Luanda League Futebol

One of the newly arrived MBAs and I have taken an interest in the local soccer league, and have managed to see a couple of games so far. There’s a stadium two blocks from our office, so on several lunchtime outings we passed by to ask the security guards hanging out at the stadium what time the next game would be. The answers varied, but after three such trips we ended up with 2 votes for 4pm and 1 vote for 3pm. We tried to look in the newspaper to verify the time, but that effort (and a related attempt to find start times on the internet) didn’t prove fruitful. We put our faith in our research and planned for the 4pm start, only to arrive halfway through the first period (the game actually started at 3:30pm).

Ticket prices varied widely – from 500 Akz to 4000 Akz (the latter with access to a buffet lunch). Jeff and I opted for the 500 Akz seats, and found ourselves sitting next to a rag-tag band featuring trumpets, trombones, drums, and the plastic blowhorns that are the scourge of African soccer games (get ready to hear about this during next year’s World Cup). The stadium seemed to be designed to hold as few spectators as possible and featured no concessions the day we were there. Although the stands were hardly full, there were enough fans to teach me some new choice curse words. Turns out the team owned by the president’s son defeated the team owned by the president (2-1). Judging by the small crowd at the game, most people in Luanda could have cared less. There are other much more popular teams though, and we’re hoping to catch one of them next time…

Estádio dos Coqueiros - somebody stole the seats:


Police-to-fan ratio approaches 1:1


Just happened to catch the aftermath of the game's first goal:

Gasosa!

It finally happened. Taking the photo to the left landed me in my first incident with the Angolan police, and my first out-and-out request for a bribe (or gasosa in the local Portuguese slang, which is also the word for a soda). I’m proud to say I managed to maintain my dignity. I was snapping away from the car as we drove by the airport to drop off a colleague, and my decision to take a photo of the airport sign turned out to be controversial. Maybe they were embarrassed that the word “internacional” was missing the final L? There were three uniformed police officers standing nearby, and one motioned for us to pull over. The same officer then started questioning me regarding the photo, asking me if I had a tourist visa. I said that I actually did have a tourist visa, which is true, but I didn’t have my passport with me at the time to prove it. He asked to see the photo, taking my camera and showing it to the other officers. One went so far as to say “that is proof” in a tone that indicated he thought he was pretty clever. I got a chuckle out of that comment – there were general mumblings of my crime and that I would need to pay a fine, etc. I was taught in grad school to call the bluff in this situation and demand the officer write a ticket, which is what I did. I was curious to see what the suggested remedies to this situation might be however.

Throughout the whole ordeal I was polite, saying I was sorry but reiterating the fact that I did have a tourist visa (apparently this gives you the right – or privilege - to take photos of airport signs in Angola) and I also pointed out politely that there was no sign stating that photography was not permitted in the area. By this time I was out of the car (I don’t take well to strangers handling my camera), and an Angolan colleague that was in the car with us had also gotten out to try to help me. First they wanted three phone credit (which is sold via a system of prepaid cards with scratch-off codes), then cash, and after refusing and reclaiming my camera we just walked away. It was kind of weird how they just let me go, but I think they knew I wasn’t going to be worth their time. Wasn’t there an airport to protect anyway? Keep up the good work fellas…

Subas: the original hangmen?

I'll get off the macabre topics eventually, but after confirming a peculiar cultural practice related to death at the Anthropology Museum recently I thought this one was worth sharing.

A "suba" (I'm probably not spelling this correctly) is a village elder that is respected and relied on for advice when important decisions are being made. This person wears a special hat that signals his significance. So far, so good. The odd part comes after this person dies, at which point the dead body is hung in a public place by a noose around the neck. The body hangs there as long as it takes for the head to detach itself from the body, at which point the head is preserved in a special hut where the heads of previous subas are kept (I have no idea what happens to the body). The hut then serves as a sort of inspiration center for future generations of community leaders when seeking guidance.

I first heard about this practice from an Angolan colleague in Benguela, but the practice was confirmed this past week by the curator of the Anthropology Museum in Luanda. The curator noted this kind of thing doesn't really happen much anymore, but that doesn't take away the fascination value for me.

I remember seeing the nooses used to hang famous outlaws that are part of the exhibit at the gun museum in my hometown (J.M. Davis Arms and Historical Museum :: www.thegunmuseum.com), but using something similar to hang someone as a sign of utmost respect is a visual that just doesn't go away easily.