The Ellis Park Tragedy 

 It was on Wednesday 11 April 2001, barely 3 months into my newly sought self-rule. There would be a massive football game later in the evening between Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates. I had only watched the always anticipated football match on TV­ – often, at the Mafhikana Bar.

 Even though we did not yet have the big-match tickets, with about 9 other Batswana Students, we decided to hire a taxi to transport us to watch the Soweto derby, at the Ellis Park Stadium, live. With the hope and believe of paying at the entrance. The red VW Caravelle arrived from Rabie Ridge, an area of about 10km from Midrand. The talkative taxi driver – who always stretched his neck, side to side, to relax his muscles, he claimed – was with his son, a boy of about 12, who only talked to his father.

 Since traffic was heavily congested, we finally arrived about an hour later at the blaring-vuvuzela, Ellis Park stadium, just before 8 p.m. After agreeing with the chatty father and his shy son, of the spot to find them in – after the anticipated big game – we eagerly went for the entrance. Outside the arena, on the southern side, there was a multitude of cheerful supporters, most, like us, still to buy tickets, queuing: young boys, young girls, mothers, fathers; and us, older boys. It was very chaotic. The match ticket price was about 20 Rands. But somehow, the queue we followed was surprisingly enough – to the inside of the stadium, by the stands – without any form of the perimeter fence, payment point, or any security control point to demand the payment nor the treasured match ticket.

 Still in disbelief, we found a place just on the edge, closer to the occupied reddish seats inside the breathtaking, floodlighted stadium, where we happily stood. By then the big game had already started. Doctor Khumalo, Williams Okpara, Thabo Mooki, Jerry Sikhosana, Brian Baloyi – famous players that I’d only seen on the television and the expensive KickOff Magazine before. I was indeed free, here I am, a young boy of 19 from the dusty village of Kanye, watching South Africa’s two biggest teams: Kaizer Chiefs and Orlando Pirates, at the Ellis Park Stadium. Without having paid a cent. We only watched the game for about 5 shortened minutes when suddenly the match was sadly abandoned. 

 We heard that other spectators, particularly on the northeastern side of the ‘’19:15 p.m. sold-out stadium’’ had been badly injured, and there was now panic around our side of the stadium. In a panic, my friends and I quickly evacuated the stadium safely. On the way back to Midrand, we were deeply shocked and saddened to hear on the Caravelle radio that there have been some casualties from the overcrowded arena. And plenty were injured, as the casualty numbers kept on increasing; I could not stop wondering whether my very religious and strict parents would have allowed me to go to the 60 000 capacity stadium without a pre-bought match ticket – and at night.

 The following day, since it was the Easter holiday break, I travelled home on another Caravelle like taxi, this time – a white Toyota, with a Siyaya sticker on the back – to Gaborone. Upon arriving home, I never uttered a single word about the Ellis Park tragedy to my strict parents. Only to my shocked siblings, cousins, and uncles as the TV news confirmed my Ellis Park disaster: 43 dead, 158 injured.