There can’t be many in Africa like Prakash Vijayanath. Not only is he working as a programmer, trading in foreign currencies and about to start his master’s in finance, he also dreams of winning gold at the Olympics.
What makes Vijayanath even more rare, in Africa at least, is that he hopes to go to the Olympics for badminton.
His chances are decent. Vijayanath bagged silver at the 2015 African Games in Brazzaville, Congo. He also won the national men’s title in South Africa when he was just 18.
The 23-year-old is not resting on his laurels though.
“I was happy with that result but it was only a stepping stone for other international tournaments. I don’t really see it as a big milestone. It was something I needed to get out of the way so I could focus on international tournaments. It was an important goal nonetheless,” he says.
Vijayanath is based in Dublin, Ireland. He moved there, from Johannesburg, as soon as he finished high school. He got a sport scholarship at Trinity College and has just finished his bachelors in computer science and business. He plans to do his Master’s in finance there next year.
From Dublin he can play in more tournaments.
“I’m based in Europe, so traveling around Europe is quite cheap. So, I’ve played a lot of tournaments around Europe,” he says.
There is a downside though; getting funding can be tough. It means he has had to reach into his own pockets to be able to play in some tournaments.
“It can be hard to find sponsors, especially being a South African athlete in Ireland. South African companies would like to sponsor you but if you don’t play many South African tournaments, and Irish companies can’t sponsor you because you’re not an Irish athlete.”
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Vijayanath did have a deal with Carlton, a leading producer of badminton equipment, but is currently negotiating a deal with a new sponsor. He is also sponsored by his parents’ IT company, eSoft Development and Technologies. This is apt; Vijayanath worked as an intern, helping to develop software at eSoft. His parents are also the reason he plays badminton.
“My parents used to play when they were younger and in India. I was born in India, when we moved to South Africa, I was about four years old, and they joined a club in Randburg. Every Tuesday and Thursday night they would play and when I was about five or six they would let me play with them. It just developed from there.”
<div id="attachment_32998" style="width: 357px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-32998" class=" wp-image-32998" src="http://www.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/DSC_0022-201x300.jpg" alt="" width="347" height="518" />Prakash Vijayanath (Photo by Katlego Banoe)</div>
His father, Vijayanath Muthuramalingam, moved to South Africa when his then company, Siemens, offered him a job.
“The original plan was not to stay here, they were supposed to be in South Africa for a few years but my dad’s contract kept being renewed and we’ve ended up staying here.”
Although he was born in India, Vijayanath considers South Africa home. One of his goals is to wear South African colors at the Tokyo Olympics in 2020.
“I want to focus on some short-term goals, winning the nationals again later this year. If I win it it’ll be my third senior national title. I want to focus on these short-term goals so I can improve and while I improve I’ll start playing more international tournaments, qualify for the Olympics, and then do well in the Olympics hopefully.”
Getting to Tokyo won’t be easy.
“It’s quite tough… Normally only one or two African players qualify for men’s singles for each Olympics. It’s mostly Asian and European. Winning the African championships is a must to qualify for the Olympics and having loads of good international results. You need good results in Africa; you also have to travel to Europe, South America, North America, even Asia for high ranking tournaments,” he says.
Asian countries are the traditional powerhouses of badminton. Vijayanath says African countries need to start from the ground up to be able to compete with the likes of China, India and Malaysia.
“There needs to be more popularity in the sport. In China, badminton is one of their biggest sports. In India, I think it’s the second biggest sport, behind cricket. Once you get popularity, more people start playing and there’s more money in the sport to develop young players.”
There’s money to be made in the sport as well, especially in Europe where Vijayanath is based.
“In Europe, badminton is quite popular. In England it’s doing well, in Denmark it’s one of the most popular sports, in Germany it’s big and the league system is very good. There’s also good money playing league there and you get good experience.”
Balancing badminton, work and studying can be difficult. Vijayanath has to meticulously plan every day.
“In my first year of college I didn’t balance it well. I wanted to have a bit of fun, but I did quickly learn how to balance it. Basically I go at it week by week. Every Sunday I made a plan of what I was going to do during the week, literally per the hour. It sounds nerdy but it helped me so much.”
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Those who play league are mostly full-time, he says. As he is studying, Vijayanath only has enough time to play in tournaments.
“As I went into my final year of college, I only focused on my studies and badminton. Even during my exams, I had to stop badminton for two months.”
With his degree in the bag, and a few months to go before he starts his master’s, Vijayanath has dabbled in forex trading.
“At the moment I trade foreign currency a bit. I just started a few months back. I’ve got a lot to learn still. I made a few losses in the beginning; I’m only starting to make small profits now. I’m using this year as a learning period.”
The future looks bright for the Indian-born, Ireland-based badminton player from the Rainbow Nation. Who knows, in a few years, Vijayanath could have a pot of gold as well as an Olympic gold medal.

Wanting To Make a Racquet At The Olympics

Michael Phelps is sprawled on a couch in a Lower Manhattan hotel, sporting a beard, a gray beanie
cap, a white T-shirt and Under Armour sweatpants and sneakers, an athlete in repose. He’s in New York to accept yet another lifetime achievement award for his triumphs in five Olympic Games, another chance for him and others to revel in his past glories. What Phelps wants to talk about now, however, is the future. “I’ve spent decades staring at that black line at the bottom of a pool,” he says.
“I’m ready to do something new. I’m ready to channel my competitiveness into something else.”
Phelps, 31, is four months removed from what he swears was his last Olympics. The second phase of his life has begun, he says, and it has two main parts: He wants to create a brand that burns brightly for decades to come, but he also wants to become a global champion for the causes that mean the most to him—swimming and the wellbeing of children.
On the brand side Phelps is, of course, well established as a corporate pitchman. Under Armour, Omega, Intel, Activision and Beats by Dre are among his well-known sponsors. (Some of the lesser known: Master Spas, Krave and Sina Sports.) At the height of these sponsorships he earned an estimated $7 million a year. Many of the companies are longtime partners and plan to stay that way. “We hope he’s with us forever,” says Kevin Plank, CEO of Under Armour, which signed Phelps in 2010.
But Phelps is not content simply to be the face of someone else’s brand. In 2013 he left his longtime sponsor Speedo, and the following year he started a swimwear line called MP. He found a partner in Aqua Sphere, a swimwear and swimming accessories company, which now sells Phelps-branded suits that range from $40 to $475. “I’d like to someday have the biggest and best brand in swimming,” he says.
His business role model is, of course, Michael Jordan, whose Nike Inc. Jordan Brand sold $2.8 billion worth of shoes and apparel last year.
Swimming obviously isn’t as merchandisable as basketball, but Plank says Phelps’ ambitions shouldn’t be dismissed: “Michael has that special trait, the ability to be clutch and win when it counts, which he demonstrated over and over at the Olympics. I think he can be the king of all things water.”
Phelps’ other main post-Olympics goal involves his foundation, which he started in 2008 with the $1 million bonus he earned from Speedo for his record-breaking eight gold medals in Beijing. His biggest initiative is the im program (“im” for “individual medley,” one of his strongest events, and for the affirmation “I am”). The program focuses on making children “water-safe.” (Drowning is the leading cause of injury-related deaths for kids ages 1 to 14 in the U.S. and the third leading cause worldwide.) Phelps’ mother made him take a water-safety course when he was a boy, and he says that’s the reason he became a competitive swimmer.
The im program has 104 teams in all 50 U.S. states and another 176 in 33 other countries, and through it 16,000 kids have learned how to swim (for three-quarters of them, the program was their first time in a pool). “I’d like for that number to be 50,000 someday soon and then 100,000,” Phelps says. “The goal is to get every kid in the world water-safe.”
To accomplish these dreams, Phelps will need to become a lasting global icon, no easy task for even the most successful Olympians. Jesse Owens, in the end, was more a powerful symbol than a brand. Muhammad Ali’s boxing career spanned two full decades after his Olympic gold in 1960. And Caitlyn Jenner remains famous four decades after decathlon heroics in Montreal but for reasons no one could have foreseen in 1976.
Yet Phelps was no ordinary Olympian. He began as a 15-year-old prodigy in the 2000 Games and provided a glimpse of the greatness to come in the 2004 Athens Games. Then came the triumph in Beijing in 2008 and the weary wins in London in 2012, followed by the drinking and depression and the stint in rehab. All of which culminated in the redemption in Rio in 2016. In the end Phelps had won an Olympic record 28 medals, all but 5 of which were gold.
That level of longevity and excellence in the Olympics has given Phelps the kind of global profile most American athletes lack. And with his longtime agent, Peter Carlisle, Phelps has been laying the groundwork for a global presence since the beginning of his career. He started visiting China and making deals there five years before the 2008 Games (the Chinese call him the Flying Fish). Phelps and Carlisle used the same playbook for Rio—he made four pre-Olympics visits to Brazil and has since signed a deal with the Brazilian media giant Grupo Globo. And he will soon embark on a tour of Vietnam, Ethiopia, South Africa and Latin America.
Phelps, of course, has been through this before, when he retired for the first time after the 2012 Games. “This time is different,” he says. “Back then I just wanted to dig the deepest black hole and be left alone.” Now “life is so different and so much better. I have Boomer [his 8-month-old son] and Nicole [his wife]. I have other things to worry about than just myself.”
Phelps says he travels three weeks out of every month, and at meetings he doesn’t just show up for the grip-and-grin but really dives in. “I’m actually sitting at the table now during the discussions, asking questions,” he says. “Some of this is self-reinforcing. I want to be out there now. If I isolate myself as I’ve done before, I know the road I’ll go down, and I know it won’t be pretty.”
A question remains: Is he really done competing? “Yes, definitely,” he says, while admitting that he said the same thing in 2012. The 2020 Olympics is out of the question, but Carlisle has been floating an intriguing scenario regarding the 2024 Games. “I think Michael is 100% sure he’s done right now,” he says. “But what if the 2024 Games are awarded to Los Angeles? And what if there was a spot open on a relay team?” Carlisle leaves the thought there, as any good agent would.
Phelps just smiles when this idea is brought up. “I’m happy now,” he says. “And I’m excited for what’s ahead of me.”

The Flip Turn

In the ring he stands out like his dyed blond hair; cocky, yet mature beyond his years, with punches like heavy artillery.
Azinga Fuzile is a grade 11 pupil from Duncan Village, a rough shanty town known as the cradle of boxing, near East London in South Africa’s Eastern Cape province. In his corner is his canny trainer, Mzamo ‘Chief’ Njekanye.
“I wouldn’t have done it without Chief, I am very thankful to him. He is able to guide me in everything that is happening,” says Fuzile. His experience contrasts his age; he christened the boxing gloves in 2006 as a 10-year-old and fought 300 times as an amateur.
“I participated in trials and would fight three fights in one day, that’s why I had so many fights,” he says.
“I lost some fights but they were very few.”
In 2014, he captained his country at the Junior Olympics in Scotland, at the age of 17. The same year, he knocked out an opponent in the third round of the final to win gold at the African Youth Championships, in Gaborone, Botswana – the first South African to do so.
His short life is full of milestones; he won his first major professional title in September 2016 beating veteran brawler Macbute Sinyabi with a unanimous decision to be crowned the South African featherweight champion in merely his fifth professional fight. In doing so, he drew comparison with legendary South African Vic Toweel – also an early starter – who went on to become the South African bantamweight champion in his fourth fight and boxed on to a world title championship, at the age of 22, in 1950.
“People who need to speak about the South African championship are people behind us, me and my boy are looking at the international route,” said Njekanye after the surprise win against Sinyabi.
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“I see myself as a world champion, that is what I am looking at; I do have the ability to achieve it,” said Fuzile.
Njekanye believes the nickname ‘Golden Boy’ is more of a prophecy.
“I saw that this is something, I saw his direction, was I lying when I said this boy is a golden boy? The whole country can see that Chief was right, a lot of people just knew about him, I have been building him for years,” says Njekanye.
His ambition of winning a world title came sooner than expected.
Fight fans scratched their heads when it was announced that little known Georgian, Giorgi Gochisvili, was to face Fuzile for the WBC youth featherweight title in Mdantsane, in the Eastern Cape.
“We were preparing for someone we didn’t know, we even failed looking for information on him because we got the wrong name. The day before the fight we got the correct information and watched his videos on YouTube,” says Njekanye.
Fuzile won his first world title, three months after his triumph against Sinyabi, beating Gochisvili to a pulp in the first round. Doctors rushed Gochisvili to hospital to repair the damage of a left to the liver.
“I didn’t care who I was fighting, it did not matter. All I knew is that I was going to beat this guy, I didn’t even know his style,” says Fuzile.
A lot of the preparation for the fight was spent in class. Fuzile is studying grade 11 at Kusile Comprehensive High School in Duncan Village.
“We were working under difficult conditions; we had a challenge of the gym and examination papers in between the dates, we had to understand each other. For me, your education and career are parallel, you can’t undermine the boy’s career,” says Njekanye.
“I was able to manage, when you don’t have any things distracting you in life then it is easy to manage everything,” says Fuzile.
With the exploits of the Golden Boy comes the pain of loss for trainer Njekanye. In 2016, Njekanye’s product Xolisani ‘Nomeva’ Ndongeni, a successful South African world champion boxer, left his gym to join Colin Nathan in Johannesburg, under prominent Rodney Berman’s Golden Gloves Promotions. A troubled Njekanye sees this as poaching.
“These boys are being fooled by these guys from Johannesburg. It is all because of greed, most of the boxers have gone to Gauteng and most of them have returned with bare hands,” he says.
“You can make a life out of boxing, they always believe by going to people like Colin Nathan he will give them money, they don’t know those people see a business when they see them. Even my boy Azinga, they want him, that’s what you can say about these boxers, they have gone and come back with nothing.”
“You need to remember people like Nomeva Ndongeni came from my hands; I took him from the streets, before Fuzile everyone was talking about Nomeva,” says Njekanye.
The trainer takes responsibility for all his precious prodigies.
“These boys come from an unfortunate background. Without me, Duncan wouldn’t be producing these boys, tell me who else is doing what I am doing to these lads. This is the second world champion to come out of these hands. I have done this thing voluntarily; there was never any contribution,” he says.
The Golden Boy’s impressive career is set to continue in February. Njekanye confirms that a fight, that could be international, is on the cards.
As for Fuzile, he is training and waiting for his examination results so he can qualify for his final year at school. He hopes to pass with flying colors in both ring and classroom this year.

The Schoolboy  Who Teaches Boxers  A Lesson

When a 10-year-old Dimitri Hadjipaschali started playing computer games his parents scoffed at the idea. Hadjipaschali was housebound, after breaking his ankle skateboarding, when he discovered his brother playing a game called Counter-Strike. This proved to be an existential moment on crutches; gaming became Hadjipaschali’s life.
“I just needed a crosshair and Counter-Strike was the game I kind of stuck with. I decided I was going to be a full-time gamer when I joined [eSports team] Bravado in 2008&#8230; I was doing it full time, trying to win competitions. Every time it came to a tournament I was trying to win. Every time I would come in second or third it was the worst day of my life for me. That’s when I knew,” he says.
Eight years later, Hadjipaschali is one of the rising stars in the next online craze in Africa. In bedrooms across the continent a generation of professionals is playing electronic sports, or eSports, for a living.
Competitive online gaming draws millions via streaming websites and where as much as $20 million can be at stake. It’s a bit like the Olympics for geeks and eSports has its own disciplines. Hadjipaschali is the captain for Bravado’s Counter-Strike: Global Offensive, or CS GO, team.
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This is a first-person shooter game where a team of five tries to thwart bombers. In tournaments, teams play off in a best-of-three taking turns to attack and defend. The more games you win, the stronger your team becomes.
CS GO is one of the most popular games in South Africa. Globally it is the fourth highest-earning eSports game, with 5,396 professional players competing for $19.16 million in prizemoney at 1,710 tournaments, according to esportsearnings.com.
In Africa, this multi-million-dollar eStory is just beginning. The competition in South Africa is fierce. For years, gamers have battled for a few spots in international competition. That’s where the money is.
This is why Hadjipaschali is at a team boot camp in the cold hills of Meyersdal, south of Johannesburg. The team is here to train for the Electronics &amp; Gaming Expo (EGE) in Cape Town. On the line is a shot at the international arena – an all-expenses-paid spot at the Electronic Sports World Cup and a chance to win $75,000, in Paris at the end of October.
“If we don’t take first place [in Cape Town] we don’t know when this opportunity will come again,” he says.
It’s going to be a long night for the team. On any given day, Hadjipaschali practices nine hours a day, often finishing at dawn. This weekend, with the promise of Paris looming, they will push even harder.
“A boot camp is for us to be more focused, to get more work done. It forces us to work when we are next to each other.”
It has been an historic and lucrative year for eSports in South Africa.
From Johannesburg is Barry ‘Anthrax’ Louzada, one of the old hands – which doesn’t take too long in this business. Involved in the industry since 1999, Louzada is called the South African godfather of eGaming. He slogged it out for 10 years as a competitive gamer around the world.
“Two years ago, you were at maybe a R100,000 ($7,000) total cash prize money for an event, because there was only one event a year. Now you are looking at over R2 million ($142,000) in just one year,” says Louzada.
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These days Louzada is a shoutcaster, in English that means he gives live commentary on the sport.
“When I started out, it was a case of people driving around going to each other’s houses [barbequing] and LANing (network gaming). The internet wasn’t workable in this country for us to actually do any sort of online competing or playing. Now you have got hundreds and thousands of people coming to conventions,” he says.
As Louzada’s days as a competitive gamer are ending, Hadjipaschali’s are just beginning. If you saw Hadjipaschali walking down the street you wouldn’t think he was one of the top online gamers in the country. But those in the know ask for his autograph. For Hadjipaschali it’s more about the rush than the cash.
“In the beginning you can feel that pressure, that big match temperament, where you are not at the comfort of your own home behind your computer at your desk. When you are at home your hands aren’t shaking and it’s easier to play.”
Hadjipaschali’s next step on the road to fame and dollars was at a tournament in the cavernous Cape Town International Convention Centre on July 29. The team strolls in with the ease born of years perfecting their craft. They set up their computers, log in, huddle, and put on their headphones. Once the headphones are on, says Hadjipaschali, they won’t see anything but the screen.
With a crowd of almost a hundred cheering them on, it takes two hours to win their quarterfinal against a team called Energy. The players get up, shake hands and then make their way back to their hotel for some rest.
Hadjipaschali isn’t the only professional gamer in his family. His older brother Andreas, who founded Bravado, also had his shot. Now the team’s manager and coach, Andreas is even more determined to see South African gamers on the international scene.
“You only have one or two options, to make do with what qualifiers we have got [in South Africa] or we go overseas and we try qualify over there, but it gets really expensive. To go overseas, for five days with five players with accommodation, food, drinks we spent easily over R150-R170,000 (around $12,000). It’s different if you are living in Europe and there are qualifiers there all the time.”
Although the industry is booming, it’s not easy for the players of Bravado to play professionally. The team practises online every night. This is to accommodate players like 17-year-old Aran Groesbeek, who is still in school. His parents will allow him to play only once he has finished his homework. Ashton Muller, 24 years old, works part time as a manager at his father’s construction company. He dropped out of university to focus on gaming.
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Robby da Loca spent a year in Sweden, the mecca of CS GO, trying to make it. But, with the high cost of living in Europe and having to work part time, he fell short and returned to South Africa. Da Loca is so captivated that when he first started playing, he would sneak onto his brother’s computer to play with his earphones off, so he could hear if his brother came home.
The final member is Ruan van Wyk, a qualified industrial engineer living in Port Elizabeth.
In Cape Town, the competition moves on to its final day. The atmosphere is intense as Bravado huddle before their semifinal. The auditorium is packed with fans. Shoutcasters blast their commentary. Behind the players is a giant screen, where the action is shown. Thousands more watch online. Bravado scores a crushing victory to get to the final.
South Africa has drawn the attention from teams around the world. One of those is Anthony Nell, manager of the South African branch of international brand Flipsid3 Tactics.
“What [Flipsid3 Tactics] are interested in is the player development in South Africa. They are looking for good players that are from parts of the world untapped by the rest of the world,” says Nell.
If you thought that gamers couldn’t earn a salary you would be wrong. Nell says even basic salaries for a player in a reserve league and lower would be around $5,000 a month, excluding prize money and endorsements.
The most lucrative eSports game is Defense of the Ancients 2 (DOTA 2). It attracts total prize pools of $86.7 million. At The International 4 in August, the crowdfunded prizes locked at $20.7 million and the winners, Wings Gaming, from China, walked away with $9.1 million for a week’s work.
Africa might not have as much cash to spare, but the pressure in Cape Town’s final is intense. Hadjipaschali and his team win a contested first set against their rivals, Carbon eSports, from Cape Town, who are playing at home.
Bravado suffers from nerves in the second set, throwing away an eight-point lead as Carbon force a decider. Ten minutes before the crucial final round that will make or break this team, Hadjipaschali gathers outside for a pep talk.
“Play calm and play smart,” he says.
The talk pays off and Bravado wins the final round clinically. The team leaps from their chairs shouting. The elation on their faces is priceless. It’s not the Olympics, nor the World Cup; but for these players it’s just as important. Hadjipaschali is so overwhelmed he cries.
“This is unreal. It may not seem like a lot to people, but this is what most of us do full time,” he says.
Ahead of Hadjipaschali and his team lies Paris and a possible $75,000, and that’s just the start.
How many more young men and women from Africa are going to go out on the international stages in search of millions, earning a living in a way their parents would surely fail to understand. Check your kids in the bedroom.

You  Can’t Get The Kids  Off The Computer

In the space of four months, a small group of athletes will have gone full circle – from the tough life in refugee camps, where sometimes food is rationed, to rubbing shoulders with the world’s most celebrated names in world-class facilities.
This is the strange reality for South Sudan’s Olympic athletes.
Being at the Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro for three weeks will be a completely new experience for these young athletes, who might never have got to the world’s largest sport event if they were not refugees.
Even their compatriots in South Sudan are stunned  how the athletes got access to an arena reserved for the crème de la crème of international sports.
Olympic Villages have world-class infrastructure, with beautiful apartments, paved roads, working sewerage systems, hospitals, and shopping centers.
For the five young men and women from South Sudan, this is a far cry from the refugee camps they come from. Here, the refugees live in tin-walled houses, with little sanitation. The camp is littered with long-drop toilets, although refugees prefer to use thickets and bushes, leading to the rampant outbreak of deadly diseases are rampant. They are conditions the majority of athletes at the Olympic Games will find unimaginable.
The civil war has destroyed South Sudan’s economy. Before the current bloodletting resumed in early July, the newly-formed Transitional Government of National Unity asked for international support to rebuild the country. The conflict has halved oil production which, coupled with the global decline in oil prices, has left the government short of cash.
Although better than living among warlords, life inside refugee camps is not for the faint-hearted. Roads are dusty and rough. Some schools within the camps have sports fields, but the lack of grass makes playing on them difficult.
These young athletes will leave these fields of dirt and be welcomed to Rio with roads lined with exotic flowers and trees. The Olympic Village’s gardens rivals those found in Buckingham Palace.
When those inside the Kakuma and Dadaab refugee camps heard their brothers and sisters would be at the Rio Olympics, they burst into ecstatic celebration. The five South Sudanese refugees were selected by the International Olympic Committee (IOC) to form part of the first-ever Refugee Olympic Athletes team. The other athletes making up the 10-man team are two judokas from the Democratic Republic of Congo, a marathon runner from Ethiopia and two swimmers from Syria.
The President of the International Olympic Committee (IOC), Thomas Bach, says the team will raise awareness of the refugee crisis, which, according to the United Nations, stands at over 59 million displaced people.
“This will be a symbol of hope for all the refugees in our world, and will make the world better aware of the magnitude of this crisis. It is also a signal to the international community that refugees are our fellow human beings and are an enrichment to society,” says Bach.
Kenyan marathon legend Tegla Loroupe, who founded the Tegla Loroupe Peace Foundation, identified the South Sudanese athletes that will make up the rest of the refugee team. They are Pur Biel Yiech (800m), James Nyak (400m/800m), Rose Nathike (800m), Angeline Nadai Lohalith (1,500m) and Paulo Amoton Lokoro (1,500m).
The athletes have tear-jerking stories. They fled to neighboring Kenya as civil war erupted in Africa’s youngest nation, where compatriots supporting rival leaders were tearing into one another with machetes and guns. Girls and women were raped, property vandalized and homes looted. Tens of thousands died and many more were displaced. The survivors, mostly orphans and widows, were forced to cross into Kenyan camps.
The athletes are unified in their call for peace. They say this would allow many more young South Sudanese to pursue their dreams – whether in academics, sport or business.
“I would be representing my country in the Olympics had there been peace in my country. While other athletes will be carrying their countries’ flags, which is an honor and prestige, we will be participating under the Olympic Flag. That is good, and we are grateful to the IOC for remembering refugees, but sometime in the future, I would wish to run under the South Sudanese flag,” says Lohalith, who left home in 2001 and reached Kakuma the following year.
Lohalith started running for fun while attending primary school inside the Kakuma camp. She was among those scouted by Loroupe and transferred to Nairobi for specialized coaching.
Lohalith believes the refugee team at the Olympics will inspire other displaced people, even if they don’t win medals.
“It will be the first time refugees are represented in the Olympics, which will inspire other refugees because they will realize that they are just like normal people,” she says.
Jackson Pkemoi, who is managing the team at the church-run Anita Children’s Home in Ngong, 20 kilometers south of Nairobi, says the athletes are not taking the selection for granted.
“It is never easy to make an Olympic team. These athletes appreciate that this is a godsend, an opportunity to join the rest of the world at the Olympics,” he says.
Lokoro is glad he will be able to represent the refugees he lives with in his camp.
“When the refugees, and our people at Kakuma camp, heard of this, they were proud and celebrated. They are happy for us,” says Lokoro.
Nathike, who escaped her war-ravaged country with her parents, is running to help those she left behind.
“My people are happy and praying that I perform well so that I can change their lives,” she says. “Since we have talent, this can help promote peace all over the world.”
Nyak sent a massage to warring factions.
“Fighting is not the right way for people to solve issues. The more people fight, the more young people who have talent run away from home. So those countries [that] have conflict have to sit down and see where the problem is because this affects so many countries,” he says.
While their competitors are running for gold, these athletes from South Sudan are competing for something more important – peace.

The Olympians Who Want Peace  More Than Gold

When Kirsty Coventry was nine years old, she told her parents, in humble Harare, she would win gold at the Olympics. Twenty three years later, the Zimbabwean is the most successful African Olympian and is preparing for her fifth Olympic Games; and she wants more.
“I have been waking up every morning before sunrise to train since I was six years old,” says the 32-year-old from her base in North Carolina, United States.
Many thought Coventry was finished after London 2012. This year she has been swimming faster than ever and is ripped and ready for Rio.
“I just performed my last big competition before Rio. It went really well. I walked away with five silvers and three bronzes. It’s important to note that at this stage in the game, it’s not what medals I am winning, but what times I am swimming. I got some season best times, so I’m happy with that but I can’t rest now, the field is open to anyone… I have to keep my focus on training.”
Coventry’s calendar is as full as an Olympic swimming pool. In a week she spends 18 hours in the pool and up to four sessions throwing weights in the gym.
“I will also try and add in one or two yoga sessions. Everything we do, in both pool and gym, is focused on quality sets. It’s a passion and when you are truly passionate about something then you will make the necessary sacrifices.”
“I never realized how tough it must have been to swim when I was younger. Our facilities are shocking compared to the rest of the world. But, I can’t complain because it has made me a stronger person&#8230; School was a place where I was teased and made fun of, my swimming club was a safe-haven for me because it was a place I excelled and could gain confidence,” says Coventry.
Coventry took a year off after London to reflect, before committing to Rio. It was hard to regain form.
“I was training with younger athletes who hadn’t taken a year off and, like most athletes, we all compare ourselves to each other and we are highly competitive so having my butt kicked everyday was soul destroying. I had to talk myself through every practice, to remind myself that I was still in the process. Every single day was a bad day. Waking up every morning knowing I was going to lose was terrible,” she says.
All it took was one good day.
“It was like a major reset that helped with the following endless bad days. The reset allowed me to keep pushing through and slowly the good days started appearing more and more until eventually I stopped celebrating the good days and started complaining about the odd bad day,” she says.
There may be merely a handful of Olympians who come back for more at the age of 32. Even fewer had the honor to carry their flag at the opening ceremony.
“Carrying the flag in the opening ceremony is such a privilege because in that moment you are not an athlete but a single representation of your entire nation. Zimbabwe often sends a small Olympic team but we get the loudest applause: we walk out second last, just before the host country, who start walking out as they announce Zimbabwe, and of course the stadium erupts as soon as they see their home country… we’ll take it.”
It’s rarer still to find an athlete with seven Olympic medals under their belt.
“One of the bad sides of winning multiple medals is that it becomes expected of you. There are a lot of people that expect this and it’s sad because suddenly making the Olympics isn’t as big a deal for them, as it should be.”
One of Coventry’s fondest memories was the day she called her parents when she won gold in Athens in 2004.
“My mum couldn’t talk, she just cried. My dad kept saying how proud he was. I don’t think anyone would have made sense of anything that was said between us – it was a beautiful moment that I was happy to share with the two people that had given everything to get me to this point.”
Growing up, Coventry spent a lot of time in the kitchen. The smell of her father’s oxtail and sadza is always a fond reminder of home. Coventry is a proud foodie and cooks hearty meals.
“Fresh produce is delicious – you do not need to smother it with processed junk. My favorite dish to make is pork chops with Aromat and spinach with mashed potato. I have also just recently made my own bread from our own homemade starter (yeast).”
For Coventry it isn’t always about training and eating, it’s also about avoiding. Coventry takes a firm hand when it comes to doping in sport; she has openly criticized the World Anti-Doping Agency (Wada) for their lack of enforcement of those being caught.
“The International Olympic Committee and Wada have taken recent steps to retest all medal winners from 2008 and 2012 [caught doping] and this does give me some hope. I don’t think it will be a level playing field in Rio but I’m confident that anyone who has doped and continues to dope will be caught. The problem this has for the clean athletes is that they lose out on standing on the podium, watching their flag being raised and possibly earning a far greater sponsorship.”
Some do not escape the long arm of the anti-doping law. In June, tennis star Maria Sharapova tested positive for meldonium, a drug prescribed for heart disease patients to treat inadequate blood flow, which was put on Wada’s list of banned drugs.
“Yet another twist in the epic saga between scandal and sport. While Sharapova’s violation was declared unintentional, she was nonetheless found guilty of negligently contravening the (World Anti-Doping) Code,” says Shweta Mani, Head of Legal and Compliance at CNBC Africa.
As you read this, Coventry will be in the pool for her last minute training for Rio.
“It’s not just my training that has evolved since my first Olympics in 2000 but everything has evolved: my body, my mind, my attitude. I turned 17 at the Sydney Olympics in 2000 and I’m entering my fifth Olympics aged 32. I remember being crushed with massive sets during my college years (2001-2005). I would literally be bruised from some of the gym work. It certainly was a military-style boot camp of sorts. Don’t get me wrong, some of the workouts I do now will still make me heave but this comes more from an internal desire to push harder rather than the external motivation from the coach.”
Coventry may have caused a few ripples in her pool in Harare at the age of nine; she is likely to make a bigger splash in Rio.

How Pain, Bullying And A Pork Chop Can Get You To Gold

On the August 5, 10,500 athletes from 206 countries will march into the Maracanã stadium in Rio for the opening ceremony of the biggest sporting event on the planet, the Olympics. Among the hopefuls looking to take home one of the 306 gold medals is Nigerian freestyle wrestler, Odunayo Adekuoroye. The 22-year–old woman managed to clinch one of the available slots at this year’s competition by winning bronze in the 53kg weight category at the World Championships in Las Vegas, United States. Weeks away from the big day and there is uncertainty in the air about Nigeria’s Olympic prospects.
“We always have issues with funding especially in the first quarter of the year. The minister of sports has been in touch with the federation and they have already released funds and the athletes are in very good spirits. We are hoping issues of tickets, and athletes not being able to arrive at the event this time, will not arise,” says Daniel Igali, President of the Nigeria Wrestling Federation.
Igali is also the chairman of the technical commission of the Nigeria Olympic Committee and a former Olympic gold medalist for Canada. He is the coach of Adekuoroye and is optimistic about her prospects in Rio.
“Last year, in all able-bodied sports, my wrestler was the only athlete in the Nigerian team that won a bronze medal in the qualifiers so we have very high hopes that she will medal at the Olympics this year and, if she does, that will be the first time any Nigerian will be winning a medal at the Olympics in wrestling.”
Nigeria failed to win a medal at the 2012 London Olympics. Igali is determined to change this record in future competitions, however, he needs to overcome several hurdles first.
“Our outreach programs at the youth level have been non-existent and so it has been a big challenge trying to get some of the younger athletes to take over from the older ones at the national level. We need to have wrestling programs in most schools, from primary and secondary levels and also at the university and tertiary level. The national university competition in Nigeria still does not have wrestling,” says Igali.
To further exacerbate the situation, athletes in the sports do not get the chance to sufficiently compete during the year to prepare them for big events like the Olympics.
“At the younger level, an athlete in a competent sport needs to compete at least every month and at the elite level at least once every three months. Last year we only had our elite athletes competing twice in the whole year,” says Igali.
Adekuoroye, who won a gold medal at the 2014 Commonwealth Games, shares his sentiments.
“Most of my opponents have competed about four times this year and I have just competed once and I don’t know what to do, but that is Nigeria for you.”
Adekuoroye fell into the sport by accident.
“I was into athletics before but I was cheated out of my position so I started crying. My coach at the time saw me and asked me if I wanted to travel with the team and take part in wrestling instead. So, just because I wanted to travel, I followed him and when I got there I won gold and that is how I started wrestling,” she says.
Adekuoroye switched from a 400-meter athlete to a wrestler. She could not compete in London 2012 because her weight was just below the required 53kg. This year, she is determined to prove she has what it takes to win a medal.
“I am not scared about Rio, I believe I am not representing Nigeria alone but also Christians all over the world and so I believe with prayer and training my God will not let me down. I have good coaches as well and I don’t want to let them down,” says Adekuoroye.
Wrestling has given a new lease of life to the young athlete.
“All I have is wrestling. I was not born with a silver spoon but because of wrestling, I have something to eat and even give others. I am the provider for my family and as a result I will continue to put everything into the sport to make sure I continue to succeed.”
It is estimated that it takes about 10 years of proper grooming for an athlete to achieve Olympic gold. One does not only need talent and hard work, but also the right support system in place, from physiotherapy to a chiropractor as well as experienced coaches. In the absence of these essential ingredients, the Nigerian patriotic zeal and dogged determination has brought Adekuoroye this far. Could she have enough to change the fortunes of the nation in Rio 2016. Nigeria hopes so.

Grappling For Gold

It was a day he will never forget. July 25, 1991. The day sailor David Hudson heard that South Africa would be allowed back in the Olympics. At the time, he was on the Mediterranean Sea just off Barcelona, Spain, the very place where the next Olympics were to take place. He was there to watch the world’s best sailors compete, 12 months before the Olympics, to give them a taste of sailing in Mediterranean waters.
“It was something else. When our readmission looked likely, I intended coaching. My intention was to help as a volunteer,” he says.
“It was after Nelson Mandela was released. It was at this stage when the drafting of the Constitution was under way. There was an eminent persons group, three African heavyweights, they came out in April 1991 and did a trip around South Africa to see where things were. “
Hudson was jibing sails and skimming across the water with the best of them from the age of 20. If it wasn’t for apartheid he was a sure bet for the Olympics.
“My Olympic chance would have been 1971, when I competed in the World Championships in the pre-Olympic season. We were very strong then, but that was when I was in my twenties.”
The veteran Hudson, now 70-years-old, says it can take as long as seven years to build an Olympic team, South Africa had 17 weeks in 1991. Hudson, who was by now forging a career as an assistant general manager at Old Mutual, thought he was long past his sell-by date. How wrong he was.
In that December, Hudson got a phone call from David Kitchen, his Olympic sailing partner, who changed everything.
“I knew him, but not very well. He said he was stuck, his helmsman had dropped out, and he’d bought a secondhand boat for the trials. He wanted to sail with me. I said I am 45, I’m not interested,” says Hudson.
“He phoned and phoned and badgered me. I said I wasn’t interested. I was only interested in coaching, I’m not sailing. I’m in the middle of my business career I’m not doing it.”
The tipping point was a doorstep meeting at a swimming gala in Saldanha Bay, in the Western Cape.
“I get a tap on my shoulder and here is this guy. He has flown all the way from Johannesburg. He said I have come to take you to train for the Olympics, I said you’re bloody insane.”
Hudson gave in. He phoned his business and asked for special leave. The sailors met up in Durban four days ahead of the trials which were set for neutral waters off Umhlanga, North of Durban. With five races to go, Hudson says their chances were slim. They needed to place first in the last five races to qualify. They did it.
“Compared to the professional way things are done today, and compared to the fairly professional way things were done in those days, it was a real scramble,” says Hudson.
“My standard gym routine was three days a week. That was just for local sailing. From the moment we got in, we went onto a hectic program through sports science. It was properly guided, dietary and gym. In six months my body changed remarkably.”
Caught up in the excitement, Hudson took a flight to Italy to check out his competition.
“On very short notice I booked a flight, packed a backpack and flew to Italy. I went straight to the event with no accommodation, with nothing organized and I went around talking to all the sailors. I was this unknown guy from Africa, they talked to me as if I was just a tourist. I got the most amazing information, about their boats, how they set up their gear. I hitched up with a journalist who had a spare bed in an apartment. I got myself accredited through a sailing magazine as a journalist. I got on the media boat, was able to watch all of the racing close up. Four days later, I upped on the plane, flew back and was back at work. It was the kind of thing a kid would do, but here I was 45,” says Hudson.
The Olympics drew nearer and the sailors needed to get their boat in the water. The pair joined the European sailing circuit for practice.
“We did it on a shoestring. We camped out in the truck. Kitchen stayed inside. On good weather I slept on the roof and in bad under the truck.”
In Holland it was too expensive to camp, so the two South Africans drove into the countryside, down a country lane and found a quiet place to squat, illegally.
“It was beautiful weather. At about 1AM we heard voices and flashlights and there I was naked in my sleeping bag on the roof of this truck and this beautiful blonde Dutch policewoman is shining her light saying ‘what are you doing here?’ I looked at this and said ‘am I dreaming?’”
“She said ‘where are you from?’. We said Africa. I said ‘why can’t you camp here, are there tigers?’ They burst out laughing and said disappear don’t be here tomorrow.”
En route to the Olympics they also picked up a 400 Deutsche Mark fine for going over the speed limit with a trailer on the autobahn.
“Kitchen was forever losing stuff. That could have been a real issue. So I decided to budget myself and say if David only misplaced three things in a day, it was a good day. It sounds silly. It could have become a big issue. Here it is, you are on a boat and its pissing with rain, its bloody cold and about to get dark and you can’t find the tools because he hasn’t put them back where they belong.”
Hudson arrived in Barcelona a month before the games.
“They gave us an arbitrary anthem and a neutral flag. There was a huge welcome. There was a greater applause for us going into the stadium than even for the host nation.”
For the first time, the Olympic village was built around the marina.
“It was a rundown grotty area, we had been there in 1971. That part of the coast was shambolic. But they turned this pretty worthless area into the great big marina with a great sailing center. In the evenings, the other sportsmen would come ambling down to the marina when they were doing their relaxation.”
The racing went better than Hudson expected.
“On paper we shouldn’t have been able to beat anybody. We had 17 weeks against seven years of training. We ended up struggling with lighter wind and finished 19th out of 23 countries.”
They were the only team on the water without a coach, but at least they were there. Hudson had lived an Olympian dream he thought he’d left behind. On the day he arrived back in South Africa, it was straight back to work.

How A Dream  Died And  Lived Again

In Luanda, Angola’s capital, a group of teenage girls sit together, chatting and giggling. They are excited to share in the parties marking 40 years since their country’s independence. One member is especially jubilant, celebrating a double victory. Earlier that year, Catarina Serra joined a team in Portugal for Angola’s first ever international showjumping tournament, bringing back a silver medal and a heightened sense of national pride.
“Portugal was the highlight… showjumping fascinates me and I always intended to pursue it as a career,” says the 18-year-old Serra, exhibiting a determination belying her age.
Showjumping is an Olympic sport, judged according to a rider’s ability to clear obstacles in the shortest time possible. While participants are not judged for style, it is widely seen as one of the most stylish sports in the world, attracting luxury brand sponsors and a jet-set elite from across the globe. While the sport may appeal to those seeking glamour and excitement, in practice it requires dedication, strength, stamina, balance, as well as empathy with and control of the horse.
Angolan riders must train regularly, face internal competitions at least once a month and are encouraged to take part in at least three regional competitions each year. While her friends enjoy leisurely weekends at the beach or the mall, Serra starts her weekends at 7.30AM, taking the traffic-logged journey to the riding school. Here she tacks up her horse, begins training, showers her down, and then starts all over with another mare.
“It is hard to balance riding, school, family, friends…” she huffs as she runs from one stable to another.
Showjumping began in France and Britain in the 18th century but is very new to Angola, where riding itself can only be traced back to the 1950s. It was then that horses were used for combat purposes by the Portuguese colonial forces against guerrillas in the Angolan War of Independence. These cavalry units, known as the Dragöes de Angola, benefited from a better view of the battlefield above the tall grass. They also held a psychological advantage over their enemy who were unaccustomed to dealing with soldiers on horseback. Since independence, Angola’s cavalry forces were expanded and the mounted unit remains an integral and highly-regarded part of the national police force. Horses were first imported from South Africa, and later from Argentina. The former Minister of Petroleum, Desidério Costa, boosted the equestrian movement further by importing the first Lusitano breed from Portugal and setting up the first riding school after independence.
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This school, Gimunalu, on the outskirts of Luanda, remains one of the top training grounds for athletes today, featuring a stadium and a riding school with a covered ring and jumping arena. It also houses a 42-box stable yard, accommodation for the riders, and several fields. In addition, a specialist hippotherapy center provides rehabilitation for people affected by motor, sensory and mental disorders through interdisciplinary training with the horses. Meanwhile, the Huila riding center at Lubango, born out of the dust in 2013, now boasts a three-hectare field, five paddocks, a 34-stable yard, three training rings, as well as accommodation and event rooms.
A mostly rural country, with many farms and a predominantly young population, Angola is now seizing the opportunity to become a major player worldwide. In 2009, it set up its own national federation for equestrian sports, Fequangola. In 2014, it was accepted into the Fédération Equestre Internationale (FEI), the top governing body for equestrian competitions, and in 2015 it sent a team to compete in Portugal at a Grand Prix tour, the highest level of showjumping competition. In the same year, in line with the leading governing body which oversees the breeding of competitive dressage and showjumping horses, it also began its first insemination program for a local line of specialist horses.
It’s an expensive business. Contrast this with Angola’s extreme poverty and one would be forgiven for thinking that its foray into equestrian sports comes at a shameful expense. However, unlike many countries where the sport is traditionally reserved for the affluent, Angola is keen to utilize the sport as a lifeline for the disadvantaged. The mounted police unit gives free riding lessons to children of all staff, while Gimunalu also offers free lessons to stable grooms, relatives of farmers, as well as top students from the neighboring school. FEI Solidarity, a global program to support the next generation of riders, is also being implemented in Angola.
“[Showjumping] is a means to give some hope to children of a poorer background and have them practice this wonderful sport. I just love to see the smiles on their faces when they sit on horseback for the very first time,” says Fequangola Vice President for Foreign Affairs, Ginga d’Almeida.
Considering the slump in oil prices and its need to diversify the economy, Angola’s focus on equestrian sports is also pragmatic. Equestrian sport is just one of several areas targeted for creating jobs and boosting economic growth. The nation aims to attract foreign direct investment through the sale of its showjumping bloodstock to neighboring countries, as well as to boost tourism through top-class riding schools and international competitions.
Unsurprisingly, showjumping is being taken very seriously at the upper echelons of government, with President Jose Eduardo dos Santos attending the first competition held in the country in 2009. Other African nations are providing ample competition, with the FEI now boasting 14 members across the continent. Angola will be focusing on jumping in particular over the coming years, working closely with the FEI, neighboring national federations and the African Confederation of Equestrian Sports.
“I personally intend to pursue efforts… for Angola to become the most equestrian nation in southwest Africa,” says d’Almeida with a determined smile.
Sadly, the fall in oil prices and global economic recession has forced the country to tighten its belt, and the lack of funds is proving a higher obstacle than the jumps themselves. If Angola is to maintain momentum in the world of showjumping, it will need private sponsorship. Top-notch trainers, qualified veterinary surgeons and horse medicine are not readily found within the country and come at a huge cost. Add to this the maintenance of the riding schools, entry fees into international competitions, along with the logistics of getting the team there in the first place, and the costs spiral. For this reason Angola will not be competing at this year’s Olympics in Brazil.
“Unfortunately riding is an expensive sport so we need to find sponsors so we can better finance our activities. I trust that, with time, people will understand this sport better and support us more,” says d’Almeida.
While Angola faces many challenges, it holds a promising future. Serra has her eye on a particular prize.
“I would be very pleased if one day I could get to the World Equestrian Games and maybe, who knows, the Olympics,” she says.
FEI Secretary General Sabrina Ibáñez says that this is not such a distant dream.
“This is a real possibility for Angola looking towards Tokyo 2020 and beyond,” she says.
All the more reason for a double celebration at the country’s 50th independence anniversary.

The Showjumpers   Of Angola

Once upon a time, there was a poor little boy named Haile Gebrselassie in Asella, a village in Ethiopia’s dusty south. One of 10 children, he watched his father farm wheat and maize and tend to his cows and sheep. Poverty was the only constant in their life. School was 10 kilometers away, and every day, the young boy would run to his classes and back, covering the distance in minutes. Those were baby steps to global fame.
Years later, he would become Ethiopia’s most famous man entering record books as the world’s greatest distance runner.
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It all began when one day, on his father’s radio, a seven-year-old Gebrselassie heard of Miruts Yifter, the Ethiopian runner who won two golds at the Moscow Olympics in 1980. That made him decide his own course in life – he too would become a runner. The green countryside and rugged mountains of his hometown became his inimitable training ground.
While in high school, a 14-year-old Gebrselassie pleaded with his teachers to compete in the local marathon. He was the youngest in the competition, but was at least 60 meters ahead of the rest when he eventually won. The prize was a dollar – a princely sum. Overnight, he became school hero.
And in time, Ethiopia’s hero, winning two Olympic golds and eight World Championships, and setting 27 world records. The golds were for Atlanta in 1996 and for Sydney in 2000, when he competed with Kenyan Paul Tergat in an epic finish.
Many still remember the rapturous reception when he landed in Addis Ababa from Sydney; thousands thronged the streets all the way from the airport, hailing him like a king. To this day, he is known as the ‘Emperor of Long Distance’.
It’s March 2015, two months before announcing his retirement from competitive running, when FORBES AFRICA meets him for the first time.
Gebrselassie is seated on a pale leather sofa in a dapper suit, sporting a winning smile that people say is his greatest asset. He is undeniably affable. His office is on the eighth floor of the Haile &amp; Alem International building on the arterial Bole Road in Addis Ababa. There is raucous traffic below and the city is a giant construction site – new buildings coming up on either side of the road, and with them, swirling columns of dust.
The building we are in was constructed by Gebrselassie, all nine floors of it, now let out to other offices. Every business he owns has his indelible stamp: the Haile Gabrselassie Avenue in Addis Ababa (he has a road in his name) has another one of his iconic office buildings, so designed as to inconspicuously bear the letters H&amp;A on its face (A for Alem, his wife and business partner). He owns resorts in and en route to Awasa, about four hours by road from Addis Ababa, all of them five-star and named Haile.
It’s hot and Gebrselassie rues Ethiopia is not getting enough rain.
“I am the son of a farmer, I know this is not good,” he says.
He has a 1,500-hectare organic coffee farm in Ethiopia’s south, and he fears the land will be too dry.
Talk of his farm and village evokes memories of his childhood, and that first overseas trip to Belgium from there.
“In 1991, there was a cross-country race here in Addis and I finished fifth. That year, the top six finalists were taken to Belgium for the international competition. I finished eighth but I can never forget my first international trip,” smiles Gebrselassie.
The following year, he flew again, this time to Seoul in South Korea, where he won the 5,000-meter and 10,000-meter championships. The prize was a C180 Mercedes-Benz. He also won another C180 Mercedes-Benz in 1995. He says they are both proudly displayed at his resort in Awasa.
In the 2013 book Haile Gebrselassie: Emperor of Long Distance, he recounts that emotional moment when he won gold for the first time at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta.
“…I had no worries about the sprint. I kicked with 200 meters and crossed the line with a new Olympic record of 27:07.34. My dream came true. Many things crossed my mind when I stood on top of the podium – pressure from Ethiopians, my promise to Alem, the hopes of the family… As soon as the national anthem started, I began to cry. It’s the only time I’ve cried on the podium.”
“I have run for more than 300 competitions so far. I have run for 27 years. But now, it is a different kind of running,” smiles Gebrselassie, referring to his multiple business interests in real estate, hospitality, imported cars, coffee and cineplexes.
“But I don’t think I am an entrepreneur, I am trying,” he says modestly.
He never expected his businesses to grow the way they have.
“I have built office blocks, shops, resorts, cinemas, gyms and schools,” he says.
Since 2014, he has also tried his luck at gold mining, working on exploration in Ethiopia’s southeast.
“Our geologists are working very hard. And we are investing a lot, a lot of money. We have found gold, but production will not be [now],” he says.
He has enough of the gleaming metal in his trophy cabinet too. How many gold medals, we ask.
“That is a good question. I didn’t count them, but could be more than 200. From 1992, until 2008, I have run an average of 15 competitions a year. That is a lot, [enough] to have run at least two times around the world,” laughs Gebrselassie.
The marathon man appears pensive before he speaks again.
“Because I travel a lot, I always think of how to improve my country. For example, if I walk in London, I would look around and wish we had those buildings in Ethiopia. And when I [have] the money, I would come back, and want to build. One building would lead to another.”
His drawing board includes a five-star hotel in Addis Ababa, named Haile, of course. Gebrselassie introduced local cinema to the city. His cineplexes currently showcase Ethiopian films to packed houses. He has even tried his hand at acting. In 1999, he starred as himself in the film Endurance, screened at his cinema house.
The film didn’t do well.
“It was not appreciated,” smiles Gebrselassie. “But the next film we screened was a love story [he was not in it], and that’s when the people came.”
Every November, Gebrselassie organizes the Great Ethiopian Run, commencing from Addis Ababa’s Meskel Square. The turnout in 2014 was 40,000 and growing each year; it’s a resounding success on the continent’s marathon map. In addition, in 2015, he was also part of the Two Oceans Marathon in Cape Town.
“Actually, my business [philosophy] is like this: there is business for money and business for satisfaction. I opened a school in the village I was born in and another school in west Ethiopia. The fees are minimal and I didn’t open them for profit… If you ask me how much my businesses are worth, it’s not only the property, it’s the people too. I work hard and I don’t see how much I have. I am happy,” says Gebrselassie.
He wants to make sure he’s setting the right example for the upcoming generation of athletes.
“Most runners or sportspeople; how many of them invest in business?” he asks. “I haven’t seen anyone invest money this way. And I know many sportsmen around the world. For me, the chances I have given my people, is worth more than a billion dollars. Most of the younger athletes [now] invest here. They say ‘Haile has inspired us’. To copy is not difficult, but to create something is hard. My farms, hotels and buildings give job opportunities for others. All the money has been from athletics. If you want to see a true billionaire, in terms of money, come back in five years. Don’t ask me how much money I have in currency, but the goodwill [I enjoy] is priceless.”
And who did he look up to for inspiration? “If you ask me who the world’s best long-distance runner is, I would say it is Nelson Mandela. If you have to be a runner, you have to be patient. After 27 years in prison, he forgave [his captors].” Gebrselassie met Mandela in South Africa in 1996 at a world cross-country event and they shook hands.
Addis Ababa being a small city, word, good or bad, gets around. It’s easy to see Gebrselassie is well-respected in the business community.
“He is not just an athlete, he is a smart businessman. What I like about him is he developed himself, is self-made,” says Tihitina Tutu Legesse, one of Addis Ababa’s top entrepreneurs in the furniture business.
On May 10 last year, the two-time 10,000-meter Olympic champion announced his retirement from competitive running. He ran his way to fortune, and there are now rumors that his next turn will be in politics, and that he will be running for parliament in Ethiopia in 2020. He told the BBC in an interview in February this year that he would like to be a politician.
“I think he is very brave. I really admire his strategy,” says Saba Kahsay, the Managing Director of REVO Construction in Addis Ababa. “He knows which fights to pick in terms of business. He has a very strong advisory committee. He does not do everything by himself. He has people doing it for him. He is not just a businessman but also a community man.”
Gebrselassie is expected to be at the Olympic Games in Rio in August where he will be television commentator.
But he is not packing away his running shorts, even though he has changed track to the boardroom. His sprawling hilltop home, where the 43-year-old lives with his wife and four children, overlooks the city. He wakes up before dawn every day to run on the hills of Entoto and their verdant paths. He cannot do without it; he says running is his life.

Farmer. Marathon Man. Businessman.

Two sailors from two very different worlds. One never expected to set foot on a boat. The other was born on one but thought his yachting dream washed-up. Together they are striving for gold for Africa.
Asenathi Jim grew up in a mud hut in the outskirts of Fort Beaufort, a town in the Eastern Cape province of South Africa. At the age of 10, he thought that was it. By chance, Jim went on holiday to visit his cousins in Simons Town, Cape Town. His cousins were learning to sail and for the first time he set foot on a boat. Forgive us; he took to it like a fish to water.
“It was chance luck that I ended up in a boat in the first place. I was picked up by the right people, I started performing,” says Jim.
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In 2011, the 18-year-old protégé Jim teamed up with his coach, and future racing shipmate, Roger Hudson. The South African sailor grew up in the affluent suburb of Newlands, Cape Town, and on the water. His father had also been an Olympic athlete, but as far as Hudson was concerned his career was over.
“I always had my eye on being an Olympic sailor. When I was 13 years old, I was competing in the under-15 nationals and my dad was going to the Olympics&#8230; I had shelved [the dream of competing in the Olympics] and thought it was over. If you don’t find the right teammate, if you don’t find the right kind of campaign, it’s just not going to work in an Olympic sport,” says Hudson.
Together, Jim and Hudson qualified for the London Olympics in 2012. It was the dream start to a partnership that has lasted six years. Now the 38-year-old Hudson and 21-year-old Jim are sharing an even bigger dream.
“Our goal in the last Olympics [London] was to get into the Olympics, and then we made it, especially when Asenathi was so young. It’s unusual for a sailor to be that age and at the Olympic Games… Our goal this time around is to be in the top 10. That’s the medal race, a very ambitious target, because of the 27 teams there, probably 23 of them are thinking the same thing,” says Hudson.
It’s going to be tough.
On a two-man 470-Class yacht there’s nowhere to hide when winds rip your sail to shreds and snap your mast like a twig. This has been the danger at the 470 African Championship. It’s been a tough week for the 11 teams from Angola, Algeria and South Africa, who tested their mettle over 10 races in the trying winds of Granger Bay, in the shadow of Table Mountain, Cape Town. A true test, if ever, to compete for Africa’s spot at the 2016 Rio Olympic Games.
The competition was as fierce as the wind. On day two, Hakim Djoulah and Samir Ksouri, from Algeria, were forced to retire after the wind bent their mast and broke two fingers. The pair were in hospital before their wetsuits had dried, dreams of the Olympics as shattered as their fingers.
On the final day, the sea was as calm as a mill pond. The wind was soft and dolphins and seals swam alongside the catamaran.
It was a tight finish; Hudson and Jim claimed gold, a few points clear of the rest of the pack. The pair fought tooth and nail to represent Africa.
Hudson and Jim returned to shore flanked by the other yachts in a small guard of honor. Hudson’s five-year-old niece, Hailey, and seven-year-old nephew, James, jumped aboard to help the exhausted sailors pull their yacht to shore.
Someone who was not surprised to see the pair win was Nikolaos Drougas, a respected trainer on the international sailing circuit and now the coach of the Angolan team.  Back in 2002, Drougas was sent by the international 470 Class to train coaches and sailors. It was here he met Jim.
“Suddenly we found someone special who had talent. I still remember, in my report to the officials, saying we had a raw diamond in the Class,” says Drougas.
At the time, Drougas recalls Jim was living with his grandfather in a shack in the township of Khayelitsha, 30 kilometers outside of Cape Town.
“It was painful for me, he was living in a tin box of Coca-Cola [signs], fitting four or five people inside. It was so touching, this is what convinced me to pull strings from the 470 International Class to support more sailing,” says Drougas.
Still in their wetsuits and with sea spray crystallizing on their foreheads, Hudson and Jim are every inch the conquering heroes. They jump from the boat and give each other a high-five and a hug. It’s been a long journey. It took Jim many years to explain to his family why he wanted to become a professional sailor.
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“My mom wasn’t really convinced about me sailing because most black people were suspicious of sending me into the sea or in a boat. It’s just not in our nature to sit in boats or be a swimmer,” says Jim.
“In the Eastern Cape, no one realized what I was after. I would say that no one cared at the time. Now, when they see me, they are more interested&#8230; At the time they vaguely knew what sailing was, but I also didn’t mention it to them a lot&#8230; I am really stoked that my family members now understand. I spent so much time putting it down in detail,” says Jim.
Hudson’s upbringing is a stark contrast to Jim. He grew up in a family that lived on the sea. Hudson wasn’t the only late bloomer in the family, his father, Dave, went to the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona at the age of 46.
“It was inspirational him being part of that team and seeing my dad. I wanted that,” says Hudson.
At the age of 19, Hudson tried to make it as a full-time sailor. He ended up doing a business degree and headed off to Europe to look for work. For seven years, he worked with real estate developers building large scale projects in eastern Europe.
“We were building up finance and sales networks for them in London. It was an entrepreneurial activity that went very well, all in the pre-2008 markets.”
Then in 2008, Hudson took a chance to revive his dream. He came home to found RaceAhead, a non-profit organization, with his father. They wanted to identify and train a new generation of Olympic sailors, one of which was Jim.
“When we team up we have a great synergy, and the combination of our different strengths is very powerful&#8230; It’s a bit like saying opposites attract. We come from such different backgrounds, such different worlds, we are not dealing with the same kinds of qualities. We have different styles and we have different views. Sometimes when you put those two together and have good chemistry you are able to do something quite special,” says Hudson.
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Their dream doesn’t stop in Rio.
“We are looking towards Tokyo. We have a very clear goal, we want to be the very first Olympic sailing team from South Africa to win a medal. The best ever result was a fifth place in the 1956 Melbourne Games. It takes 10 or 15 years to be a team like that. We are hoping to do that in 10,” says Hudson.
There is much more to come from South African sailors.
“Our three training partners came second, third and fourth [in the 470 African Championship], it’s fair to say that at least one of them can make Tokyo,” says Hudson.
Coaching is not as easy as it looks, says Jim.
“I saw it with me and [Hudson], when he was trying to nurture me. Now I can see how difficult it is to try and nurture youngsters into the ranks. Now I can see how difficult it was for [Hudson] to train me, when I have to teach others.”
“In life you start something, then you achieve something that you want, then there is more. You want to do more, beat a record. There is always something you want to beat, whether it’s time or competitors or to win all the races,” says Jim.
And how do both sailors intend to pay for the bills?
“What secures the funding is when you gain a profile for one reason or another. Then that makes you relevant. Normally you gain a profile from getting results. I think what the media like and the sponsors who have come on board like, is the fact that we are a unique South African team. Two from different races, from different backgrounds and parts of the country – two very different people,” says Hudson.
If you thought that after becoming African champions the pair would take some time off to recover, you’d be wrong. The next day the team were on a plane bound for Miami, United States, to compete in their next race. Their hope riding on a steady mast, comradeship, skills and a true wind.

Hope Floats

It was a hot spring day in the suburb of Westdene with its neat tiny gardens and white-washed fences, in Johannesburg on September 10, 2014. The flowers had blossomed and the streets were filled with color. Palesa Manaleng was happy at home enjoying a hard-earned day off, two weeks after she landed a new job as a junior online journalist.
“I thought let me just stretch my legs out at about 10. I took my bicycle and messaged my friend, Nozuko, telling her I was going to take a quick cycle around and then come to her Spaza shop,” says Manaleng.
It was a snap decision to turn into Monmouth Road. Manaleng thought the steep downhill would help her pick up speed. Monmouth Road was the last place where the 27-year-old would use her legs.
“I tried to brake. They failed. I thought if I go straight I am going to go straight into the UJ stadium wall, but maybe if I turn, I will be able to take the uphill and slow down naturally. I turned too quick. I slammed into the paving and flew into the palisade fencing, head first,” she says.
A neighbor heard her body slam into the fence and came running out. Manaleng kept telling him that she needed to go, she needed to meet Nozuko. Manaleng didn’t understand why the neighbor kept saying they’ll go now, just wait a bit, an ambulance is coming. She was numb and couldn’t see the blood.
“I was conscious the whole entire time. The moment comes in bits and pieces,” says Manaleng. Finally someone called Nozuko.
“I heard my friend giggling, she hadn’t seen me yet.  When she saw me, she looked as if she was about to cry. I said ‘the brakes failed’ then I started laughing,” says Manaleng.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Manaleng’s skull was swelling into her shattered helmet.
“I only started crying when the ambulance moved my body, because the blood was filling up my lung. That’s when I started feeling the pain.”
Manaleng wasn’t in safe hands yet.
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As the ambulance rushed to take her to the closest hospital, Helen Joseph, in Johannesburg, they were refused entry. The hospital was full. They had to drive her eight kilometers away to the Charlotte Maxeke Johannesburg Academic Hospital instead.
“I was in the emergency room for three days, before they operated on me. I thought it was a day,” says Manaleng.
“Before I went under, my friends and family were told I wouldn’t make it out of the operating room. I wouldn’t survive the operation. When I came out, I came out smiling,” says Manaleng.
For three weeks, Manaleng clung to life.
“I was so high I didn’t know what was going on. After a while, the doctor asked me to wiggle my toes, and I said I am. Wiggle them so I can see them moving. He left the room and came back…he said ‘you are a paraplegic’, I said ‘what does that mean?’ ‘It means you may never walk again’.”
Manaleng had dislocated her T9/T10 spinal column. In laymen terms, her spine was folded like a pretzel.
“It took a while to hit me. Six weeks into being in the hospital. In my mind, I was going to walk. Then I had a spasm and it thought this is it, this doctor is a fool, and here is my leg spasming. I thought my legs were moving. I tried to move it again and I couldn’t. It’s the mind and the legs trying to connect. Your mind is saying to your legs ‘move’, and it can’t. So on its own, your leg just does what it wants. I was so upset,” says Manaleng.
At her side was Nozuko, once again.
“I started crying. Nozuko came in, despite it not being visiting hours; I don’t know how she got in. I said ‘I’m never going to walk. Please make me walk. Why can’t I walk, why can’t they make me walk. They operated on me, I am alive but why can’t I walk. I will never walk Nozuko’.”
Nozuko climbed into the bed hugging Manaleng.
“Once I was done crying she said ‘are you done now? Do you want to live? Then start living. So you can’t walk, so you can’t pee properly, who cares? Just live your life’.”
If surviving with a dislocated spine, two broken ribs, a punctured lung and a head injury was miracle enough, it took Manaleng less than one year to get back on the road.
“The worst 24 hours of my life was when they stopped the morphine. I was cold and then hot. I was itchy; it felt like bugs were crawling all over me. I couldn’t move and curl up. You feel like your stomach wants to fall out but you can’t move. I spent the whole night screaming. I was trying to bargain with the nurses. I was begging.”
Manaleng left rehabilitation on December 31.
And she came out with a dream bigger than most – to compete in the Rio Paralympics.
“I first saw the handcycle on TV. I was watching the 94.7 cycle challenge on TV, when I was in rehab. I told my physiotherapist that I would like to cycle again, but I didn’t know how to without my legs.”
“When I got home, I wrote to all the sponsors of the 94.7…The first handcycle I got onto was a second hand bike from Hilary Lewis, a South African handcyclist champion. She has won championships with it. Now I must up my game.”
“The first day I got to test it out, I was in normal traffic. Cars were stopping. People were staring at me. I was waving at them. I didn’t know what I was doing; I got stuck up on a pavement. I didn’t know how to turn. [Lewis] said just use your hands and go backwards.”
It was like learning to ride all over again for Manaleng, says Peter Motsai, Manaleng’s handcycle trainer.
“It took us three hours for 40 kilometers. On the hill, we had to stop. She didn’t know how to change her gears. The gears work the same as a normal bicycle but Manaleng was driving with one gear only. One gear the whole way. Now, I am struggling to keep up with her,” says Motsai.
On the anniversary of her accident, Manaleng was on the road again. With her second-hand handcycle, she competed with the world’s best at the UCI Para-Cycling Road World Cup in Pietermaritzburg, KwaZulu-Natal.
“When you look at the UCI profile, under H3, I am 14th in the world. I don’t know how it works. But I’d like to find out. Out of 20-30 people. How do I get to number one? I would like to go to the Paralympics. I would like to become a world-class athlete and kick some butt. I’d also like to freelance as a journalist. I do some here and there. I think my heart is set in sports,” she says.
Manaleng is ever the optimist. Not only does she cycle, she also rows. Every day at 6AM, she can be found in the gym weight-lifting. In the afternoon, on the ergo, and in the evening hand-cycling.
When Manaleng isn’t on the road, water or gym, she enjoys reading and listening to old school music, the likes of Michael Jackson and Tracey Chapman. Her musical fandom even goes as far as to naming her bikes after her idols. Her handcycle is named Billie Holiday. The one she crashed in was called Dolly Parton.
“I named the bikes after Billie and Dolly because I enjoy their music, there is a message of heartache and love in their songs and when I ride I feel like I am going through my own journey of heartache and love with every steep hill and downhill I have a different emotion that I share with my bikes.”
The rigors of sport can be demanding but not as much as daily life, she says. Manaleng faces challenges that many disabled people struggle to deal with; the entrances to handicap bathrooms in shopping centers are too small; many buildings don’t have wheelchair-friendly ramps and worst of all are the men who grope her.
“When you’re disabled, men will act as if they own you. I will be pushing up a hill and some guy will come and touch my shoulder and ask me where my husband is. I am trying to get somewhere, if you want to help me up the hill, I am fine with that. But don’t grope me. Don’t have funny comments about where is the real man in my life. [Some men will] stop my wheelchair and demand my number to push me up the hill. It makes me want to punch someone,” she says.
It’s an uphill battle that most would find daunting, Manaleng fights it every inch of the way.
“There were worse things in life than not being able to walk,” she says with a laugh.

IMG_4690

Her Rough Road To Rio

You wouldn’t blink if you saw Anaso Jobodwana on the street. Like many young men, he is well dressed and walks hand-in-hand with his girlfriend, 26-year-old American semi-professional athlete Taylor Monae Evans, and looks slight and hungry.
Make no mistake, this 23-year-old has the world at his fast feet. He smashed the South African 200-meter record, with a time of 19.87 seconds, at the World Championships in Beijing in August. In 2016, he is heading for the Olympics in Rio where he will strain every sinew, yet again, against Usain Bolt.
In Beijing, the great man came to him like a Bolt from the blue as the two limbered up.
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“In the final he said ‘Are you ready to run this 19 seconds?’, and I just said ‘yeah’. And he said ‘don’t be nervous, you’ve got this,’” says Jobodwana.
“Afterwards he came to me and said ‘I had to talk to you throughout the whole call-room because you were nervous so I had to calm your nerves down. Out of all the finalists you were the one, throughout the rounds, who looked the most ready and relaxed and I don’t understand why you were nervous in the final.’”
Jobodwana was starstruck because Bolt was the guy on the cover of his training file, inside were pictures of him in his stride.
Bolt’s 19 seconds prediction was spot on because in the final, Jobodwana ran close.
“After the finals he came up to me and screamed ‘National record, I’m proud of you!’, but obviously with a deeper voice,” chuckles the soft spoken Jobodwana.
The glare and glamour of the track was a million miles from where Jobodwana grew up in Phakamisa, a township on the outskirts of King William’s Town in the Eastern Cape, South Africa. It was here that Jobodwana developed his passion for running and breaking records. He would only start training professionally, though, in Grade 10 – at the age of 16.
“I hold the under-9 record at Dale Junior so I guess that kicked-started my passion for sprinting,” he says.
In King William’s Town, his mother is a teacher; his father a retired prison officer. Jobodwana says he was fortunate enough to have parents that sent him to schools that nurtured his talent.
“Growing up, the kids in my neighborhood were way faster than me and better sportsmen. I was lucky enough to get sent to schools that had proper sporting facilities and coaches that would enhance my talent,” says Jobodwana.
It was at school that Jobodwana would make his mark, claiming the number one spot in the country in the 200 meters. In the same year, he was 5th in the world in the junior section, after his first full season of training.
Seven years later, the United States-based sprinter shares the track with the likes of Justin Gatlin and Bolt.
Jobodwana says he moved to the States because he wanted to be part of the National Collegiate Athletics Association (NCAA).
Jackson State University took a gamble on the sprinter in 2011, offering him a scholarship despite the fact he was recovering from a serious injury. He repaid their faith by qualifying for the 2012 Olympics. Jobodwana says it was thanks to his meticulous coaches.
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“South African coaches are good as well. Look at other athletes who are thriving, like Wayde van Niekerk. He gets coached in South Africa, so the coaches here are awesome,” he says.
Jobodwana was not so blessed when it came to financial support. He hasn’t received any recently from Athletics South Africa. Jobodwana recalls receiving financial assistance in 2012 when he needed to qualify for the Olympics, but nothing since then.
“They (Athletics South Africa) are in a bit of shambles at the moment. I’ve been receiving support from endorsements, Nike Africa has been supportive, but I haven’t received anything from Athletics South Africa recently. Maybe they’ll eventually get it right,” says Jobodwana.
Athletics South Africa was not available for comment.
In the run up to Rio, Jobodwana might spring a few surprises – he plans to run the 100 meters more often to increase his speed.
Award-winning Times Media Group sports journalist, David Isaacson, reckons we can expect a medal from Jobodwana in August.
“I’m sure he can bring back a silver medal in Rio,” says Isaacson.
The athlete has his own ideas about what is needed to groom future South African athletes. Jobodwana says the government needs to put more emphasis on scouting and nurturing athletes in rural areas.
Jobodwana says he spoke to Bolt’s coach in Beijing. He suggested the coach come to Africa for three months to mentor young athletes here. Jobodwana says the coach looked keen.
“We all need to figure out how to put proper structures in place that will bring out the best in the future of our athletics,” says Jobodwana.
And the Jobodwanas of tomorrow? The young athlete left them with a stern message.
“Follow your dreams to the fullest. Your dreams have to be crazy enough for people to think they aren’t achievable, that will be the extra drive you need to make them come alive,” he says.
At Rio 2016, Africa will, once again, be looking to its fastest man and his fleet feet.

A Bolt From The Bush

International countries are guilty of having misconceptions about Africa but we are guilty about of the same thing with our own countries. When you hear about the Olympics, your thoughts undoubtedly go to the United States’ basketball team or Usain Bolt. You probably wouldn’t think about Zimbabwe or believe that this landlocked country in Southern Africa has been successful in swimming. Why would it, Africa can’t swim, or can it?
Coming from Africa means we have to work harder to get noticed and work longer to succeed. I have been swimming against this current for over a decade.
We give more recognition to the first-world athletes than our own. We have had to work harder, with less, yet when we succeed the scales are still not tipped in our favour. We are always looking away from Africa because we believe the grass is greener on the other side.
<div id="attachment_3510" style="width: 229px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-3510" class="size-medium wp-image-3510" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/149377073-219x300.jpg" alt="" width="219" height="300" />LONDON, ENGLAND &#8211; JULY 27: Kirsty Coventry of the Zimbabwe Olympic swimming team carries her country&#8217;s flag during the Opening Ceremony of the London 2012 Olympic Games at the Olympic Stadium on July 27, 2012 in London, England. (Photo by Lars Baron/Getty Images)</div>
In 2012, while at lunch with Econet Wireless’ Strive Masiyiwa, I asked him where I should focus my business of swimwear apparel. He responded by quoting Booker T Washington.
“A ship lost at sea for many days suddenly sighted a friendly vessel. From the mast of the unfortunate vessel was seen a signal: ‘Water, water. We die of thirst.’ The answer from the friendly vessel at once came back: ‘Cast down your bucket where you are.’ A second time, the signal, ‘Water, send us water!’ went up from the distressed vessel. And was answered: ‘Cast down your bucket where you are.’ A third and fourth signal for water was answered: ‘Cast down your bucket where you are.’ The captain of the distressed vessel, at last, heeding the injunction, cast down his bucket and it came up full of fresh, sparkling water from the mouth of the Amazon River.”
Washington helped unite our races by fighting against white discrimination. Masiyiwa’s point was what we need is right here. It wasn’t easy back then and it’s certainly not easy now but as history has proved, it does become easier with concerted effort.
Three pillars that have given me strength in the battle against this current are perseverance, sacrifice and self-belief.
Perseverance is working hard all the time. Sacrifice is giving something up to accommodate the scarce resources of time and money. Self-belief is having faith in what you do and why you do it. It also makes sacrifice and perseverance worthwhile.
These are not things you write down and plan to do on a Monday morning. This is your ethos; it becomes your lifestyle.
Planning to be successful is important; you cannot simply believe you are going to be successful – no matter what books you might read. You have to implement your plans and it starts by setting goals. Goals should not be easy to attain but must be realistic.
When I was nine years old, I told my parents I wanted to go to the Olympics. They explained the necessity of goals as though it was a ladder; each rung you grab onto doesn’t make things easier but brings you closer to the top. The higher you get, the more difficult things become because the more people will be watching you and the more you have to balance. This balancing act is responsible for the necessary changes you will need to make.
At each Olympic Games I swam in, I had to set goals.
I qualified for the Sydney Olympics in 2000 when I was 16, but then needed a new goal: to make the finals. I only made the semi-finals but this was further than any Zimbabwean swimmer had gone before. I set myself new goals and created a plan to get there.
At Athens in 2004, I wanted to win a medal. I needed proper training facilities and a strong team. I couldn’t afford this on my own but was offered a scholarship by Auburn University in Alabama. I hated being away from home but I knew sacrifices had to be made. I worked hard over the next four years and finally won one gold, one silver and one bronze. I was not alone celebrating my victory; I was joined by 13 million Zimbabweans. This is when I realized the importance sport plays in a country – Zimbabwe was united under the flag I was holding on the podium in Greece.
New goals were set for the Beijing Olympics in 2008 but this time I wanted to win four gold medals. Most swimmers don’t even swim this many events, so I might have been a little unrealistic. I won one gold and three silvers. I was a little disappointed but I needed to adjust my thinking.
During the London Games in 2012, I wanted to become the greatest individual female swimmer in Olympic history by winning one more medal. Four months before the event, I dislocated my patella and then got pneumonia. I had to change my goals. All I wanted to do now was reach my fourth Olympic Games. Perseverance, sacrifice and self-belief ensured I made it to London. I never achieved my initial goal but I made the finals, finishing sixth in two of my races.
The Rio Olympics are next year. My goal hasn’t changed. I still want to become the greatest individual female swimmer in Olympic history.
There is a huge amount of potential in Africa but by focusing on higher profile things we are creating a current we have to fight against. We need to wake up and start celebrating what we are accomplishing and using this wave to progress further.

Swimming Against  The Tide

It has been a lonely few months in Mozambique. In the dim dawn, before the sun grips the rugged streets of Maputo, Juliano Maquina, runs in the hope of Olympic glory.
In many ways Maquina feels left behind, the last man standing. He is the only Olympic athlete who has trained in the meagre gyms of Mozambique–while his compatriots tone up in well-heeled countries around the world. If he can fight to become the last man standing in London, it would all have been worth it and could boost boxing in the land of his birth.
Maquina is the first boxer from Mozambique to qualify for the Olympics for nearly 20 years. He weighs 49kgs and will fight in the light-flyweight division.
The fight for Maquina began long ago. Every morning, six days-a-week, he trains in a basketball court in Maputo with no ring, no ropes, not even a punch bag–the lot of a sport starved of cash. Against the odds, the boxer with the baby face stays fit and tries to improve his technique ahead of being thrown to the finest young fighters in the world.
<div id="attachment_939" style="width: 484px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-939" class="wp-image-939 size-large" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/lucas_sinoia_20120516_19-1024x681.jpg" alt="" width="474" height="315" />Lucas Sinoia</div>
“My dream is to make it to three Olympics and three world championships and take silver in two of them. My family have supported me and I hope that a successful boxing career will provide for them,” says Maquina.
At the very least, the 18-year-old southpaw has time on his side and clearly the stomach for a fight. Maquina had to battle hard at the qualifiers in Morocco to make it to the Olympics. Three boxers fought for Mozambique, Maquina was the only one to qualify in Casablanca; by contrast Angola sent six boxers, none qualified; South Africa sent nine, two qualified. One hundred and fifty four boxers competed from 30 African countries.
Maquina also has a good man in his corner, Lucas Sinoia, who fought twice for Mozambique at the Olympics.
Sinoia, aged 45, was born in the rural Mutarara Province in Tete in the remote north-western corner of Mozambique, and fought at 67kgs in the welterweight division. He was the champion of Mozambique between 1985 and 1996 and worked in a bread factory, to keep boxing, because the pay was so poor.
The answer to penury came from the barracks. Sinoia joined the army, which gave him the money and facilities to train. The army has long been a cradle of the sweet science. Legend has it that Mozambique’s first president, Samora Machel, used to punch sandbags for fun, on visits to his troops and was ringside at the big fights.
Sinoia thrived in the army and won a bucket load of medals leading to his qualification for the 1988 Olympics in Seoul, as the youngest member of the national team, aged 22. He lost in the second round of the welterweight tournament to Spaniard, Javier Martínez, after getting a bye in the first. Robert Wangila, of Kenya, won the gold–the first Kenyan to win gold for his country in a sport other than athletics. Wangila, who fought 22 professional fights, died, aged just 26, from his injuries after a severe beating in the ring in Las Vegas in 1994.
Sinoia also qualified for the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta where he built his reputation as a highly disciplined boxer.
The glory days in Atlanta were few, as Sinoia was beaten 11-6 in the first round by, Vadim Mezga, of Belarus. He retired in 1998.
Nearly 20 years, later Sinoia has put his own money up to start the Academia de Boxe Lucas Sinoia, in Maputo, where he coaches aspiring boxers, as young as eight. He is looking for the next heavyweight sensation, but has spent the last few months training the young Maquina.
“I have great hopes for Juliano, but fear that he will have a hard time. Apart from a small trip to Cuba and to Morocco for the qualifiers, he has no other international experience,” says Sinoia.
Together with trainer Braulio Montiel, from Cuba, Sinoia shares the job of coaching the national boxing team.
The Cuban connection is an old and powerful one. It began when Joao Caldeira, a businessman and President of the Mozambique Boxing Federation, went to teach Portuguese in Cuba in 1978. He stayed for five years and arranged for three Mozambicans, including Sinoia, to be trained in the Caribbean country which produced Olympic gold medallists such as the late Teofilo Stevenson. All three returned to become Mozambican champions.
The Cuban dash in the ring appears to be rubbing off on the young Maquina. He says his role model is the former Olympic gold medallist featherweight, Yuriorkis Gamboa, who is now unbeaten in 21 professional fights.
Sinoia and Monteil want to concentrate the meagre money, given by government to boxing in Mozambique, on training a small group of determined and talented fighters. They are looking to business for money to help the impoverished sport that could bring medals.
A successful international boxer could help coax this money from companies and revive what was once a glory game in Mozambique and a way out of poverty for many of the country’s poor.
In the 1960s and 70s, boxing pulled huge crowds and money in Mozambique. The hotbed of boxing with the seaside town of Beira and thousands took trains from all over Mozambique, as well as South Africa and Zimbabwe, for the big fights.
Money flowed through Mozambican boxing. The bets were big and boxers from across southern Africa travelled to reap the rewards of the ring.
These days of money and thunder may be a far cry from the quiet build up to the Olympics, on a shoestring, for Maquina, but there is hope. Already the victory in Casablanca has been hailed for putting Mozambique back on the boxing map.
Maybe the slender teenager, with the baby face and the sneaky jab, could stun the world in London. After all, the oldest saying in the history of boxing is the bigger they are the harder they fall.

Tag: Olympics

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