Dar es Salaam — THE FIFA World Cup is finally upon us. THE biggest sporting spectacle on the planet has arrived with all the pomp, ceremony, and excess modern football can manufacture.
Forty-eight nations, three host countries, sixteen cities, 104 matches, thousands of journalists, millions of travelling supporters and an estimated four billion television viewers are settling in for a month of football fever.
Sometime last weekend, Omar Abdulkadir Artan, the 34-year-old Somali referee and CAF Referee of the Year for 2025, landed at Miami International Airport after travelling from Istanbul. Artan was not just another match official arriving for the tournament. He was preparing to make history as the first Somali referee selected to officiate at a men’s FIFA World Cup finals.
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This was a remarkable achievement by any standard. Then he arrived in the United States. And that, apparently, was where the journey ended. American authorities deemed him inadmissible over unspecified vetting concerns. No detailed explanation was offered. No public clarification was provided.
The man who had spent his life working to reach football’s biggest stage suddenly found himself heading back the way he had come. Just like that, Africa’s best referee became a television viewer. FIFA’s response was about as stirring as a goalless draw in a pre-season friendly.
The organisation calmly explained that host governments ultimately decide who gets visas and who is admitted into their countries. Which, translated into ordinary language, roughly means: “We organised the tournament.
The airport belongs to somebody else.” While Omar Artan was being sent home, Senegal’s national team was receiving a welcome of its own. The reigning African champions arrived in the United States carrying the hopes of a continent and a squad full of players who are household names across Europe. Yet shortly after landing, footage emerged showing players subjected to extensive security checks. Bags were searched, belongings examined, and players reportedly asked to remove their shoes during security procedures.
Now, nobody disputes the right of countries to enforce security procedures. Every nation has laws and regulations that visitors must follow. But football supporters are not famous for viewing such moments through calm and measured lenses.
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The optics were terrible. For many observers, it looked less like a welcome for one of Africa’s finest football teams and more like an unnecessary display of suspicion. One particularly popular comment suggested that supporters would be very interested to see whether Lionel Messi or Cristiano Ronaldo would be subjected to the same treatment. It was the kind of observation that spread quickly because it captured a wider sentiment. Whether fair or unfair, many Africans felt uncomfortable watching one of the continent’s proudest football teams being introduced to the World Cup through a security inspection.
Meanwhile, the tournament itself rolled forward without missing a beat. Mexico hosted an opening ceremony. Canada hosted another. The United States hosted a third. The entertainment was spectacular. The music was loud. The fireworks were impressive.
The television audiences were enormous. And somewhere in an Istanbul hotel room, Africa’s finest referee was probably watching the same television spectacle. Back in Tanzania, however, another matter was demanding urgent attention.
The World Cup always forces Tanzanians to confront one of life’s great questions: Who exactly are we supporting? Contrary to what foreigners may imagine, the answer is rarely based on geography. Tanzanians do not choose teams because they share borders with us. We do not choose teams because of diplomatic ties.
And we certainly do not choose teams because of official foreign policy. We choose teams because we know their players. More specifically, we choose them because we watch their players every weekend in the English Premier League, Spanish La Liga and Saudi Pro League.
That is why England acquires millions of temporary Tanzanian supporters every four years. France does almost as well. Portugal draws support because Cristiano Ronaldo remains football’s closest equivalent to a superhero franchise. Argentina benefits from Lionel Messi’s status as a living monument to the game.
Then there is Brazil. Brazil occupies a special category that defies logic and reason. Many Tanzanians have supported Brazil for so long that they no longer remember why. Fathers pass the tradition to sons. Uncles pass it to nephews. Entire households inherit Brazilian loyalties as though they were family heirlooms. Nobody questions it. It simply is. When it comes to African teams, matters become slightly more complicated.
We generally support African representatives because they carry the continent’s hopes. There are, however, occasional exceptions born of football grudges, controversial refereeing decisions and incidents that supporters never quite forgive. Morocco and Egypt currently occupy a slightly awkward category following recent football events involving Tanzania’s young teams. Let us leave it there before diplomatic relations are affected. Senegal, however, enjoys considerable goodwill.
Partly because they play attractive football. Partly because many of their stars are familiar faces from the Premier League. And partly because, after their airport experience, much of Africa feels obliged to cheer them on. Nigeria requires no explanation. Nigerians possess an extraordinary talent for making themselves impossible to ignore in almost every field imaginable. Football is no exception.
Then there is Côte d’Ivoire. Officially, Tanzanians support Côte d’Ivoire because of their footballing pedigree and rich history. Officially, Tanzanians support Côte d’Ivoire because of its footballing pedigree and rich history. Unofficially, a significant amount of affection still revolves around Didier Drogba. The legendary striker retired years ago, yet his popularity remains astonishingly strong.
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Indeed, some Tanzanians may have grown even fonder of Drogba after his recent visit to Dodoma. Indeed, some Tanzanians may have developed even greater affection for Drogba after his recent visit to Dodoma. Social media comedians immediately concluded that the Ivorian legend had travelled all the way to Tanzania primarily to assist Paul Makonda by carrying a briefcase to Parliament during the presentation of budget proposals for the Ministry of Information, Culture and Sports.
The internet, as usual, took the joke and ran with it. Poor Drogba. Such is life. South Africa presents a more delicate dilemma. Traditionally, Tanzanians have felt a strong sense of solidarity with South Africa. History alone demands it. But football supporters are emotional creatures, and contemporary frustrations have a way of intruding on historical gratitude.
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If recent conversations about African migrants in South Africa are anything to go by, Bafana Bafana may discover that they have lost a few supporters north of the Limpopo. Many Tanzanians find themselves asking a simple question. How can fellow Africans be made to feel unwelcome in a country whose liberation struggle was supported by so many African nations, including Tanzania?
After all, Tanzania hosted South African freedom fighters when apartheid still ruled. Leaders such as Nelson Mandela, Oliver Tambo, Walter Sisulu and many others found support and solidarity here during the hardest years of the struggle. Mazimbu in Morogoro became part of that history. Nobody complained that they were taking jobs. Nobody argued that they were occupying farmland. Nobody suggested they should leave.
They were welcomed because Africans understood the importance of standing together against injustice. Over the coming weeks, millions of Tanzanians will stay awake until ridiculous hours watching matches. They will arrive at work exhausted, survive on tea and football debates, and insist they are perfectly alert despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
They will arrive at work exhausted, survive on tea and football arguments, and insist they are perfectly alert despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. And somewhere, perhaps in Istanbul, Omar Artan will watch it all unfold from afar. Thank God it’s Friday
