Papua New Guinea......My Soccer Experience

   I was in Papua New Guinea (PNG), a country where children still die of starvation because when they get diarrhea the parents stop feeding them.I ventured to a village called Kaparoko where I stayed for about 2 weeks, this village is about 60 kms. from Port Morseby. I ended up meeting a local in the capital and he offered to take me to his family's village so I took the opportunity. I lodged in the Chiefs home (a one room hut on stilts over the water) that was often filled with the smoke from the cooking fire there was a section where the family defecated through a hole in the floor; half the villagers reside on land and the other half over the water.

                                


                                


 On the beach there was a memorial for an 18 year old villager who had her tongue cut out and nose cut off 2 weeks previous, because she refused to marry an old man from another village.

                                

                                

   Like most countries, inhabitants are very fond of football (soccer), there was to be a tournament in a weeks time at a larger village up the peninsula. I am also fond of soccer, playing 33 years in total myself; so I helped to coach the A + B teams for the week. Villagers seemed to speak either Motu or Pigeon (broken English) and I tried to communicate the best I could. Skipping ahead to the tournament weekend....we all loaded into a large, old flat bed truck and took the hour long bumpy, dusty ride north to the host village at the tip of the peninsula.
  
                             

   The village area was decorated with natural flora that must have taken some time to prepare.

                          


                         


 The single football field was made of thick sand and two teams were already playing when we arrived (using a player from an idle team to referee). I managed to convey to the organizers through the Kaparoko villagers that I was also a referee in Canada and that I could officiate some games. Prior to the start of the next game the MC announced through a microphone attached to a small black box that I would be refereeing the next match, "nanananananana.........Canada", that is all I understood. The first game went very well without incidence and once the game was finished I stood on the pitch waiting for the next teams. The officials relayed to me to have a rest and I could ref the next game (communication was complicated). I walked around among the approximately 2,000 people of colour, they were all smiling, offering me coconut, many fruits and water; it was like I was a king.
   The next game started and I quickly learned that one of the players was the only guy from that peninsula who had ever played for the PNG national team.I could see that he possessed a good skill level but he was in his early 40's, this meant that quick 18 year old's could strip him of the ball, especially in that thick sand. This guy was also the best English speaker that I had heard and he constantly complained  to me as the referee (he was competitive and a sore loser). His conduct and whining got worse and when the final whistle blew he erupted in Motu and stormed off the field.
  This player was a hero in that area for his soccer ability which meant that I quickly went from a king to the bad guy. Peoples smiles turned to dirty looks and they were angry at me. It was not a good feeling being the only white guy who was despised by the large crowd. Two guys from the Kaparoko village made it known to me that we better take the hour long trip back to their village for my safety. I was happy that those villagers still liked me and I was more than happy to get out of there. If I had not refereed life would have been wonderful.