An African nation has never advanced to a semifinal of a World Cup. Those twelve words loomed over the tournament in Qatar, lording over the five qualifying nations from the continent like a postcolonial curse.
More than any other sport, football is political theatre at its purest. And the World Cup its most poignant play, where European nations extend their imperial dominance over Asian, American, and African nations atop green pitches instead of pillaged villages. With scarce exception, namely Brazil and Argentina, the World Cup is where Europe relives its imperial past, fielding teams that embody the talent and capital drain of former colonies to punish them on football fields.
Football is reverently called the “beautiful game,” but sublime strokes of European play are often undergirded by an underbelly of imperialism. Which rears its ugly head in the form of political tightropes that trip Arab and African footballers when they fall to score. Or fall short on delivering glory to France, England and European nations staring backwards at history in search of it.
Africa stands most intimate with Europe staring down at it across the Mediterranean and football pitches. The continent, which sourced legends of the sport that suited up for European superpowers, never won on the World Cup stage. Africa was marred by a drought that dried up football across the continent, often sending its most promising talent northward. This left African nations barren of World Cup glory while Europe claimed routinely lifted gold, claiming football supremacy while stockpiled with the best talent from Ghana and Senegal, the Ivory Coast and Algeria.
Despite Cameroon beating Brazil, Tunisia humbling France, and Senegal marching toward the second half of the tournament without its wunderkind Sadio Mane, the same old story of European dominance seemed inevitable in Qatar. But Morocco had other plans.
Every drought must end. No matter how long and devastating. Winds of change blew north and eastward, toward Qatar, which on December 10th claimed the epicenter of Africa.
Gusts of fans stormed toward the Al Thumama Stadium on a cool Doha evening. They beat drums that sounded the soul of Africa, marching toward the glimmering pearl bowl like an army. Colored in green and yellow shirts, the emblems of Ghana and Senegal patched across their chests, the eclectic hues of Africa were worn on the complexions and clothing of the natives that rolled forward. And forward, like a tied that would not be denied, galvanized by blood Moroccan red and with a red star at its center. These were not the Black stars of Ghana that rolled this African tide forward, but a nation on the northwestern edge of the continent.
Geography seldom rises to the level of poetry, but Morocco’s location in Africa stands beneath Europe. Enabling an intimacy so proximate, so penetrating, that evades nations in Africa’s hinterland. From its very doorstep, Morocco could peer squarely into the eyes of Europe across straits of sea and history. Morocco knew Europe perhaps more than any other African nation, which positioned it to end the drought it inflicted on the continent on the terrain of football.
Instead of cowering eyes, Morocco stared defiantly at Europe. Soundly defeating Belgium and ending its vaunted “golden generation,” then becoming the first African nation to win a World Group stage in the 21st Century.
The stage was set for battle with Spain, which matched its protracted imperial reign with modern football prowess, moving pundits to unanimously pick La Roja to end the Moroccan run. Spain passed, passed, passed, and clenched onto the past when time expired, while the Africans prayed then preyed upon them during a penalty shootout that will live forever in football lore.
Morocco made it to the quarterfinals of the World Cup, joining Cameroon (1990), Senegal (2002), and Ghana (2010). European “experts” echoed that a Portugal side coming off a six-goal performance against Switzerland would trounce Morocco and continue the World Cup drought for Africa.
The African team was buried before they took to the pitch on Saturday, but the message delivered from foreign lips from across the Mediterranean were ignored by troops that rolled into Al Thumama. In the form of disparate African fans that zigzagged toward the stadium and blended into one when reached it. They converged, as one united front – one united Africa – to cheer on a Moroccan team that represented far more than a single country, but an entire continent.
Whether they choose the post or not, football coaches of nations are politicians of another man’s making. This is particularly true for African nations, who guide the aspirations of Global South peoples searching for freedom in football, for existential legitimacy from foes that stripped them of it and the stitched to it.
“We want to fly Africa's flag high just like Senegal, Ghana, Cameroon,” stated Walid Regragui, in response a question after the victory over Spain, probing the intersecting myriad of identities rooted in Morocco. “We are here to represent Africa.”
Represent Africa. Categorically and continentally. Staring history in its eyes and severe droughts in the face, across from a formidable Portugal team that blasted its way into the quarterfinal with rising stars and fading giants.
The Portuguese rout was thought to be inevitable. Until it wasn’t. Drums pounded the stadium sky and feet thumped and thundered the ground. Nonstop whistling mixed with native songs, while Amazigh cheers fused together with Arabic converted a state-of-the-art stadium in the center of the Middle East into the site of a majestic African ensemble.
Africa, from the Mediterranean to the Horn and further below, was in the building. Fully and beautifully, ready to claim a record ninth World Cup victory against another colonial power, ending the season of Ronaldo and preceding European reigns that left Africa in drought.
Youssef En-Nesyri scored the first and only goal of the match. Achraf Hakimi anchored the defense and Hakim Ziyech threatened from the wing. The latter two reversing the European pipeline of African talent by playing for their native Morocco instead of Spain and Holland, respectively, where they grew up. Unlike the color of (once) colonized peoples that suit up for Les Bleus in France or the England’s Three Lions, Hakimi, Ziyech and other Moroccan stalwarts proved themselves to be native African sons, coming back home to find football glory, and perhaps, parts of themselves left behind.
Morocco won before it defeated Portugal, lifting Africa toward the uncharted territory of a World Cup semifinal and the people into ecstasy. The party moved from the stadium into the streets of Doha, where Arabic music blended with Afrobeat, and the blur of fantasy paused the reality of a continent arbitrarily divided into “North” and “Sub-Saharan,” Arab and Black.
On this evening, Africa was not a physical place. It was an idea, a sublime concept that danced in the imaginations of its reenergized peoples sitting in the stands and standing across the soul and soil of its expanse. Altogether, whether in Qatar or on distinct corners of the continent, celebrating a Morocco victory as if their own nation had ended the football drought plaguing Africa. In the days to come, Africa was no longer a continent of foreign conquest or footballing collapse, but a dream where imperial spells of divide and conquer were supplanted by new seasons of unity, and novel springs of possibility.
Africa stood at the center of the football world, staring toward the semifinal with the drought of history behind it. Forever, and for good, with eyes toward claiming gold, and the more valuable resources taken from its soil.
