Living and Loving the World Cup Louder in Cape Town

So far, I’ve been having an Ayoba! time and I’m itching to tell you about it

I must admit that, during the weeks leading up to the World Cup, I wasn’t feeling ‘it’. Capetonians were getting on with their everyday lives, blissfully unaware of the cloud of orange Dutch, sexy South Americans and lager-guzzling Brits that were about to charge in. Not a foot danced, not a voice sang and nobody knew how to blow a vuvuzela (which in hindsight was probably a good thing). I wondered if Cape Town cared that the biggest show on earth was about to take place in their own back yard. They certainly had me fooled.

On Wednesday, 9th June, at 12:00pm, a volcano awoke from it’s slumber. An army of Capetonians began to emerge from the pavement cracks and the thunderous sound of vuvuzela’s erupted. All of a sudden, a party had spilled out into the streets, with dancing, singing and flags of every nation. At Cape Town Magazine, we clambered up onto the roof to blow our vuvuzelas (I discovered I sounded like a whale that had given up on life) and roll out our flag. We looked on incredulously at the historic mayhem in Long Street. This was the moment that people all over the world lost their minds to a piece of plastic. It was also the moment that, without words, Cape Town said: ‘Welcome to our home, bru!’

From conga lines to a German thrashing

I love the anticipation when you’re queuing to get into an event . You can hear the pulse of the music and almost smell the atmosphere. Once inside, the FIFA Fan Fest is a sea of eateries, bars, large screens and, of course, plenty of fans. Waka Waka and Make the Circle Beega has been on loop at the Fan Fest for the duration of the World Cup and I still can’t do any of the dances. The Fan Fest is an arena where people will stop at no costume lengths to be noticed. I saw a guy in a full gimp outfit in the colours of the English flag (they certainly got something’ed in the derrière by the Germans) and a guy with a fruit bowl on his head, answering a household telephone that wasn’t connected to anything.

Despite their yellow uniform, the crowd at the first Bafana game were multiracial and despite the fact that they were multiracial, they were celebrating together in the same arena. When the first goal was scored by Bafana, the masses erupted, leaping in joy and hugging everyone, as if they hadn’t just met. This is a testament to how far South Africa has come. As an English woman, I found myself passionately supporting a second team.

Whilst watching my first game, I was taught how to blow the vuvuzela, by a kind South African guy. Thanks to him, I was transported from dying whale, to triumphant elephant, and set about blowing it in my boyfriends ear at every opportunity. In the meantime, one of my partner’s Mexican friends was frantically waving a Mexico flag as South Africans ganged up to blow their vuvuzelas at her. During the second Bafana game, we joined in a large conga line, snaking through the arena, and tried to participate in the Diski Dance world record attempt (when I say tried, I mean failed).

But with the Fan Fest highs had to come some Fan Fest lows – after all, the World Cup is a knockout tournament. We were that confident that England would beat the Germans that we even stood with our German friends. As the Germans erupted into song at each embarrassing goal, they jumped up and down and spilt beer on us ‘by accident’. And so, ‘by accident’, I may have mislaid my England Flag.

Cape Town is the same place I have grown  to love – it’s just living a little louder

I am fortunate enough to live just down the road from the Cape Town Stadium, in neighboring Seapoint. On match days, Main Road, Green Point, is cordoned off for the Fan Walk, so traffic gets grid-locked in the Centre. Legions of fans, from the orange to the yellow, walk their nervous steps toward the fate of their national team. It is lined with colourful huts selling curios and refreshments and the bars of Green Point are overflowing with fans and their beer. There are large party buses, flags and half-cut Algerians chanting on the back of a pick-up truck, all in the same city. Whilst watching Portugal v Spain in a Green Point sports bar, we found it difficult to comprehend that the fate of two World Cup teams was being decided so close by.

Brazil were lucky enough to be awarded their own fan base, Casa Little Brazil (conveniently located at the Sea Point Civic Centre, opposite my apartment). My experience was like stepping off the plane at Rio de Janeiro, with imported sand, deck chairs and scantily clad carnival dancers at half time. Huge banners festooned the walls, saying ‘Welcome Brazil’, which obviously served its purpose – sexy Brazilian fans gathered there in their thousands to support Brazil as they lead a victory over the Ivory Coast.

Proud to be South African

South Africa put in a stellar performance, largely to do with the tremendous support from their fellow South Africans. Not only did they play well against Mexico, but they managed to conquer former champions, France. They exited the tournament with their heads held high and won both the hearts and respect of the entire world. Likewise, the City of Cape Town has played the perfect host for the World Cup, they’ve laid on a Fan Walk, Fan Fests and a beautiful stadium. The best thing is that, as someone without a ticket for the beautiful game, I still felt every bit a part of it.

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By Lisa Nevitt