ATT Supercup in Mopti

Mopti would have been quite uneventful (not to mean boring, just relaxing) if we had not decided to go to the A.T.T. Supercup final. This is an annual soccer tournament during which the different regional champions play in a championship tournament. It is named in honor of the president, Amadou Toumani Toure, a.k.a. A.T.T. It was fantastic.

In order to get anyone to the stadium instead of just watching at home, the event was free. This fit nicely into budget of Peace Corps volunteers and Malians alike. The stadium was packed. Barely any toubabs present, only “real travelers” like us and locals. Our new home, Bamako, was taking on Segou. It was a clearly pro-Segou crowd and we were sitting in the heart of the Segou fans. Mike and Sarah were recruited to root for Bamako since they were staying with us. Susan and Rabayah took a neutral stance.

Right behind us guys were making tea on the charcoal stove they had brought (a common sight in American stadiums, right?). We were making friends. Bamako was winning 1-0 at the half.















Then the clouds started rolling in. The sky went through one of the most beautiful progressions of colors ever witnessed. Going from clear to cloudy to pink, red and finally black.

The second half began just after the wind. Another sandstorm! They played on. We made the call to stay through the rain as Susan’s house is literally next to the stadium and we knew we could change into dry clothes soon. The rain came. It got more intense, embers flew everywhere from the tea set. We couldn’t believe they were still playing since it was raining so hard that we could not see the far side of the stadium. Then, right as someone mentioned that it was getting downright biblical, maybe in response to that comment, the lights went out. All hell broke loose. We headed for the gates, only to find them locked shut. Perfect. Mark, Sam, Sarah, Mike and Susan (Rabayah had headed out just before the worst weather) huddled in the tunnel with about eighty men crouching to avoid the rain by hiding behind one another but, at the same time, dancing to the ubiquitous African drummer in an attempt to keep warm. Lightning flashed every few seconds, eerily illuminating the scene at semi-regular intervals, as if with a glance to the side would see Andy Dufresne attempting an escape from Shawshank prison. What would have been a disaster in most places in the world turned into a party the likes to which we’d never been. We stayed for a long, long time in the tunnel, cold but whooping it up with the crowd until it became apparent that the lights would not come back on, the game would not resume, the rain would not get any warmer. People started to flee, jumping the fence, heading back into the stadium, anywhere but the tunnel.

Sam, Mark and Susan bailed, searching the empty, darkened seats for Mike and Sarah who had left not long before. They could not be found and we hoped that they remembered how to get back to Susan’s. We waded across ankle deep streams of rainwater (read: fast flowing raw sewage) to the house and found them. Each of us took turns washing the filth of the road off ourselves in the shower, completely clothed.

Then the lights did come back on after all. The rain had stopped. Mark and Mike went back to the stadium to catch the end of the game. Bamako was just wrapping up the win, although Segou had its chances to tie it in the closing seconds. They headed back to the Segou fan section just in time to witness the fusillade of rocks, batteries, flaming charcoal, etc. launched toward the Bamako players who were taunting the losing fans with the ATT Cup. Now that’s what we picture when someone says “So, there I was, and a championship soccer game in Africa...” Perfect.



(sweet pre-game graffiti outside the Stade de Barema Bocum)