Destination: South Africa

I've always said that wherever you go, 99% of the people you meet are good.  Well, I decided to go watch the Bafana Bafana game this week with the other 1 percent.

It was after dark and near freezing when I made my way to Johannesburg's Leeuwkop Prison for kick-off. The well-lit upscale streets of Sandton were well behind me when I pulled into the gate.

Johannesburg, South Africa - It's the countdown to the World Cup.

This time Friday will be madness, as a select 94,700 people rush to Johannesburg's Soccer City stadium (the largest stadium in Africa) for the opening match - South Africa versus Mexico. Millions more, who don't have a ticket (me included), will swarm to open-air fan parks around the country and take in the crazy on giant screens.

For the last week, the atmosphere on the streets of Johannesburg has been electric. After 12 undefeated friendlies, the South African team, nicknamed Bafana Bafana (a term of endearment meaning 'The Boys'), have been elevated to all-new heights of stardom. South Africans are donning the side's yellow and green jerseys not just on the government-pushed Football Fridays, but every single day, washed or not.

Douala, Cameroon - During breakfast I was entranced by the Cameroonian jersey-clad dancers, rhythmically hip-thrusting their way across my television screen. It was the music video for local musicians Ebel La Gloire and Macha's latest song: "The Lions in the image of a lion."

"Let's go the Lions, the Indomitable Lions. You are the joy of the country. Cameroon is behind you," sung Macha in the first verse. Enlightening as much as it is entertaining.  I've uploaded a clip of the music video to YouTube, so you can try your luck at the accompanying body vibrations.

I headed out on to the streets, where I waded in a sea of green, red and yellow soccer jerseys, shorts, tracksuits, caps, wristbands and bandanas and that is just the beginning. 

Douala, Cameroon - In my last blog posting, I met up with Roger Milla, Africa's soccer legend, for a Q&A.

I then took a look into Milla's career as an African playing in France in the 1980s - which clearly wasn't easy.

Milla is often described as frustrated by the fact that he never made money by playing soccer, whereas the new generation of players, often less talented than he was in his prime, have reaped the benefits of his groundwork.

Canadian journalist Anjali Nayar met up with Roger Milla a couple days after he played a friendly between former players from Cameroon's World Cup teams, in celebration of the country's 50th anniversary of Independence.

Yaounde, Cameroon - I became giddy when I first heard I might be able to interview Roger Milla.

For those of you not obsessed with African soccer, Milla is a legend here, just like Pele in Brazil or Maradona in Argentina. He was one of the first African players to reach international recognition.

Douala, Cameroon - This week I met up with the Cameroonian national team's mascot, a pot-bellied, larger-than-life character named Ngando Pickett.

He's hard to miss during a game. It might have something to do with the fact that he's often painted from head to toe in green, red and yellow stripes, like the national flag. Or that he strips to a g-string and shakes it when Cameroon scores. Check out my photo essay. 

But Ngando's back-story is equally attention grabbing. Like many young men at the time, he celebrated Cameroon's wins at the Africa Cup of Nations in 1984 and 1988. But it wasn't until 1998 that Ngando's true calling came. He was sleeping outside in the Sahara Desert between Morocco and Mauritania when had a vision of himself painted in the Cameroonian colours.

Douala, Cameroon - I should point out that every single person (Cameroonian, Nigerian, or otherwise) that I spoke to about this leg of the journey strongly suggested that I fly from Nigeria to Cameroon. 

By road, I would meet crooked policemen, armed gunmen and travel down terrible roads. By sea, there would be shady customs officials, pirates roaming the oil-rich Gulf of Guinea and boats that sink "all the time."

Calabar, Nigeria - There's something very gratifying about just picking something off a menu at random in a new country.

I'd heard both great and terrible things about Nigerian food, so I figured I should indulge. Edikang Ikong and Semovita. That should do the trick, I thought.

Calabar, Nigeria - I met Suliat Yusuf on a small asphalt court in Lagos' Ikeja neighbourhood.

She was tall, strong and had an awareness of the ball that belied her 15 years. With each pass, I sensed her confidence, determination and control.

She was there as part of a group of young men and women training to represent Nigeria at the Football for Hope Festival this June in Johannesburg and at the Homeless World Cup in Rio in September. The competitions use street soccer to bring together young people from vulnerable backgrounds.

Lagos, Nigeria - Every minute a million interactions, a million moments, blurred in my peripheral vision.

From the vast bustling port to the street markets, I can't help but think Lagos is alive - a heavy, heaving organism, bigger than the sum of its structures, interactions and moments.

Every day thousands of babies are born and I'm sure thousands more Okada (motorcycle taxi) drivers are maimed. Living here, you feel your insignificance - whether you breathe or die, the city will keep speeding along.

Lagos, Nigeria - I spent most of my two days in Togo zipping around on motorcycle taxis in the rain.

The roads had turned into giant potholed puddles and water skirted out from the bike from both sides. Kids coming back from school walked calf-deep through the waterways, their clothes and backpacks dripping after a few wrong steps (as it turns out potholed puddles are difficult to navigate).

The whole city was gearing up to celebrate the country's 50th anniversary of independence from France. In the city's main square and along the beach, tarps were being erected where open-air parties would last into the night.

Lome Togo - The closer we got to the Togolese border, the bigger and deeper the potholes became, until finally the tarmac disappeared completely.

The last several kilometres of the journey were through a thick cloud of red dust. Despite the one-metre visibility, the driver expertly weaved in and out of disaster.

Lome, Togo - Officers of the continent unite! You have been redeemed (in my eyes) by a Ghanaian customs official named Nathaniel Otoo.

Shortly after my trip to Jamestown last week, I was walking down 28th February Road to Accra's Independence square (with my ball of course) and saw Otoo standing at the bus stage. As per usual, I asked if he could show me some of his moves.

Accra, Ghana - In a lot of African cities the divide between rich and poor is hard to miss.

Shanty towns are squished between the majestic monuments and manicured lawns. This week I ventured into one such area, Jamestown, with Ghanaian journalist Isaac Kpelle.

Accra, Ghana - "How are you?" I asked Samuel, as I clambered into his taxi, ball, camera and all.

"Small-small," he responded, using a local expression I have become very fond of. "Everything in Ghana is small-small: work small, earn small, live small," he added.

We were going through the winding lanes of Accra's Pig Farm neighbourhood in an attempt to bypass Accra's almost impenetrable afternoon traffic. Through the cracked windscreen of the taxi, I watched soccer players pass our row of stalled fuming cars; the players were on their way to local dirt fields for a daily dose of pick-up soccer.

Accra, Ghana - This week I played a lot of soccer.

I played on the streets of Abidjan, Ivory Coast, dribbling in and out of traffic. I played in the city's diverse neighbourhoods, in the pick-up games that take place every afternoon (see my photo essay for an example of street games in Abidjan's Biafra neighbourhood). I played in the port, with the women selling smoked fish and eggplant soup. And I played on the scenic bridge leading into the city's business district.

It was on the bridge that I got my first scar of the journey. I tripped over a tackle and fell chin first on the asphalt. Wham. Bloody.

Abidjan, Ivory Coast: This week I ventured into Abidjan's ghetto, a neighbourhood called Appecoube, to catch up with the Ivory Coast's (local) captain, Ali Badra Sangare.

When I first saw him he was leaning on the back of his car and talking on his mobile phone (it seems to be the preferred stance here - everywhere you go, people are draped over their cars). Badra was dressed in stylish jeans, a tight white tank top and a designer cap with an ostentatious green and red stripe down the front.

ABIDJAN, IVORY COAST - When you drive through the muggy streets of Abidjan, soccer is everywhere.

In the suburbs, the roadside dirt fields are packed with teams, and in the city's shiny business centre, soccer-themed billboards line the streets. They announce variations of: "Celebrating 50 years of emotions with the Elephants [the Elephants is the name of the country's national side]."

NAIROBI, KENYA - The other day I went down to the soccer field at Olympic primary school in Nairobi's Kibera slum to get the ball rolling, so to speak. As soon as I jumped out of the car, a mass of children swarmed the soccer ball in my arms. 

"Can I play?"

"Give it to me!"

NAIROBI, KENYA - This summer's World Cup in South Africa is going to be more about Africa than about football. It's going to be about the fans, the music, the dancing, the food and the fervour. It's going to be a celebration like no other. 

I've been living based in Nairobi, Kenya for the last four years and travelled the continent extensively as a journalist.