much of that team was able and ready to make a run for 1994’s World Cup in the U.S.A. It would have been their crowning achievement. Qualification was supposed to start in Senegal. Securing a place amongst tough African competition was one thing; overcoming poverty and bureaucratic corruption back home were others. Zambia’s soccer association—still recovering from the suspension of its chairman and staff for disappearance of funds—often couldn’t afford a charter or commercial flight and would ask the Zambian air force for the use of an old, DHC-5 military transport.
On one such flight, shouting over the wind rushing around the disturbingly airy fuselage, a player told a sports writer, “. . .even if we were to crash, this plane floats. We could survive. They keep life jackets onboard.” Those were brave words from a man trying to survive the perils of playing for his national team. Later, after the crash, someone lamented that the players’ bodies had returned to Zambia in a commercial plane the living players had been unable to afford.
The impact of Zambia’s loss is hard for us Americans comprehend. Perhaps this puts it in perspective. If today’s U.S. soccer team were to suddenly die in an accident, we would count it as an epic loss—and we don’t even care about soccer. In Zambia, soccer is the only sport that matters—it is baseball, basketball, and football rolled into one.
The deaths of 30 Zambians in a plane crash was made more poignant because of what they meant to the young nation. What soccer means to Zambia and to Africa, as well. The events in Egypt this last week show that sport can be a conduit of division on the continent. It can, however, also unite. Shorthanded witnessed as much in China where, in Shanghai, Nigerians cheered their rival Ghanaians to a win over the U.S. It wasn’t hating on America, it was African joy. They know that soccer might be the only positive thing the world sees about Africa and they’re proud of their against-the-odds success. For Africans, soccer means something to themselves, their countries, and their continent. It’s a silly game, yes, but sometimes it can be more than that.
We bring all this up because this month Africa is holding its bi-annual, continental soccer tournament, the Africa Cup of Nations, where the winner can rightfully claim to be the best team in Africa. It’s being held in Equatorial Guinea and neighboring Gabon, but because it’s soccer and it’s African (an American double negative if there ever was one) it’s not on TV. To watch it you’ll have to pay for internet video or find less reputable streaming options.* Whether it’s watched or not, though, the Africa Cup of Nations is happening.
This past January 21, Zambia played their first match of the tournament’s group stage and, in a stadium just a few miles from where the ’93 team lost their lives, they beat Senegal.
Yup. That Senegal. The same one that the ’93 team was supposed to play to qualify for the World Cup. The same Senegal that entered this tournament as one of the favorites. All without shouting distance of the waters where the military transport went down. Seriously. Even though this isn’t the first time the countries have played since 1993, Shorthanded thinks it at least deserves an NBC special. No doubt the cameras would have cut to the president of the Zambian soccer association celebrating the victory more than most. That’s because he is the former captain of that ’93 team, still alive only because, at the time, he was one of a few Zambians playing professionally in Europe and thus had scheduled a different flight.
That night he was lucky. The Zambia team he’s watching this month, well, they could actually be good. Zambia has topped its group and progressed to the knock out stage. They’re in the final sixteen. They trying to win it all. They’re trying to accomplish something that matters.
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*Though you can visit the Football Association of Zambia website and find highlights (in English, because it’s Zambia’s official language).
