Football in Dar es Salaam: research proposal and preliminary findings

I’m currently undergoing a research project in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania’s largest city, looking at the city’s three biggest football clubs: Azam Football Club, Simba Sports Club and Young Africans Sports Club (known as “Yanga”). This research is concerned with contrasting the difference between the supporter owned, historic clubs Yanga and Simba, and the young, privately owned Azam football club. By talking with supporters, club members and those in charge, I hope to explore issues of privatisation and commercialisation in the beautiful game. Following Dubai’s article on the neoliberalisation of football (2010), this research is intended to contribute to the project of unsettling the hegemonic coherence of neoliberalisation, by locating specific sites spatially and temporally. The contrasting structures exhibited between these clubs in Dar es Salaam provide a specific locality in which these issues can be explored.

“Timu Bora, Bidhaa Bora” 

While browsing the Azam FC Instagram account, I came across a fan proudly holding up a scarf sporting the words “Timu bora, Bidhaa bora”, which in Kiswahili means “Better team, Better products”. Azam is a multi-national brand, producing everything from soft drinks to cement across East Africa. In his article, Dubai relates how supporters of football clubs across the world are negotiating the transformation from supporters into consumers which accompanies the privatisation of their clubs (ibid, 126), and with Azam FC the link between consumerism and football is made explicit, evident with this message written on the supporters scarf.

“Wanajitegea/ Wape sifa” 

In stark contrast to the privately owned Azam football club, which was founded in 2007, Yanga and Simba trace their roots back to 1935 and 1936 respectively, during British colonial rule. Despite their geographical proximity in Dar es Salaam, football supporters across the whole of Tanzanian’s dispersed population of roughly 50 million people can be divided into two camps: the green and red of Yanga and Simba. The historic rivalry between these two teams is well known and widely documented (see Tsurata, 2007), and both teams follow a supporter owned model. The contrast between the financial capability of these historic teams and Azam is significant: unlike their privately owned neighbours they do not have a stadium of their own, or even team buses. However, this stark contrast in financial resources does not produce negative feelings towards Azam, as supporters of both Yanga and Simba express respect for the manner in which Azam “wanajitegemea” (are self-reliant) and stress the point that “wape sifa” (they should be given praise).

Not only do supporters of Yanga and Simba have respect for Azam’s self-reliance, and ultimately their quick rise to success (they have in their short history become the main competition for Simba and Yanga, winning the league themselves in 2014), this view is also shared by those in the clubs management. When I spoke to the first president of Simba Evans Aveva, who was elected in 2014, he explained that Simba are hoping to follow the financial model of Azam which has resulted in their success (private conversation, 17 January 2017). Since this conversation I have heard rumours of a plan for a 51% majority takeover of Simba Sports Club by a wealthy businessman, and the fans I’ve spoken to so far seem to welcome this privatisation of their club, as it would increase their self-reliance and chances of success long-term. During my research I hope to follow these negotiations, and how they are perceived by supporters, in order to further understand the reaction to privatisation of a football club in this specific locality. My preliminary findings support the argument outlined by Dubai in this paper, notably that the neoliberal ‘flows’ (Tsing, 2000) that accompany privatisation in world football cannot be treated as a coherent project, and instead we must take account of the way neoliberalism is “embraced and negotiated across local landscapes” (2010: 124).

Research methods

In order to follow up this initial research interest, I intend to attend football matches of these three football clubs, engage with supporter groups, and management where possible. Support for Azam in no way matches that of Yanga and Simba, but their support is increasing steadily, and meeting some of these supporters is essential in order to further understand how this team operates in opposition to the historic support of Yanga and Simba. For example, it’s likely some of their supporters previously rallied behind Yanga or Simba but decided to switch alliances because they believed Azam offered them more strength and stability. What’s more, members of the Simba management, including the president, claim that Azam offer incentives in order to increase their originally small fan base. The area of Dar es Salaam where the Azam sports complex is located, Mbagala, is home to some of these supporter groups which I hope to seek out.

Communicating with these Azam supporter groups in Mbagala may also provide the opportunity to explore the community function that Azam FC serves, as this element of community has been central to membership of Simba and Yanga since their founding, extending to such social realms as marriage and burial. Conversely, by returning to the Simba Sports Club headquarters in Msimbazi, Kariakoo, I hope to follow the ongoing takeover negotiations and member’s reactions to these, and investigate the contemporary community significance of this supporter owned club.

Research difficulties 

This research proposal and outline of preliminary findings is intended to give an idea of the potential areas to explore when researching football in Dar es Salaam. Some of the difficulties involved with this research project include length of research, which doesn’t exceed two months from time of writing (27 January 2017), as well as language capability, as football fans in Dar es Salaam are sometimes hard to follow due to their passionate, pacey exclamations. Furthermore, access to reading material is another obstacle, as it’s difficult to build on theoretical arguments satisfactorily without access to a library.

Pamoja and the malnourished cow

Pamoja FC, the football team of the Pamoja Child and Youth Foundation based in Mwanza, north-west Tanzania, has recently been promoted into the third tier of the Tanzanian football league. The foundation works with children and youth who have had a difficult start in life, and by providing a safe space and teaching them skills, hopes to give them a better life in the future. I met one of the founders of Pamoja, ex-footballer and gymnast Ssemwogerere Gilbert, when I visited Mwanza for the first time in August 2015. But it wasn't until I returned in November 2016 that I spent time at Pamoja and became involved in the work that they're doing.

Shortly after my arrival Pamoja FC had an important match - the semi-final in a local cup competition. Despite having never seen me play, Gilbert was keen for me to be involved. Shortly before kick off suitable footwear for me was sought and the team underwent their pre-match build up, whilst I attempted to follow the discussion in Swahili on the use of a 3-5-1 vs. 5-3-1 formation. Before long I was lining up with my teammates, whose surprise at playing alongside an mzungu (white person) must have only been exceeded by that of the opposing team and the thousand or so spectators who had gathered to watch.

Gilbert leading the team-talk 

I played in a defensive midfield position, and before succumbing to equatorial conditions and a lack of fitness towards the end of the first half I was happy with my performance, having successfully disrupted the flow of the opposition on several occasions and played a few passes myself. I left the field to continued shouts of 'mzungu!' from the opposing fans, and Pamoja leading 1-0 having scored a spectacular goal - a loopy cross taken down on the knee and volleyed home. The goal epitomised the tremendous composure of the young team, resulting from Gilbert's insistence on 1/2 touch football and playing a technical game.The match finished 1-1 with Pamoja winning on penalties and securing their advancement to the final, where they would meet the Mwanza Bus Terminal team and compete for the prize of a cow.

Celebrating winning the semi-final 

As well as football, the children at Pamoja practice gymnastics, a sport which gave Gilbert the opportunity to travel to Europe at a young age. Education is also central to the foundation, which has recently purchased land on the outskirts of Mwanza on Lake Victoria at Kagere, an important historical site where first Arab Moslem slave traders and later European explorers and missionaries held bases. Here Pamoja have plans to build a school. Establishing a football academy and bringing their team up to the first division of the Tanzanian football league are some of their other objectives.

Lining up for the final 

Rumours surrounding the final were widespread, such as suspicions the opposing team had drafted in players from higher leagues, and even conspired with the powers that be to bring a particularly skinny cow in fear of losing! Following a fairly scrappy match, not helped by a referee too eager to blow his whistle, the final ended goalless with Pamoja losing on penalties. However, the runner-up prize money (200,000 shillings, around $100) will allow the foundation to purchase a goat and host a party at the Pamoja house, where a number of young boys sleep and spend their days.

You can follow Pamoja on Facebook to find out more about the work they’re doing, and also check their website. I have plans to return to Mwanza and Pamoja early next year. Two women who are currently studying in Mwanza have also recently set up this fundraising page to raise money for the school Pamoja hope to build – here you can read more about the project and donate.

Free writing exercise: a public meeting to discuss ‘Peckham’s future’, organised by Peckham Vision in the CLF Art Cafe (Bussey Building). 27/1/16

Introductions by Eileen Conn (Peckham Vision) and John Wilson (owner of Copeland Park). Amongst other things, John Wilson states that housing isn’t necessarily his or his families “agenda” - as well as needing somewhere to live (and acknowledges the priority of housing in the capital) people also need somewhere to “rest and play”. This echoes my meeting with Tim Wilson earlier in the day - the importance of Peckham developing a day-time work economy to complement the flourishing night-time economy. 

John Wilson also states that the development of site (Copeland Park) has been a “slow process” - this reflects their ambition, similar to Eileen, to allow the site to develop “organically”. This process he believes “seems to be working” and it’s difficult to disagree - its popularity has increased exponentially whilst maintaining its character and integrity (although these elements are arguably under threat). 

However before the proceedings were able to continue along the planned trajectory, a woman comes to the front of the audience and commandeers the microphone.

“Peckham needs a black space! When I look around me, this isn’t the Peckham I used to know.” Her anger is palpable, and rising every second. She shouts at the audience, challenging the white supremacy she sees all around her, and when she claims reparations still need to be paid for slavery there is a shout of “Oh no come on!” from the back of the room. Tensions rise, and Eileen moves in to grapple with the mic. 

“Don’t touch me!” says the woman, defending herself against Eileen, who manages to somehow wrestle the mic from her, saying that they will forgot the way things were meant to proceed and open the floor immediately for questions. Although this intrusion by the woman disrupted events, the tone had been set, and the following two hour discussion rarely fell below this level of passion and energy. 

[Upon rereading it's important to state that Eileen retrieving the mic from the woman was not a forceful act. It was rather a reminder that other people were also meant to have time with the microphone, and any physical contact was, as Eileen said afterwards, an instinctive gentle touch on the arm when you're close to someone who is distressed]. 

Many others raised concerns about who would be benefitting from the areas regeneration. These voices were often levelled directly at Neil Kirby, the head of regeneration in Southwark, who was standing at the front. Finally, one man comes to the mic and charismatically makes the point that the council cannot be seen to represent the interests of the people: “don’t be fooled, they are the enemy! [indicating Kirby]”. He quotes the example of the latest development at Elephant and Castle, where (he claims) people from Southwark Council left and began working with the developers, thus directly benefitting from the profit made. This mans speech directly attacked the Babylon system that proliferates itself in our nations capital (using everything but those words), and you couldn’t help but agree.

Immediately following this man, another woman came to the mic, who it would later transpire had begun the Reclaim Brixton movement. She began by saying her approach was more “sophisticated” and that she disagreed with the “Us and Them” narrative of the previous speaker, favouring instead attempts made to “bridge the asymmetrical relationship” that sadly exists between the poorer, often black communities in areas like Brixton and Peckham and the council, who many believe do not reflect their interests. Her message was about getting people involved, and this admirable aim of inter-communication among different micro-communities within their larger community environment arguably drove a lot of the following discussion. 

At one point the woman who had interrupted the meeting at first (Jacky), once again began shouting and laying the claim for the necessity of a “black space”, because “you [indicating Eileen] know that black people won’t come here”. Eileen responds by asking why Jacky thinks this the case. A young black man from the audience shouts out that it’s not necessarily Eileen’s responsibility to establish a black space for discussion, and that the responsibility for this lies with the black community themselves (or, in this case, Jacky, as she’s the one complaining that there isn’t one). Eileen later continues by saying she’s aware of the “self-segregation” that we are all guilty of, and the overall message is of positivity as many others express the need to build dialogue between different communities (for example Peckham Vision and local TRAs). 

The meeting took place in the Bussey Building, a building which used to be home to numerous black majority pentecostal churches, and which now is home to only one. This depletion reflects the loss of pentecostal churches in the Copeland Park industrial estate more generally, as the number has decreased from around 15 to only four. As far as I am aware, no one from these churches attended this meeting, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were not even aware it was taking place. These churches are a key component in my anthropology research project, attempting to conduct research informed by the anthropology of space and place in Copeland Park. Having spoke to a group of young girls in one of the pentecostal churches, I wanted to invite them to the meeting, but the day I went to give them some flyers the church was unfortunately closed. 

I’m exploring the different ways in which the Copeland Park estate is experienced by its multiple occupants, and the churches are central to this as their experience is arguably very different to, say, the artistic community or participants in the night-time economy. The young girls I spoke to said that on the whole they liked what had happened to the site, as they acknowledged that there is more “energy” now, however they also expressed a desire for more respect and awareness, citing cases of people wandering in to the church during a service with beers in their hands and being annoyingly inquisitive. This view of the other inhabitants being “annoying” was reflected by the female pastor of the largest church on site, which incidentally belongs to the second largest denomination of Christianity in the world, when she says they had physically had to move people out the way just to get to the church door.

My research is ongoing, and this has just been a taster. However, following the emphasis placed on the importance of inter-community dialogue at the public meeting hosted by Peckham Vision, and the anger at the numerous “asymmetrical relationships” which continue to operate in Peckham and London more broadly, and which often go unchallenged, I hope that my modest research into this particular space and the different communities which operate side-by-side on a daily basis will shed some light on how this situation has come into being. 

What can we do to make sure the community is not destroyed and money doesn't triumph.  It does feel like now is the time for action, while there is still time. But what action, and how? Peckham has shown, and hopefully will continue to show, that it can be at the forefront of resistance to these processes. 

Two Swahili poems

These are two short poems I wrote in Swahili while I was in East Africa over the summer of 2015. I have more recently decided to translate them (7th of February 2016). 

Mzungu

Kujisikia mbaya
Kutoka daraja juu
Kizunguzungu

Kutembea tembea
Kusafari tu!
Kuzunguka

Kichwa kile kinachouma
Watu wanaovurugwa
Huyu ni Mzungu?

Watu wanaopenda kwenda
Kuangalia mazingira
Yule ni Mzungu?

Inatumika sana,
Kwa bahati njema au mbaya.

Ubaguzi wa rangi?
Au hatuwezi kusema hivi?
Mimi sijui.

Usitupe takataka

Usitupe takataka,
Hata useme yenye baraka.

Usitupe takataka,
Hapa watu hawapo haraka.

Usitupe takataka,
Unacheka unapoulizwa.

Usitupe takataka, ipo mziwa.

Ile nyumba mbele jalala,
Wana shida wanapotaka kulala.

Kama ukitaka kulala salama,
Usitupe takataka hapa!

Translations

Mzungu 

[Mzungu: the general name for a white person in East Africa]

To feel bad

From a height

Dizziness

To roam around

And just travel!

Wayfaring

People with aching heads

Who are generally confused

Is this an Mzungu?

People that love to be on the move

Traversing different milieux

Is that an Mzungu?

It’s a word that is used a lot,

For good fortune or bad. 

Racism?

Or are we unable to say this?

I just don’t know. 

Don’t throw litter

Don’t throw litter,

Even the expression has a blessing.

Don’t throw litter,

Here where the people aren’t in a hurry.

Don’t throw litter, 

You laugh when you’re asked. 

Don’t throw litter, into the lake. 

You see that house in front of the rubbish heap,

They have difficulty when they’re trying to sleep.

If you want to sleep peacefully, 

Don’t throw your litter here! 

As I walked out into London town

This is an essay written for one of my courses - Theory in Anthropology - which attempts to use Kristeva's theory of intertextuality, and Strathern's concept of the dividual sense of self, when approaching the study of sacred narrative. All the photos are my own. 

More than anything else in my life London has shaped who I am today, who I was yesterday, and who I will be tomorrow. My life so far has been spent learning to navigate its many pathways, familiarising myself with its mysteries and treasures. Its ebb and flow is continuously synonymous with my own, inscribed into my very being. It is for this reason that London is the setting for this journey. 

Passing through the Passage which carves out Haringey Ladder, an alleyway which intersects the streets and creates a thoroughfare through residential roads which run in parallel lines like the rungs on a ladder, I am at home in a part of London previously unexplored. Whilst on the journey from one end to the other, I am flanked on both sides by houses, apart from when it opens up temporarily onto the individual roads, and I must cross over in order to continue along its path. Here its magic lies, in cutting directly through the streets, thus making its passage preferable to a routine road. A journey along the Passage is a fragmented experience, as one is always anticipating the next rupture of its path, and the distance is experienced in reduced time. Although this may be where I reside now my roots lie across the border south of the river, therefore the passage soon yields itself, and after squeezing through the railings I ascend onto the old reservoir near my childhood home. Here the plateau of South London recedes underneath the wine-dark sky, and the present recedes at the expense of the past. I have long since mapped this city for myself. 

The Shard features prominently as I observe the skyline; this new addition which thrusts itself into centre frame irreversibly, signifying showmanship and precision. From afar its jagged points are less defined, and the imprint on the skyline is seemingly one of geometrical consistency. However my gaze drifts eastwards and is soon drawn towards the unique eye on the horizon. On whichever structure I centre my gaze it remains south of the river, symbolising my predilection for play in this half of the city. My foray north is perhaps best understood as a supplementation on an engrained imbalance in favour of the south, but this arguably reduces the process of the journey whilst it is still running its course. 

Parks have often been a refuge for me in this city, and my descent from the reservoir takes me into an expanse of green, open space. I open the gate, ceremoniously standing aside as an elderly woman follows me shortly after. This habitual act of politeness is met with a fleeting glance of recognition, and as I proceed into the park I am imbued with a sense of self satisfaction. Had I not held the gate open, doubtless an uncomfortable sense of guilt would have pervaded me temporarily. But needless to say neither outcome holds much sway in how things proceed. Whilst in this space I have momentarily escaped from the roads which I know surround me on all sides, and from which I have entered from and will shortly exit back onto. But this knowledge of the next step is delayed and easily consumed by the satisfaction to be found in aimlessly retracing the routes which I am unconsciously familiar with, thus allowing myself to remain distant from the roads both spatially and emotively as a feed from this green playground of my childhood. 

The flow of tourists stream along the paths, and they are here all year round in this particular park, a far cry from the modest one of my childhood. I look out at the grand lake as I walk steadily around its shore, passing a smartly dressed couple on blue bikes travelling in the opposite direction. The memorial for a Princess presents itself, and I sidle up to this circular water feature. It stands at ground level, a ring of flowing water with grass in the middle. I spend time tracing the lineage of the water’s flow, as the stream moves across different levels, hanging suspended for long moments before dropping down and continuing its synthetic journey. The dominating sensation is one of humbling awe in watching the water on its propelled journey, a customary response to the impressive monuments and everyday splendour which surrounds me in this part of town. 

I lift my head up and see a woman across on the other side of the water, looking at me. 

The man’s long black coat falls down to his feet as he moves around the water. Slow loping footsteps on this wet parade. Perhaps he is reminiscing. No trace of impatience or necessity in his casual stride, pondering before each step. He raises his eyes in my direction and his thoughts are evidently elsewhere, outside this particular moment. But now he has returned, and his quickening pace suggests a purpose where there wasn’t one before. Looking at his back as he walks away. 

I walk down the stairs - with an extension of my arm I am shown the green light and have passed through the initial barrier. The shell of London’s underground tube network allows one to move quickly around its carefully mapped out world, the intricacies of the city reduced to linearity and smooth curves, the river Thames appearing as a mechanical water pipe. Each stop on the map represents a unique entry and exit point into this underground maze, but their diversity is only hinted at in name and is homogenised in this spider web of colour coded tunnels. My body remains motionless as I’m carried downwards, before coming out into the tunnel and waiting to board.

My place in the carriage is found and I park myself, a facade of forced comfort written on all the stony faced passengers sitting opposite me. My sense of belonging in London extends even to this space of intensity. The bald-headed man sitting opposite me doesn’t look so comfortable, fidgeting in his seat. How do these people travel like this everyday? The seats are uncomfortable and I don’t know where to bloody look. Pricey and all. He’s looking at me - I can see out the corner of my eye. The man stops fidgeting and catches my gaze, before quickly looking away and picking up a paper which has been abandoned on a nearby seat. 

Now I’m out of the station and into the daylight. Up a flight of stairs and hovering above the dense muddy water which flows beneath me. The regular bridges crossing the river Thames are like rungs on a twisting, thriving ladder, and the cities intricacy and depth are evident when foregrounded by this lucid landmark which divides it in two. Its ceaseless flow is reminiscent of the endless stimuli one faces in the city itself, and the capability of the current to pull one under reflects the city’s potential to deprive the individual of agency.

I am soon reconnected with the land and wandering along the river’s south bank. I have my hand on the railing, giving the necessary appearance of balance. This physical connection allows the rest of my body to feel unattached in comparison. I pass numerous unoccupied benches, until one draws closer which has a single occupant, their hands resting in their lap. My body tightens as its solitary wandering is momentarily interrupted, but quickly loosens when the fear of the stranger is rejected and forgotten. Their eyes are facing out towards the river, and their tranquil pose and seeming ambivalence towards myself aids my body’s fluid motion and increases my confidence. Their soft and inquisitive face looks at mine, and rather than looking away uncomfortably when our eyes meet we hold each other’s gaze.

Mutual affection towards this location has caused the crossing of our paths. This shared experience is irreducible - the reciprocal exchange of prolonged eye contact without the expectation of reciprocity. Your movement in relation to my stationary bench creates a different perspective at every angle, until you pass out of sight. 

Soon I arrive at one of the iconic landmarks along this river bank, the reconstructed Globe theatre. On the tiered benches outside its gates I recognised the face of a woman, sitting looking out quizzically at the water.

“Eva Krist. What brings you here?” 

Eva turns round at the sound of her name, before addressing me with words that flew: “that’s neither here nor there, but don’t be in any doubt that there’s method in my madness.”

Eva has always worn her heart on her sleeve, and this dramatic performance led me to believe  that she was troubled. Nevertheless she continued: “if the world’s a stage, then our still being here in London means that we’re yet to continue beyond the first act! Even if this city is such stuff as dreams are made of, it isn’t the be all and end all.” 

“I agree Eva - it may be one of the best cities in the world, but there’s always the danger of too much of a good thing”. 

Eva nodded solemnly. I stood awkwardly beside the bench she was seated on for a minute or so, before bidding my farewell and continuing on my journey.

Emerging onto the main road, I am confronted with a docking station. Opting for this familiar mode of transport, I insert my debit card into the machine. My legs are now turning the pedals, taking me past those rattle trap buses that bang through the streets. Here the process of the journey is stripped back to its simple, elementary desire for a safe passage. In habitual fashion my eyes flash at every sign of potential movement, their glance instinctive. Whilst cycling I feel serenely clear, in unison with the act of movement which absorbs my conscious mental effort. Slowing down for the red light, I am joined by a convoy of fellow cyclists, all steadily getting themselves into position. My serenity is not compromised by the bustling traffic which pushes itself along in front of me. All I’m concerned with is the light above my head, and when it will signify that it’s time to set off once again. 

Now I find myself back in South East London, and having disembarked I am heading in the direction of a gathering of style and ease. The first impression of people in this multimedia performative arena is one of acceptance, and as I enter through the door and into this familiar atmosphere I am greeted and welcomed back. The next performer takes the stage, and as they start to play their first song the sound strongly recalls others who have graced the stage before them, the pool of influence from whence their style has developed. Many of those who   have contributed to this style are present in the room, and this consistent reaffirming of shared terrain runs through the surrounding atmosphere. The popularity of this particular event has grown significantly since my first visit - as its clear message has circulated and drawn more people in, those desiring to become a part of this family which detaches itself and in doing so creates a unique space of becoming. 

Just as I feel that I’ve managed to categorise my multitude of experiences in this city into a comprehensible system, the inevitably irregularity strikes me, knocking down the structures I had temporarily erected. He who is tired of London is tired of life - the wisdom in these words is partly what has kept me here, continuing to strive for clarity of perception among the smoky skies and intertwining neighbourhoods. I go about my daily life on the pretext of this desire for esoteric knowledge, in a context which is intrinsically linked with this desire. The subtext of this quest is the personal search for understanding, as in attempting to decipher the texture of the city I am inadvertently on a path of internal self discovery, as the two often present themselves as inseparable. 

My time in London is a heap of memories and plotted maps of certain areas. On a journey from south to north, and back again - it’s difficult to place myself outside of this vortex I have  become familiar with whilst remaining a stranger to. Huge swathes still untrodden and unexplored, but the longer I spend here the unknown recedes everyday, maintaining my interest in uncovering further stones. Attempting to decipher meaning in how the different possibilities of the city flow over each other. Although the ambition for a conclusive impression is illusory, as tangible statements about London life seem to slip out of my grasp, this doesn’t detract from the potentiality of realising the next step - of overturning a further stone and revealing a hidden truth, thus bringing the process closer to communicable understanding. However certain areas will always remain a mystery, and it’s these mysteries which I continue to examine from my engrained position as a Londoner. 

Alterity

The inevitable shock before the adjustment?

Tracing the lineage of rock.

Forest fires and flash floods, the electric zigzag from a viewpoint overlooking the red sunrise. 

Whole body vibrations on the high waters, washed away. 

Tracing lineages of flow, carving out the curves.

Zen lunacy and the call for figure ground reversal - a home from home!

The creek flows rapidly, leaving me out of seam, out of hook. 

No longer tracing lines, meandering upwards

Drawing on old axioms. Accents and boxes - don’t close the lid on yourself. 

Remembering names and painting a picture

Spontaneity and unashamed honesty to be found in his mystic guidance

He’s a performer - I could have guessed that!

Pride in full swing - conversations on Candomblé

Reading the cards over the balcony with the stars in chains. Two chains to be precise. 

Cherish them, I will. Give them away, I will. Share them, I will. 

Oracle to the living and silence. Leave the dead some room to dance. 

Those are words stolen from an idol. 

Idolising an idealistic hobo? Doesn’t give me the same thrill. 

Art intertwined with nature in this botanical garden. 

The flat irons, continuing to trace creases. 

Treasure chest of everlasting trees

Deep hanging out taken to a new level.

Interview with an Alum: George Lane

This is an interview I conducted last December for my university newspaper, The SOAS Spirit. 'Interview with an Alum' is a regular feature in the Spirit and for this issue I interviewed Doctor George Lane, a SOAS graduate at every level, who continues to work at SOAS teaching academic English and lecturing in the history department, as well as conducting research. 

Tell me about your life before SOAS/ what did you do before you started studying at SOAS?

I went to Afghanistan after I finished my A levels, and I never came back, essentially. I travelled around Afghanistan, Pakistan, Thailand, Lebanon and Iran for 20 odd years and I supported myself by teaching English. I qualified as an English language teacher whilst working for the British council in Lebanon. It wasn’t that I’d intended to be away for so long, things just happened- I got a job teaching English in Afghanistan, and the next thing I knew I’d signed a contract for two years. Then in Iran I got involved with the revolution that was going on there at the time. 

So how did you begin studying at SOAS? 

I heard about SOAS while I was travelling around the Middle East and it had that air about it, so I decided that if I was going to go to university, I wanted to go to SOAS. I began a BA in History and Persian, and I also got a job in the English unit teaching English to foreign students. It was a strange situation, because there were some students who I was in class with during the day, and then I was teaching them English in the evening. 

I wrote an essay during my BA which was transformed into my dissertation. The same essay then became an MA dissertation of 10,000 words, and that became a PhD dissertation of 100,000 words, all on the same subject!  This also became the subject of my first book.  I have worked at SOAS ever since, teaching the summer courses that foreign students take in academic English. I am also a senior teaching fellow in the history of the Middle East and Central Asia. 

Now this is your sabbatical year, what are your plans?

What I’m doing, is I’m catching up. I’ve got various projects on the run, so I’ve two trips to China planned, one trip to Jerusalem, one to Turkey, and possibly one to Central Asia.  What I’ve been working on is to show the closeness between medieval China and medieval Iran. I’ve discovered about 20 tombstones in Hangzhou in China and they’re all written in Persian, dating from about the 13 hundreds. They were dug up in the 1920s, and have been stored in a mosque since then. 

Originally the Imam of the mosque wouldn’t allow me to see them, but I persisted and persisted and eventually I was able to get in, but he still wouldn’t allow me to photograph them. So I had a cunning plan, and I went back during Friday prayers and took a photo of the Imam in his office. I then got the photos printed on A3, laminated and glossed them, and gave them to him as a gift. He was so chuffed, that he let me in, and I was the first person to properly take a photo of these tombstones. I was then given the job, by the communist party of Hangzhou of all people, to write up a book with the translation of these tombstones, and that’s the work I’m going to finish off this year. 

How has SOAS influenced your work/ research?

I didn’t know I was interested in history until I started my BA, and I’d never thought about the Mongols before- it was one of my teachers, David Morgan, who inspired me. For the last few I’ve been working to dispel some of the bad press that the Mongols get- Hulagu Khan, the so called butcher of Baghdad, that’s just rubbish! In fact it was the opposite, he civilised the place. And at SOAS you’re given a bit of credibility. It’s quite dramatic, because a lot of people don’t like what I’m saying, and as far they’re concerned he’s the devil incarnate. But the fact you’re from SOAS lends weight to anything you say.

SOAS is great because it’s internationally famous- the contacts I’ve made are amazing, people know you. Any book that comes out, I write to the publisher and ask to do a review, and when I say I’m from SOAS they send me a free copy. It’s very useful being at SOAS because it opens doors, it’s not quite Oxford and Cambridge but it’s getting there. Also the library’s one of the best in the world! 

 Finally, how do you hope your research will affect your teaching when you return?

The point about research is that the more you look into things, the more you realise you don’t yet know. In the class, you transmit your passion. You’re interested and the students feel that. 

Dr Lane working with the British Council and teaching English in Beirut.