“But we have our tickets”
“The gate is closed”
“But we were told we could come back since we had tickets”
“The President is inside, so the gates are closed”
“Well, can you open them?”
“no”
“I don’t understand”
“I don’t understand either”
6 hours earlier, my roommates and I had visited Lilongwe’s football stadium to pick up tickets for the game. We had been informed by word of mouth that only 40,000 people were going to be allowed into the stadium, and so tickets would be handed out to be sure number limitations were kept. This was different from the usual policy of allowing as many people to pack into the stadium that were willing to spend the rest of their day as a very flat sardine, but since the President was going to be in attendance for this particular game, things had to be really nice. We had had a major mzungu (white person) moment that morning when all the Malawians collecting tickets immediately ran into the stadium ready to wait there for the 8 hours before the start of the game. We were the only ones who thought picking up tickets and then going to the game were two separate events. After talking with the guards who could not understand why anyone would want to wait to go in later, we left with the assurance that we should be able to come back. That is what led us to the above conversation my roommate was having with an officer outside the stadium gate.
This officer told us to walk up to the gate to talk to the guard there and see if he would let us in. I think he was just trying to get rid of us. It became quickly obvious that there was no safe way for three white girls with their Malawian friend to make it past the crowd of already drunk men to even talk to the gate guard, so we retreated. I was ready to call it quits at this point, but my persistent roommates began talking to every guard they could reach and asking them to take us to the gate so that we could solicit entrance. No one was willing.
Suddenly this gigantic army vehicle turned onto the drive leading to the gate. It was a tall truck with a large canopied bed with soldiers carrying clubs and guns inside. My roommate marched up to the driver waving her ticket. I tried to pretend that I somehow had no connection to the only other white people in sight.
Next thing I know, I hear the words “get in” and Tori is climbing up the back of the truck holding her ticket over her head like a lucky rabbit’s foot to the confused and indignant guards in the truck. The driver had to pop out and explain the situation, and our party of four climbed in. An astute Malawian girl climbed in with us seamlessly acting like part of our group. The crowd around the gate stared agape as guards parted them and we road through with the military.