World Cup Lit: Syrians on the Pitch

Below is one of the four football pieces that appeared in the Fall 2021 issue of ArabLit Quarterly, with an introduction by translator Daniel Behar. You can still get the issue in print and digital.

As Behar wrote in his introduction, “Luqman Derky (1966-) is a Kurdish-Syrian poet, actor, dissident blogger and cultural organizer from the town of Darbasiya on the Turkish-Syrian border. He now lives in France. … Derky is not only a poet and actor but also a gifted amateur futbulji who, under slightly different circumstances, could well have started a professional career.”

Syrians on the Pitch

By Luqman Derky

Translated by Daniel Behar

In the mid-1980s of the previous century, we would go to the Aleppo universty campus and play football on a small dirt pitch the size of five-against-five with a goalie. We would go there as a team to meet other teams representing the various districts of Syria or, to be precise, the resident students on university campuses in other districts.

In addition to Syrian teams, there was also a team of Eritrean students who had a remarkable playing style of sharing the ball among themselves as opposed to us Syrians. We were like that gang from ‘kull min ido ilo’ (‘where the most violent one prevails’), the fictive neighborhood invented by comedian Nihad Qal’i (or Husni al-Barozan, the character he played). Most times, we would leave the court with voices hoarse from shouting at whomever on our team was hogging the ball, imploring him to make a pass. Whereas the Eritreans would, by silent agreement, pass fluently from one player to another.

One time, as chance would have it, the Eritreans came with an extra player. Coincidentally, at the same time, our team was missing someone. We decided to let the Eritrean Anwar play with us rather than sit on the reserves bench. Anwar was very happy with our kind offer and started playing on our team. As usual, when the Eritreans held possession, they passed the ball around until one of us managed to intercept a pass and we began yelling in his direction: “pass, ya Abdu.. pass it forward.. see me on your left, Abdu,” etc. But Abdu didn’t listen. He rushed forward planlessly, advanced the ball and tricked his way past one player. We raised our voices higher: “give it up already! make a pass!” but in vain. Abdu would not heed anyone. He lost the ball, fell on the ground, pretended to be injured and got up as if nothing happened.

Once again, the Eritreans were practicing their regular ball movement. This time, Mahmud managed to snatch the ball from the legs of our Eritrean brothers. He held onto it hard, my friends, so we began to scream: “pass the ball, Mahmud.. pass it forward.” But Mahmud didn’t listen either. It is here that Anwar, the Eritrean who played for us, learned that there was no other way but screaming. So, he began to scream. “Make a pass, brother Mahmud.. pass the ball, mate!” But our pal Mahmud was a very obstinate ball-hog and the ball was with him now. He got past one player, weaseled past another and then, alas, the Eritrean team took the ball away. Now our fellow Eritreans had the ball. Their passing dynamo was working non-stop, tic-tac-toe, until we were slapped with a goal that, as they say, put us in the orphanage.

We resumed the game from centerfield, friends, and Abu Ahmad got hold of the ball. In a ‘kill or be killed’ mode, he ran it forward. He wanted to score no matter what. Anwar haphazardly joined the attack on the right, but Abu Ahmad continued solo. Anwar shouted at him: “pass the ball, mate, make a pass.. Abu Ahmad!” But our pal Abu Ahmad wanted to score alone. To pass up the ball, to open up the game—that was unthinkable! His kick went well wide of the net. Too bad! Here Anwar rose up in protest: “you people… why don’t you share the ball with me? Is this about skin color?” I approached him and said: “why do you think you’re so special, my dear Anwar? Are you accusing us of racism?!!” “Yes, I am,” said Anwar, “Why else would you not pass me the ball?” I stared at him fiercely and said: “Can you name one time when one Syrian player on this team passed the ball to another Syrian?” Anwar took a while to ruminate and replay the match in his head. He then said: “I apologize, friend. My judgment was hasty. You guys are not racist. But honestly, you are something much, much worse…”

Also read Derky’s ‘Knocking on Freedom’s Door’

From Derky’s storytelling blog Alf Sarda wa-Sarda. Posted to his public Facebook page on June 20, 2021.