Thursday, May 12, 2005
Cairo-Girl's soccer-Aug. 31, 2002
All of you know that soccer is a big part of my life — and something I am loath to give up. Well, this week was the ultimate soccer experience. On Tuesday night there is a regular pick-up game with some British men who work for British Gas. That was tons of fun even though I was the only woman. And Thursday night I had my first tryout for a women’s team — supposedly one of three women’s teams in the whole country.
One of our new friends, 23-year-old medical student Mustafa Hamdy, has taken my cause to heart. When he heard that I played, he told me about this particular women’s team he knew about. He went to a good bit of trouble making sure I could get into a members-only club. He met me at the field – along with three of his friends on a Thursday after work.
As soon as I see the “women’s team,” I know I have to get out of there. These are not women – they are girls — some as young as 13 and most of them in higab (veils), long pants and tennis shoes. I started to turn around to tell Mustafa that this was not going to work out when I realized he was already talking to “Captain Samy” about me. Seconds later I am being yelled at by Captain Samy, the overweight, chain-smoking Egyptian coach who speaks no English. Samy yells at me to fall in line with the rest of the girls and start stretching.
So I think to myself, ‘OK, I can do this. It’s just two hours of embarrassment, then I can just never return.’ So “practice” starts. The oldest team member, 20-year-old Nora, leads the team in stretches — none of which are done properly (too much bouncing, etc.). Then Samy yells something about running around the track. (At this point I am just watching him and trying to follow the other girls and what they are doing…and some of them translate for me as well). So we run about a half-mile. These teenagers are panting and breathing so hard you’d think they’d just run a 10K.
We finish our two laps. We start the drills, which consist of passing and dribbling. Very elementary stuff but decent basics. However, this is when I notice the ball. For those of you who play soccer, do you remember when you were on the under-10 teams? Remember the size of the ball? A size 4, right? A kid’s ball. Well, in Egypt, a kid’s ball is also a women’s ball.
Samy divides the group into four teams for mini-scrimmages. The winner stays on the field and the other teams rotate in. I played defense and tried to stay out of the way for the most part. But at one point, I made a run forward to get open for a throw-in. I volleyed the thrown-in ball for a goal. These girls screamed their heads off. They had never seen a woman volley a ball into the back of the net. They were screaming and giggling nervously. Then I headed a ball — more gasps. I passed around someone — more cheers.
It was totally embarrassing. I tried to leave but Captain Samy screamed at me to stay. After my team won its fourth consecutive game, two of the girls came up to me and “Elizabeth, we are so happy to be the champs, but we just cannot play another minute.” They were holding their stomachs and near tears. Samy yells at them to sit down. They basically had cramps and he was telling to sit down.
Then came the cameras. In the middle of the scrimmage, the club officials decide it’s time for a team photo for the club’s magazine. And guess who they forced to be in the team photo? That’s right, the giant, mysterious white woman who showed up once and never returned. Then they asked us to juggle the balls around. Of course I was the only one who could juggle, so now the guy with the camera is moving around me flashing the camera and snapping shots. So totally embarrassing.
After the practice, the girls were surrounding me asking me where was I from, how long have I been playing, etc. I told them I was too old to be on their team, that I had literally played soccer for longer than all of them have been alive. When they found out I was American and not German (I guess because of my size?) they immediately wanted to know what I thought about Palestine and where was I on 9/11…they begged me to return saying I could teach them so much.
I told them I wish I could come back and coach them properly but that it was probably impossible. A woman coaching soccer is even more laughable here than it is more women to play soccer. I told them to stick it out and that they are pioneers in Egypt for women’s sports. I told them to ignore the crowds of men that gather on the sidelines to laugh at how ridiculous it is to see girls playing soccer.
It was a surreal experience. Almost like travelling back in time. This must have been what it was like for the first generation of American women who played soccer. The Middle East certainly doesn’t have a stranglehold on sexism. I’m just lucky to have been born after US women broke into the world of sports. I am thinking about going back and attempting to either suggest new drills to Samy or subtlety let him know that I can help out in coaching if he is too busy or needs to leave early.
The looks on these girls faces when I showed them how to stretch their quads and that if the ball is coming toward your face you don’t need to use your hands to stop it was priceless. Like a whole new world.
One of our new friends, 23-year-old medical student Mustafa Hamdy, has taken my cause to heart. When he heard that I played, he told me about this particular women’s team he knew about. He went to a good bit of trouble making sure I could get into a members-only club. He met me at the field – along with three of his friends on a Thursday after work.
As soon as I see the “women’s team,” I know I have to get out of there. These are not women – they are girls — some as young as 13 and most of them in higab (veils), long pants and tennis shoes. I started to turn around to tell Mustafa that this was not going to work out when I realized he was already talking to “Captain Samy” about me. Seconds later I am being yelled at by Captain Samy, the overweight, chain-smoking Egyptian coach who speaks no English. Samy yells at me to fall in line with the rest of the girls and start stretching.
So I think to myself, ‘OK, I can do this. It’s just two hours of embarrassment, then I can just never return.’ So “practice” starts. The oldest team member, 20-year-old Nora, leads the team in stretches — none of which are done properly (too much bouncing, etc.). Then Samy yells something about running around the track. (At this point I am just watching him and trying to follow the other girls and what they are doing…and some of them translate for me as well). So we run about a half-mile. These teenagers are panting and breathing so hard you’d think they’d just run a 10K.
We finish our two laps. We start the drills, which consist of passing and dribbling. Very elementary stuff but decent basics. However, this is when I notice the ball. For those of you who play soccer, do you remember when you were on the under-10 teams? Remember the size of the ball? A size 4, right? A kid’s ball. Well, in Egypt, a kid’s ball is also a women’s ball.
Samy divides the group into four teams for mini-scrimmages. The winner stays on the field and the other teams rotate in. I played defense and tried to stay out of the way for the most part. But at one point, I made a run forward to get open for a throw-in. I volleyed the thrown-in ball for a goal. These girls screamed their heads off. They had never seen a woman volley a ball into the back of the net. They were screaming and giggling nervously. Then I headed a ball — more gasps. I passed around someone — more cheers.
It was totally embarrassing. I tried to leave but Captain Samy screamed at me to stay. After my team won its fourth consecutive game, two of the girls came up to me and “Elizabeth, we are so happy to be the champs, but we just cannot play another minute.” They were holding their stomachs and near tears. Samy yells at them to sit down. They basically had cramps and he was telling to sit down.
Then came the cameras. In the middle of the scrimmage, the club officials decide it’s time for a team photo for the club’s magazine. And guess who they forced to be in the team photo? That’s right, the giant, mysterious white woman who showed up once and never returned. Then they asked us to juggle the balls around. Of course I was the only one who could juggle, so now the guy with the camera is moving around me flashing the camera and snapping shots. So totally embarrassing.
After the practice, the girls were surrounding me asking me where was I from, how long have I been playing, etc. I told them I was too old to be on their team, that I had literally played soccer for longer than all of them have been alive. When they found out I was American and not German (I guess because of my size?) they immediately wanted to know what I thought about Palestine and where was I on 9/11…they begged me to return saying I could teach them so much.
I told them I wish I could come back and coach them properly but that it was probably impossible. A woman coaching soccer is even more laughable here than it is more women to play soccer. I told them to stick it out and that they are pioneers in Egypt for women’s sports. I told them to ignore the crowds of men that gather on the sidelines to laugh at how ridiculous it is to see girls playing soccer.
It was a surreal experience. Almost like travelling back in time. This must have been what it was like for the first generation of American women who played soccer. The Middle East certainly doesn’t have a stranglehold on sexism. I’m just lucky to have been born after US women broke into the world of sports. I am thinking about going back and attempting to either suggest new drills to Samy or subtlety let him know that I can help out in coaching if he is too busy or needs to leave early.
The looks on these girls faces when I showed them how to stretch their quads and that if the ball is coming toward your face you don’t need to use your hands to stop it was priceless. Like a whole new world.
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