Football Fever and the Ethiopian Dream: A Look Back, A Step Forward
It feels only natural to say something about football this time of year—especially with the 2010 FIFA World Cup just around the corner, and for the very first time, taking place right here on our continent. (By the way, we’re not quite used to calling it soccer in this part of the world, but I’ll use the terms interchangeably for my wider readership.)
Football has come a long way to
reach African soil. And while we can’t yet say it has reached the stage it
deserves, there’s no denying that African football—Ethiopian football in
particular—has had a complicated, winding journey. I say this as someone who’s
always been an optimist, someone who sees the glass half full. But lately, I’ll
admit, my enthusiasm for our local teams has been wearing thin.
Like many others, I find myself
increasingly drawn to international football—especially European leagues—rather
than the local scene. The reason is plain: we all want to see real talent in
action. The raw skill. The drama. The rhythm of high-level competition. And
sadly, our national teams haven’t delivered that in quite some time.
Still, our collective passion for
the game remains undiminished. In fact, it may have grown beyond anyone’s
expectations. From urban neighborhoods to rural villages, football fever is
everywhere. Teenagers, grown-ups, even little children—you’d be hard-pressed to
find someone untouched by it. Compared to what I remember from years ago, the
scale of public enthusiasm is staggering.
Has the game changed so much since
then? Or are people perhaps using football as an emotional escape from the hard
truths of everyday life—rising prices, political fatigue, and social
frustrations? Could it be the national pastime has become a national
distraction?
Who knows? Perhaps it's all of the
above.
Whatever the case, the game's
grassroots presence is impossible to ignore. Across the country, in city
corners and countryside clearings, children chase after makeshift balls.
In wealthier areas, these are proper footballs on half-decent fields.
Elsewhere, they’re balls made from plastic bags tied with thread, or rolled-up
paper wrapped in worn socks. The "pitches" are dusty alleyways, muddy
roadsides, or village paths.
And still, the joy is real. The game
is real.
Another phenomenon worth noting is
the rise of “public video houses”—those informal gathering spots where crowds
huddle to watch DSTV broadcasts of international matches. These places
have become our mini-stadiums, buzzing with energy and opinion. They reflect
a shared experience that cuts across class and age.
South Africa, the host of this
historic World Cup, has done a remarkable job. The excitement is contagious,
and the pride shared by Africans everywhere is tangible. Like most of you, I
won’t throw cold water on the festivities. This is a milestone moment—for the
continent and for the sport.
But it also stirs in me a sense of
reflection—a desire to look back at Ethiopia’s own journey with football.
A
Legacy Interrupted
Ethiopia was once a pioneer in African
football. Alongside Egypt and Sudan, it was one of only three teams to
participate in the inaugural African Nations Cup in 1957. We even won the title
in 1962, as hosts. Back then, our Walya Antelopes carried genuine
promise.
But since the late 1960s, that
promise has steadily faded.
While our runners have gone on to
become world legends—Haile Gebrselassie, Kenenisa Bekele, Tirunesh Dibaba, and
Meseret Defar among them—our football has lagged far behind. A generation after
generation of fans has seen little progress, and many have turned their focus
to international matches for excitement and excellence.
So, why has Ethiopian football
remained stagnant?
Some say it's politics. Others blame
mismanagement, lack of resources, or even the structure of the football
federation itself. Whatever the reason, change is long overdue.
We cannot simply continue admiring
the talent of others. We must start cultivating our own. That means long-term
planning, investment in grassroots programs, training facilities, and youth
development. The Ethiopian Football Federation needs to get serious—very
serious—about preparing our players not just for local competitions but for the
global stage.
And who knows? Maybe someday,
Ethiopian players will dance the Diski—that signature South African
celebration—on the pitch of a World Cup final. Not as spectators. Not as
hopefuls. But as competitors.
In the end, football is more than
just a game. It’s a mirror of who we are—and who
we could become. Let’s not settle for watching others write history.
Let’s start scripting our own.
Məlkam SamΪnt! → Have a great week!
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