It is breakfast time in the slums of Jamestown, outside the Ghanaian capital, Accra. From within corrugated tin shacks and under slum tarpaulins comes the metallic clatter of early morning chores and the promise of plantains and hot milk.
Defying their mothers, the local children are already on the beach playing football; they kick tightly wound balls of rags and elastic bands among piles of shattered bricks, shards of asbestos and broken glass. In the watery light of dawn their skinny chests bear the torn strips and faded club crests of teams from across Europe: Schalke, Ajax, Torino, Portsmouth and Benfica.
Behind the children, a weather-beaten billboard poster of Michael Essien stands guard over the foul, littered bay. Holding out a ball dotted with black stars, his country’s national symbol, the Ghana and Chelsea midfielder beckons fans to ”Be Proud” and help Accra’s city fathers with a clean-up of the city in preparation for this month’s African Nations Cup.
By mid-afternoon there are still many skipping school, or their chores, as they dream of becoming the next African millionaire to play in the Champions League for Chelsea. And, as the afternoon passes and the heat recedes, every spare patch of land in Accra, from dusty railway sidings to disused quarry floors, becomes dotted with young footballers.
Unlicensed
These are not mere kickabouts. They are the unlicensed football ”academies” of Accra, which have sprung up in response to the rising profile of African footballers in Europe. According to the Confederation of African Football, the sport’s governing body in the continent, all such institutions must be registered with the local government or football association.
The reality in Ghana and neighbouring Côte d’Ivoire is that the greater the success of West African players in Europe, the more unaccredited academies spring up. Most demand fees from the children’s parents and extended families, who often take them out of normal schooling to allow them to concentrate on football full-time.
Because having a professional footballer in the family would be the financial equivalent of a lottery win, many reckon the risk to their child’s education is worth taking. As we discovered, some even sell their family homes and move to the city in order to enrol their children.
There are about 500 illegal football academies operating in Accra alone. Thousands more are spread across Ghana. Many are run by the roadside; most have no proper training facilities. With biblical names such as ”Sons of Moses” and ”Lovers of Christ”, each will have its own tatty bibs or T-shirts to distinguish it from the others.
At the children’s side, egging them on to run, pass, think quicker, will be a legion of unlicensed agents and coaches. Ninety percent of the academies we visited in Accra and Abidjan — the principal city of Côte d’Ivoire — were run by local men with limited experience of the game. Most described themselves as former footballers, but none was able to produce proof of his career. They are intent on finding one thing only: the next Essien or Didier Drogba, The next multimillion-pound golden ticket.
Coaches, as well as European and Arab middlemen, haggle over the best players, signing some as young as seven on tightly binding pre-contracts— effectively buying them from their families — with the hope of making thousands of dollars by selling the boys on to clubs in Europe.
In other cases, they extort the cost of passage from their families. Many take the deeds on houses and even family jewellery in return for their services. This process of exploitation is raising alarm among West Africa-based NGOs, including Save the Children and Caritas. Tony Baffoe, the former Ghana captain, now an ambassador for this year’s African Nations Cup, admits that ”the trafficking of children to play football is a reality we must all face”.
”There must be better control of illegal academies across Africa,” Baffoe continues. ”Families should be questioning these coaches, not putting all their hopes and life savings into the relationship they have with them.”
Barefoot, his training bib flapping and exposing his skinny ribs, Mafiua Asare runs with the ball. The unmarked pitch, with the sea on one side and one of Accra’s largest slums on the other, is 90% red earth and 10% sand. The goalposts are rusted. The level of skill shown by the 10- and 11-year-old players is undeniably exceptional.
Mafiua’s progress towards the goal is halted by a gust of wind that whips up red dust and burning debris from a waste dump adjacent to the pitch. As he stops to rub his eyes and gather his breath, the boy is clattered in a tackle from his 23-year-old coach, Isaac Aloti. ”You must learn never to stop, little one,” he chastises his floored and bruised pupil.
Aloti — who claims to be a ”football expert” and former player, yet is unable to give the name of any team he has played for — introduces me to two of his star players, Daniel Vijo and Imano Buso, both 12. ”These are my boys,” he says. ”I have their contracts, their parents’ signatures; they will go for trials in Europe when they are ready. We have already had some interest from a Paris St-Germain scout. The scouts come here and comb the city, looking at boys, looking for a glimmer, that piece of magic. Both these kids have it.”
The Jay Gyemie Academe has signed Daniel on a contract that promises Aloti 50% of his first professional signing-on fee. Aloti says the contract is fair to all parties involved. ”If Daniel makes it, then I will expect a reward for my time, for the expertise and skills I have taught him. His parents know this and they will not consent to the boy going without my cut. In the meantime, the family are saving to pay me the money for his journey to France; I can make everything smooth for the boy.”
Credibility
”Isaac will help me achieve my dreams,” says Daniel, who has been taken out of school and whose family has moved to Accra to enrol him in an academy. ”My mother has put her faith in him and my family is saving for my journey to France, where I can go on trial. We will pay Isaac the money and I will leave for my family. If I make it, I will take my mother to France with me and buy her a house in Paris.”
In Daniel’s case, a legal trip to Europe is unlikely and, given the credibility of the academy, securing a trial would be virtually impossible. His most likely option is to travel to Europe illegally, using one of the many and dangerous boat routes from the west coast to the Canary Islands and from there to the Spanish mainland.
In May last year one of these boats, a leaking fishing trawler abandoned by its skipper, washed up on the shore of La Tejita beach in Tenerife with a cargo of 130 young African men. Some had hypothermia, all were badly dehydrated. Fifteen were teenagers who believed they were on their way to play for Marseille or Real Madrid. – Â