By Chris Spangler      (Madaoua Madaoua Soccer Team Photos)

As I stuffed myself into a bush taxi that held together only by rusty screws and rotting wooden planks, I thought to myself,

"Inchallah, this journey won't be an absolute disaster. Allah, please protect me and my girls."

Now I am not a Muslim, but as I began my trip with my girl's soccer team - twenty 13 year-old Nigerien girls from the local middle school in my town - to play against the only other town in our region with a soccer team, I was looking for all the help I could get.

Was I, Chris Spangler - a 2nd year Peace Corps Volunteer in Niger, West Africa - crazy enough to think that I could take my team to another town in order to play a soccer match? Would the bush taxi make it all the way to the town without breaking down? Was the other team even ready for us?

Questions poured out of my mind, just like the black exhaust fumes from the bush taxi as it rumbled down the road.

Yet as I sat back, relaxed, and listened as my team started to sing local songs, I thought to myself, "This is going to be an adventure."

For the past two years, I have been working as a 'conseiller pedagogique d'Anglais' at the office of the secondary school superintendent in a town called Madaoua, Niger. This dusty town of 15,000 people, complete with camel caravans and Saharan nomads, is situated approximately 8 hours east of the capital, Niamey.  Niger is the poorest country in the world. It has about 15,000 people and is in the middle of the Sahel, a quasi-desert stretch of land that begins in Senegal and ends on the banks of the Red Sea in the Sudan.

I am responsible for training the local English teachers on such various things as different ways of writing exams, classroom management skills, and methods of dealing with different types of learners.

But budgetary problems and apathy on the part of the people that I work with have, by and large, kept me from doing what I came here for.

So, I find other activities to occupy my time.

In November 2006, Madame Moussa, one of the physical education teachers at the local high school (and one of the few female P.E. teachers in the entire country) asked me if I was interested in forming a girl's soccer team, the first one in Madaoua.

I jumped at the chance. I would be able to use all that I'd learned while growing up in Arlington, as a player for club teams like the Potomac Kiwanis, for travel teams like the Arlington Thunder, coaching a Northwest Lions team, and refereeing ASA games.

I could hope to change the lives of some young Nigerien girls that are rarely ever given the chance to play sports. The combination of the traditional Nigerien societal structure that keeps girls cloistered in their homes, and the immense poverty that permeates life in Niger, is not a winning recipe for promoting the rights of young girls.

On Thanksgiving Day 2006, I held my first practice with my newly-formed team.

We had a long way to go in order to become a functional team.

For the first two months, I spent the majority of my time teaching the basics. How does one kick a ball? Can players touch the ball with their hands? What happens when the ball goes out-of-bounds? And for that matter, what is out-of -bounds?

Yes, there was some talent on my team. Two girls, Binta and Nafissa, were more talented than the rest. It was clear that they understood how to play soccer.

But, it would take all of my energy and patience to bring the rest of the girls like Saaratou, Ramatou, Aichatou, and the others to the level of Binta and Nafissa.

As practices continued, I came to realize two things. One, trying to practice in 120 degree weather was exhausting . And two, Nigerien teenage girls were just like American teenage girls. They would much rather do anything - laugh, bicker, talk about boys - than listen to directions from a coach .

I implemented a point-system that I learned from my days playing with the Arlington Optimists club team.

Before each practice, I gave my team 10 points. If, during practice one of my players mouthed off, made fun of another player, or ignored my directions, then I would cut a point from the daily total. At the end of each practice, I tallied the points. When the team got 100 points, I would throw them a party at my house, complete with candy, cookies, Cokes, and dancing. It took them a while, but eventually they figured out that the better they behaved, the quicker they would get to have a party.

Every Saturday we scrimmaged against one another. We played a couple a couple of 'friendly' matches against a makeshift-team that I formed with other girls that I knew in town.

Slowly my girls began to improve.

After a couple of months, the girls were good enough to perform 'give-and-goes' with ease. They talked to each other on the field, "Be careful, there is a defender behind you!" Or, "Next time, move up the right side of the field because their defender isn't good on that side."

More importantly, the girls were having a wonderful time. The bonds among them were growing day by day. They began to walk together in a pack around the school. After practice, they would go to each other's house to study together.

And I was having a great time too. It made my day when Nana learned how to bend the ball by kicking it with the instep of the foot, or when Hassana learned head the ball.

After 4 months of practicing, scrimmaging, and friendly matches, Madame Moussa told me there was a team in the regional capital, Tahoua, which was interested in playing us.

Would we be interested?

I told Madame that I would have to talk about this my players first.

That afternoon, I gathered my team after practice and began to explain that we had the opportunity to play against another team. But before I could finish, Binta interrupted me.

"Monsieur, of course we want to play. When are we going?"

And just like that, my team, the newly dubbed Madaoua FC, was heading to Tahoua to play.

The 7 hour trip up to Tahoua was, thankfully, uneventful. I talked strategy with my assistant coach, a young high school boy named Mohammed, whose cousin played on the team. The girls talked and sang the entire way, despite efforts by Madame Moussa to quiet them because she wanted to sleep.

When we arrived at the outskirts of Tahoua, we were greeted by the flashing lights of a police car.

To my surprise, the team from Tahoua had found an escort for our bush taxi as we made our way into Tahoua.

We pulled over and were greeted by members of the other team (who jumped in and somehow found space in our bush taxi), the principal, coach, and some teachers from the other school.

As we wound our way through the city, I watched as everyone on the streets stopped and stared at our caravan of cars. My girls and the girls from the other team were singing the Nigerien national anthem, "La Nigerienne" at the top of their lungs. Our Assistant Coach Mohammed was blasting away on a whistle that he'd brought. And the flashing lights from the police car interrupted the darkness of the African night.

When we arrived at the school where we were staying, we were greeted by another surprise. A mass of students came pouring out of a classroom, accompanied by the loud thumping bass of the latest pop music from Cote D'Ivoire that every Nigerien adores.

It turned out that the principal and the coach had planned a huge welcome 'fete', complete with dancing and food.

I didn't want my girls to get caught up too much in the party atmosphere. It was already 10pm and tomorrow's match was going to start at 8am.

But despite my best efforts, the girls were engulfed by the dancing and the laughing as they became best friends with the other team. Even I got distracted by the plates of food.

Finally, at midnight, the party came to a halt and the girls went to bed. I was exhausted, but happy with the way things had turned out.

At 5 AM the next morning, I woke up to the sound of the first prayer call.

I set out organizing all of the things that we needed for the match - soccer balls, jerseys, my whistle, my notebook, my med kit, and my camera.

Though I knew that this was a friendly match, my stomach was cramped. I was nervous.

Would my team show up and play their best today? Was anyone going to show up to watch us play? And most importantly, was the other team any good? I had never seen them play before, but looking at the size of the players at the party last night, I knew that they were going to be hard to beat.

Gradually my team began to wake up and get ready for the match. At 7am, we piled back into our now beloved bush taxi, and made our way to the field.

When we arrived, I was shocked. The field was just like any other in Niger - a flat patch of brown dirt with two bent goals on either end of the field. The lines for the field were drawn by a small child who dragged his foot along the dirt with the help of his older brother.

But unlike other fields where spectators line the perimeter of the field, this one had seating. A massive concrete structure on one side of the field served as the spectator stand.

My girls tip-toed out of the bush taxi, petrified by the size of the field, nervous about playing in front of spectators, and uncomfortable with the fact that this was completely different from the small scrimmages that we were used to playing.

This was big time.

We moved onto the field and I instructed Mohammed to lead the girls in stretching and warm-up exercises, while I casually talked with the referee and the other coach.

Then the referee's whistle sounded and he told the coaches to line up their teams. I organized my team and as I did so, the crowd, which was now much larger than I could have ever imagined, began cheering.

I looked over and saw a procession of men coming towards the two teams. I asked the referee who was coming. He told me that the regional education supervisor and the regional sports supervisor had come to watch the match.

The two men came and shook every girl's hand. They wished us all good luck and one of the men, I'm not sure which, signaled the start of the game by giving the game ball to the referee.

I brought my team together and reminded them that this match was just like any other match we had played in Madaoua. I told them to forget about the fans, forget about spectacle, and asked them to imagine that the other team was the makeshift team that we usually played against back home. They nodded and said that they understood, but that couldn't hide the fear on their faces.

We then put our hands together and cheered, 'Un, deux, trois, Madaoua!' I sent the starters out onto the field.

The game started and after just a few minutes, it was clear that this was going to be a good match.

The other team was bigger than my team, but they weren't as quick. They could blast the ball down the field to their forwards, but my girls were more skilled with their touch on the ball.

And, just like in every other game, Binta and Nafissa asserted their dominance.

Binta was our star. She was nicknamed 'Ronaldinho' by her teammates. Thanks to her dad who loved European soccer, Binta had grown up watching Champions League and World Cup matches. From an early age, she would go out and practice with the boys from her neighborhood. The competition against boys, coupled with her strong desire to be the best at everything - she was the top student in her class - made Binta an amazing soccer player. I have no doubt that if there were a female national team in Niger, Binta could be a member.

Nafissa had a knack for getting some part of her body on all of Binta's crosses. It didn't matter whether it was with her foot, her knee, or her face, Nafissa was almost always able to put a shot on goal after receiving a pass. This was probably the result of the fact that she was only girl in a family with 6 children. Growing up surrounded by brothers most likely taught her to use whatever she had available to succeed.

Binta would find the ball somewhere around midfield. Living up to her nickname, she would juke and feint her way down the field to the 18-yard box. When she was able, she would pick her head up, locate Nafissa, and fire a cross to her. Using whatever, Nafissa would fire on goal.

Kadi was our goalie.

For the past 6 months, Kadi was the biggest troublemaker on the team. Despite a smile that was worth a million bucks and a laugh that made you want to laugh along with her, she was the girl that was always causing problems. She was the one who wouldn't listen when I tried to lead a drill. She was the one mouthed off to her teammates when they weren't playing well. She was the player that forced me to cut the most points from the team's daily total. And she pouted and cried when I made her the team goalie. She was the biggest headache on my team, but at the same time, Kadi was probably my favorite player on the team.

But despite a number of great chances, nothing worked. The other team's goalie was like a brick wall. They must have imported Kasey Keller from America, changed him into an African 13-year old girl, and thrown him in goal, because their goalie stopped everything.

The other team had a number of chances as well. Our defense had a couple of lapses, which allowed the other team to march right in front of our goal. But their booming shots were never on target and they sailed over the crossbar each time.

For the fans, it was a great match - lots of breakaways, some nifty moves on the part of Binta, and booming kicks from the other team.

But for me, the coach, my heart was stuck in my throat. I had never been so excited, nervous, and energetic in my entire life. There I was, dressed up in my traditional West African clothes, jumping up and down on the sidelines like a kangaroo (would "bush rabbit" or something African be better?).

As the game neared its end, the score remained deadlocked, 0-0. I knew that my team was getting tired. I had substituted all of my girls at least once, and as the African sun crept higher and higher into the sky, I wished that time would run out as soon as possible.

Suddenly, the crowd erupted as one of the players from the other team ran down the left sideline with the ball. Not a single one of my girls was in sight.

'Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!,' I thought. 'Why do they have to score right at the end of the game? My girls have played so well up until now. It ain't fair!'

The girl moved into towards the center of the field and right as she got inside the 18-yard box, she fired off one of those thunderous shots that the other team had been doing all day.

But Kadi, our goalkeeper, was there.

When the shot rocketed off from the foot of the other team's player, Kadi came flying out and punched the ball from the top corner of the goal, away and out of bounds.

Fans rushed the field and started dancing and shouting.

Lost amongst the excitement was the shrill sound of the of the referee's final whistle. The game ended in a 0-0 tie.

My time as coach of Madaoua FC was my favorite and most memorable experience during my two years as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Niger. We were so completely different - teenage African girls paired with a 24-year old white American male. Yet, soccer served as the glue that bonded us together. It's the fun that I had with them and the joy that we brought to each other that I will remember for the rest of my life whenever I look back on living in Africa.

(Madaoua soccer team photos)

Revised:  05/01/2008