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August 14, 2008 10:39 AM

About a Drum

This is the story of courage, of patriotism, of standing up for the right to stand up.

But mostly, this is a story about a drum.

Well, actually, about four drums. And three trumpets. And a tambourine. And lime green afro wigs. And 30 men from Nigeria.

Like Michael Ajayi. He's from Yoruba, Nigeria, and he started planning his trip to the Olympics in Sept. 2006. It took him three weeks to get his tourist visa to come to the Games, and it wasn't exactly a short flight to Beijing.

That's all behind him now, he says. Standing outside the Worker's Stadium, dressed in green an hour before the U.S.-Nigeria men's soccer match, his voice is shaking.

"We are Nigerians!" he yells out. "We are proud of our country. No matter what anyone else says about us."

Then there's a man who goes by the name Chief Oyewole. He works here in Beijing, and on most days, he doesn't draw much attention. But today, he's wearing a traditional Nigerian shirt, called a wax print. In the hour before the game starts, he takes 50 or 60 photos with curious locals.

But back to those drums. The rest of the group arrives about half an hour before the game. They make their arrival known, the drum beat sounding out from blocks away. The Nigerians slip into their green jerseys. Some of them are like Ajayi and have traveled from Nigeria for the game. Others, like Chief Oyewole, study or work here in China.

Out come a few sets of fraying drumsticks. When the beat starts, the crowd circles four or five deep to see what's going on. The group starts chanting, louder and louder, in about three or four different languages. They're bouncing, singing, screaming. The trumpets join in, and on cue, the group starts moving toward the stadium. The crowd follows them, cameras raised in the air, flashbulbs popping. The drum's counting out time. Voices rise. Afro wigs flop. Kickoff's 20 minutes away.

The Nigerians reach the security checkpoint, but they're as loud as ever. Behind them, police are mobilizing to see who's causing all the noise. Extra BOCOG volunteers move into their line. A volunteer has one hand cupped next to her mouth to make herself heard. The other hand is plugging her left ear.

The first members of the group start to walk through security. One tries to carry his instrument through the metal detector. The volunteers start waving their arms. No, no, no, they say.

The music stops. One of the group leaders makes his way to the front. He towers over the Chinese volunteers. These are our instruments, he is saying. We must bring them in.

The volunteers keep shaking their heads. No, they say. Instruments are not allowed at the stadium.

The Nigerians are getting worried. They've been allowed to bring their drums and trumpets into the team's games in Tianjin. Even at the previous day's women's match, also held at the Worker's Stadium, they were able to come in with their instruments.

We must bring our instruments in, they say. This is our team's most important match. We must have our instruments to support our team.

One of the drummers in front of me slumps his shoulders. I notice a strange tag on his drum and reach for it. It's an airline baggage tag. This drum was literally checked all the way to Beijing. It made it this far; all he wants is it take it a little further.

The Nigerians aren't backing down, but neither are the Chinese. They're still arguing when I pass through security a few minutes before the game. I'm not sure what will happen.

About 20 minutes into the game, the score is still 0-0. The U.S. is playing down a man after a red card in the third minute. The stadium is halfway through the wave.

Then, from across the field, a familiar drum beat sounds. I look over. A big block of white and lime green has appeared near midfield. The wave stops. The Nigerians appear on the JumboTron to huge cheers.



After the match, I hurry to their section. The drum beat is carrying the Nigerians down the stairs and out of the stadium. The crowd slowly parts as the wigs bob toward the exit.

I find Ibukum Idenobe Ayo, one of the group members, and ask him exactly how they convinced BOCOG to allow the instruments in.

"We insisted," he says. "We knew their policy was not just. So we knew if we fought it, we would win."

His voice deepens with each word; his passion is palatable. He's talking about fighting a "no instruments" policy at the Olympics, though he could easily be speaking out against poverty or human rights violations in Nigeria. There is no irony, no sarcasm in his voice as he speaks. Yes, he's talking about courage. Yes, he's talking about drums.

"We knew if we fought it," he says again, "we would win."

Ayo runs off to rejoin the throng of countrymen. The flashbulbs practically whisk them into the thick Beijing night, their voices still strong as they fade from view. With a 2-1 victory, Nigeria's earned a birth in the elimination round against the Ivory Coast. That game could be trouble for the Nigerians, but their supporters could care less at this moment.

There is still at least one more day to wear green. Sound the drums.


 

Posted by Dan Oshinsky at 10:39 AM | Comments (5)

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