Yerwa’s Gidan Kwallo — Maiduguri’s Local Football Cinemas
Last night while day dreaming and allowing my thoughts to wander, a satisfied smile appeared on my face. One would be forgiven, if they assumed I was reminiscing about some past love interest or that I was silently relishing plans to celebrate large sums of money which were just paid to my account (I wish).
Unfortunately (I think the word “fortunately” would be more appropriate here), I was smiling because I remembered my days hopping from one local football cinema to another in the ancient city of Maiduguri.
Though I visited Maiduguri only sparingly while growing up, these were usually short trips, lasting no more than a day or two, to attend weddings, pay condolences etc. It wasn’t until I was granted admission to the University of Maiduguri (UniMaid) in 2001, that I finally got the chance to explore the city. And boy, do I have experiences to share about this once peaceful and glorious land. I hope to share more of such experiences here as the ‘spirit leads’ but this piece is purely about the city’s legendary local football cinemas.
Prior to arriving Maiduguri for studies, I was living in Lagos, and my football watching experience was not as eventful as what I was about to witness in the land passionately revered as “Yerwa” by its indigenes. In Lagos, my hangouts to watch football with friends was what you would refer to in Nigerian parlance as the typical “ajebota” kind. If we didn’t assemble at the home of a friend to watch the game, we would find a typical Lagos eatery/semi-bar-lounge to enjoy the game in a cool relaxed atmosphere. All of that changed when I hit Maiduguri!
My first few weeks in UniMaid, were spent trying to settle down in school, sorting out my registration and hostel allocation. By the time I got that out of the way and made a few friends, I was fully back to my football loving mode. Initially, I was fine just watching Premier League games at corner provision stores in the hostel. The store owners worked out a mutual arrangement where they all hooked up to one DSTV (Cable TV) connection and thus shared the subscription costs. On match days, store owners would invite students to sit in front of their stores to watch the game in the hope that during the game, students would buy drinks and snacks from their stores to munch on and sip during the game.
My favourite spot to watch the game was Alhaji Grema’s shop (or “Allai Grema” as it was pronounced by students and locals). Grema, a dark, ever smiling middle aged man, with distinct Kanuri facial marks, had a typical hostel provisions store that stocked daily student consumables such as toiletries and some food stuffs all of which were sold in small portions. I particular loved watching my games at Grema’s because of his often freshly made meat pie which I always savoured devouring with a cold zobo drink.
As expected, watching games in school was accompanied with light banter between school mates with their respective allegiance to Europeans Football Clubs. Gradually, I began to also notice that in Maiduguri, football obsession was not limited to the English Premier League and the UEFA Champions League as was the case in Lagos. Football fans in Maiduguri had an equally crazy, religious-like affection for Spanish giants, Barcelona and Real Madrid. Thus La Liga games were watched with as much fervour as was the English Premiere League.
At this point, little did I know that I was yet to even scratch the surface of Maiduguri’s football mad culture. I began to spend time with my cousins who lived in a neighbourhood close to school known as Mairi. Here I met Husseini, arguably one of my best friends throughout my stay in Maiduguri and to this day. It was our love for the beautiful game that brought us together.
Within Mairi exists a makeshift football viewing centre barricaded with bamboo sticks which served as the walls of the viewing room. The centre is a few metres from the busy Maiduguri-Bama Expressway. This space, which couldn’t have been more than 30m by 10m had two large screen TVs on the wall some few metres apart from each other. On days where two high calibre games were being played simultaneously, each TV was tuned to a different match to allow fans get two deals for the price of one. To tackle the notorious Maiduguri heat, several electric standing fans were fixed at strategic points in the room, although any viewer will tell you that the fans were useless because the centre was always overcrowded by double its planned capacity.
The heat was not a sufficient deterrent however because the camaraderie and blistering banter between fans always provided enough side entertainment. The centre was often a relaxation point for community football players, sparing partners and other community dwellers such as cobblers, meat sellers (Mai Suya), water mongers (Mai Ruwa), and a large number of University students. I soon learned that some specific European Teams had their local nicknames, Real Madrid was fondly called Gidan Madara (Home of Milk — due to their trademark white jerseys), Manchester United was simply called Jajayen She’danu (Red Devils), and at the dawn of the Roman Abrahimovic era, Chelsea were known as Masu Kudi (the Rich Ones).
Individual football stars were not left out of being gifted with these local nicknames. Sometimes the names even served as ammunition for banter during games. I recall walking towards the expressway one hot afternoon, when a regular at the viewing centre who was popularly called Shaimo by his peers, accosted me asking if I was aware of the breaking news about his club Gidan Madara. Realising I was ignorant of his big news, he blurted out in Hausa language “aiko mun sayo gunki — we (Madrid) just signed a statue for our midfield” he said excitedly. By “statue”, Shaimo was referring to Danish player, Thomas Gravesen who had just been signed from Everton FC, UK. The nickname “gunki” referred to Gravesen’s muscular physique and the no-nonsense aggressive style of play he was renowned for. Manchester United’s Kieran Richardson was known as “Indomie Jollof” — a tribute to his curly spaghetti-like hairstyle. The Brazilian striker Julio Baptista had the unflattering name 3310 in reference to the famed Nokia budget (and bulky) phone.
But Shaimo was just one of such characters I encountered in Mairi, there was also a diehard Manchester United fan, Allai Bor who had this distinct knack for showing up on game day in a colonial style English coat.
Another colourful personality was a flamboyant short light skinned guy of South Eastern extraction we all called “Makwadee”. A Madrid fan, Makwadee was known for his boisterous and very loud boasts about Madrid’s UEFA Champions League record. Fewer things excited Makwadee more than when he was hailed with a shout of Ma-kwa-deeeeee from afar on campus. He would respond by give a blushing smile with a spring in his step, and an arm outstretched to give the hailer a firm homeboy handshake.
In the same vein, the laughable term “farin kafa” was often chorused by fans at any player who was deemed a bearer of bad luck for their team. The term amused me because it literally translates to “white leg”. When a player approaching the 18 yard penalty area starts shaping up for a lethal shot at goal, it was common to hear screams of “da’re, da’re, da’re” in anticipation. The Hausa word “da’re” means darkness but in this context it symbolises the anticipation of a crowd of football enthusiasts baying for blood — a shot so deafening it sends the opposing team into lights out mode.
From Mairi, my football watching escapades reached the late night football cinemas of Damboa Road and Polo football ground. Instead of TV screens, these locations deployed projectors for viewing games and were therefore the favourite spots to watch UEFA Champions League games for locals living close by.
The games were projected onto large white walls specifically built for purpose. The use of projectors allowed for a larger audience. The first time I visited the cinema just behind Damboa Road with my cousins Umar and Momodu (Muhammed), I had goosebumps when the crowd stood up in applause the moment the official theme music of the UEFA Champions League was blasted through the gigantic sound speakers. It wouldn’t have been out of place if an alien mistakenly assumed the UEFA anthem was the National Anthem seeing the passion and respect it was accorded by the football faithful.
Here again as expected, football banter was tuned up a few notches than what I experienced in Mairi. When a team fired up the tempo of the game with relentless attacking play against their opponents, their fans watching in the cinema would break into a song taunting their rivals. “a kama musu wando, za su gudu, a kama musu wando, za su gudu”, they would sing at periodic intervals spicing it up with rhythmic claps in between. To translate loosely, the lyrics of the song taunted supporters of the team on the back foot alleging that “they are about to flee because the heat is too much, thus they should be held by the trousers to prevent them from fleeing”.
As I did the rounds to several football cinemas, from Tashan Bama to Lagos Street, from Gwange to Gomari, more and more football fans kept telling me about a particular local cinema. They spoke about this place in legendary terms as though it was part of local folklore, I often wondered if their stories weren’t a bit exaggerated. I made several promises to myself to visit this place to have a feel of it but I kept postponing the d-day mainly because it was located some distance from school and fate never had me held down within the vicinity on match days.
Some called it GZ, others called it Gidan Birni, but many referred to it by its most popular name — GA-ZAR-GAMO. Like so many other local cinemas, GZ made use of projectors, but it was a semi-enclosed structure designed with the row of seats arranged in an ascending order from front to back, giving it a stadium-like feel. On the days when Gidan Birni was occupied to capacity, the atmosphere was as electrifying as any you could find on a great cup night in Europe. I didn’t visit GZ as much as I would have loved to because it was also a favourite spot for a surprisingly large number of weed (marijuana) smoking footy lovers. Thus it wasn’t the ideal environment for one who lives with asthma.
However, I do have fond memories of GZ. I can recall vividly, the most memorable game I watched at this place — was Deportivo La Coruna’s unbelievable comeback against AC Milan in 2004. Another centre I have bitter sweet memories of was located at Gomari Costain. At this location I and Husseini watched our team Arsenal FC lose the 2006 Champions League Final to Barcelona after a promising start to the game.
Sadly, years of relentless barbaric terrorist attacks by the infamous Boko Haram insurgents have greatly reduced the popularity of these football viewing locations. Locals became weary of large gatherings of people which are easy targets for bomb attacks by Boko Haram. Similarly, watching late evening games is a rarity because several parts of the city remain under a curfew which comes into effect after dark. Not surprising that when I visited Maiduguri in 2016, I never got the chance to relive these beautiful memories.
However, there is no need for despair as the spirit of the beautiful game lives on in this resilient city. The rebuilding efforts seemed to have picked up remarkable pace and no one would bet against the full blown return of these glorious football entertainment centres. My faith is etched in the fact that the football atmosphere wasn’t a function of the place or physical structures, rather the atmosphere was the joyful people of Maiduguri. As long as the people breathe, then the city lives and be rest assured the beautiful game will find its followers.
I still find myself seeking for a taste of the intense football culture I left behind. Years after leaving Maiduguri, while on a visit to Angwan Dosa — Kaduna, citizens of the ‘croc city’ pointed me to yet another local cinema said to provide similar football atmosphere as GZ. I visited out of curiosity, but the passionate football madness just wasn’t there. It wasn’t like Maiduguri. It wasn’t like Yerwa. It wasn’t GZ, period!!!
I could probably write a chapter, a journal or maybe a small book about these cinemas in which I found so much joy, laughter, glory, and unrivaled entertainment. But this will do for now. This will do!!!
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Bashir Ahmed
Twitter: @DarwinsChaplain
