Destination: South Africa

Nairobi, Kenya - "No vuvuzelas?" I asked, leaning out my window to survey the vendor's goods as he weaved through Johannesburg's rush-hour traffic.

"Try the next block," he responded. His hands were full of knitted hats, wool socks, and a tangle of electronics. "What about a phone charger?" he added, hopefully.

Over the last week in South Africa, the street-side stacks of flags, jerseys and side mirror Speedos have more-or-less cleared out. After weeks of solid sales, the demand for stockpiles of cheap Chinese-made World Cup goods is over.

A few days after the relatively 'ugly' final between the Netherlands and Spain, life has pretty much returned to normal in South Africa. Airport queues are thinning, schools are back in session, and in the workplace, people are re-directing their time to Facebook.

World Cup doubters

Many people thought hosting the World Cup in Africa was a mistake, that South Africa wouldn't be a safe venue. But this week the headlines have been nothing but praise for the tournament, which was arguably one of the best in recent history in terms of ticket sales, organization, and ambience. The Cup was a chance to experience the culture, landscape and wildlife of a part of the world few outsiders know about.

On a personal level, I wasn't sure what to expect from a World Cup in Africa. I'm well versed in the continent's peculiarities. As far as I can tell, "Saa Mwafrika," or "African time" is just slightly more casual than Indian time keeping. And then there is the overt tolerance for classicism, a likely remnant of colonialism. The latter caused the only real screw-up of the tournament, when airport staff in Durban didn't succeed in directing the private jets of VIP's out of the airport. This prevented commercial airlines from landing and, as a result, hundreds of very angry people missed the semifinal game between the Netherlands and Uruguay.

I was also worried about security. Although I was impressed by the sheer number of police circling World Cup venues, I also know the power of a 100 Rand (15 dollar) bill -- I exercised this knowledge more than once for better parking. And filing into stadiums, my bag was rarely thoroughly checked. Something could very easily have gone wrong.

Why it didn't, I believe, isn't so much because of organization or tight security, but because I think everyone in the world wanted this tournament to succeed. Everyone loves an underdog - and this Cup was Africa's chance to dream.

People all over the world were rooting for Ghana's Black Stars and organizers, tourists, volunteers, robbers and even some so-called "terrorists" pledged to respect the games.

And so despite the odd robbery, to public knowledge, the games went on without a major incident. Though Spain walked away with the soccer world's trophy, South Africa walked away with the world's heart.

Perhaps the most impressed people were South Africans themselves. My eyes welled up more than once while listening to residents across the country call into local radio stations with their favorite memories of the Cup.

There were mentions of Nelson Mandela's appearance before the final game and Bafana Bafana's group dance after their first goal against Mexico. But the number one memory was how the tournament made them feel, often for the first time in their lives, that South Africa, with all its divisions in race, language and creed, was really a united country.

"I hate the flippin' vuvuzelas, but during that opening game when the vuvuzelas started blowing, tears came to my eyes," said Roux Du Toit, an Afrikaner from Pretoria.

"It means revival, it means Africa and South Africa together," said Salphina Phoshoko, a teacher from Alexandra township. "This is a new birth and South Africa will never be the same - never."

The crazy costumes, the diski dance and the vuvuzelas were symbols of patriotism, of national unity. There were times that the rhythmic vivuzela parps felt like the disembodied heartbeat of the South African people as a whole - black, white and every shade between.

A new Olympic goal

It's no wonder, then, that there has been a push for South Africa to host the 2020 or 2024 Olympics (http://www.cbc.ca/sports/amateur/story/2010/07/12/sp-olympics-south-africa.html). The new target may help keep spirits high for now, but the country should remember, its realities lie just around the corner.

The World Cup stadiums, organization and security, came at an enormous expense to a country that struggles with basics like education, health care, jobs and housing. The ruling African National Congress has promised the country housing for all, but the government is still short hundreds of thousands of homes, with the numbers rising every year.

Problems associated with the lack of resources have already started cropping up. As I was leaving Cape Town a couple weeks ago, violence had broken out against foreign immigrants, who are accused of stealing local job opportunities. Scores of Zimbabweans have started flowing over the border to their homeland and many more have taken refuge around police stations.

Building more sports facilities, or even world-class telescopes for that matter, may be good PR for South Africa, but it's not necessarily good for the country's people.

My World Cup journey

As I deflated my soccer ball for one last flight home (with the entrails of a bic pen), I reminisced about all the people and places I had crossed over the last three months. It took an epic journey to learn about what soccer means to Africa, but also to learn about what the game means to me, personally.

I've been playing as far back as I remember. My first memories are tied into days swarming around a ball with teams named after flowers and fuzzy animals. Years later, the sport was a several-hour-a-day commitment with provincials, nationals, and university tournaments.

I loved every minute of the drive, the discipline, and the intense competition. And when I saw the golden glitter shining down on the Spanish team, I could feel their elation, their victory, because I've felt it before.

But on this trip I also learned the joy of when there aren't any rules, any sidelines or any teams. On my trip, whatever nonsense happened during the day, I always looked forward to getting out there on the grass or dirt and just playing.

I played with some of Africa's big stars, like Roger Milla, and many more people, who despite big dreams will never make it out of the ghetto. It's a journey, which has given me (and I hope you) more insight into the African continent, the continent I've called home for the last four years.

I know this won't be the last of my adventures with a ball in hand and I hope that the next time you are heading out, you bring a ball too, to strike up a game and create your own adventure. I promise it works.

Thanks for tuning in to Destination South Africa.