Fabrice Muamba: I'm Still Standing Page 4

  When dad left, the main guy in my life was gone. Life started to change. Fewer people came to the house and we realised who our real friends were.

  People stopped wanting to be associated with the Muambas. I understood why because I knew they could get wrapped up in whatever the new regime had in store for us. But it just made us feel more terrified and alone.

  The only positive from this kind of life was the way it shaped me. When you start to stress about the minor things in life you forget what matters.

  Anxiety and worry are things you don’t need. Try living with the threat of death hanging over you. Try getting to sleep at night when all you can hear is gunfire getting closer and closer to your own front door. You’ll soon realise what matters.

  #####

  “Get up daddy, come on, get up,” Joshua shouts, his tiny body reaching up for the TV screen mounted on the wall at home, as if he knows that I need all the help I can get. “Mummy, daddy is frozen, daddy is frozen – get up daddy.”

  Shauna is hysterical and panicking big time. Her mum, Marva, is over at our house and kicks in to protective mode.

  “Maybe he just fainted,” she says.

  “Mum, this is serious – I can tell this is proper serious,” Shauna replies. Her instincts are in overdrive.

  She knows I’m dying.

  #####

  Without knowing it at the time, dad’s departure had started the ball rolling on my new life in the UK. England gave both of us a new lease of life and a new opportunity. My eventual departure from Congo in 1999 was just as quick as my dad’s had been all those years before.

  Mum very quietly mentioned that I needed to go and get a photograph taken for a passport. I remember thinking that was strange. Why did I need a passport? I wasn’t going anywhere. How wrong can you be?

  We went into the centre of Kinshasa and I still didn’t have a clue what was going on. Mum was laughing and joking at the same time and wouldn’t tell me. We then went to the UK Embassy. Everything was pretty cool and relaxed. In a way, it was the calm before the storm.

  A couple of helpers in the embassy addressed me in French as I couldn’t speak any English at all and before I knew it the words they were speaking would be some of the most important I would ever hear.

  “Hi Fabrice,” they said.

  “So you’re the boy going to the UK?”

  “What?”

  That was the first I’d heard. I was badly confused by what I was hearing.

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  The next thing I know I have a visa stamped into my passport and I’m heading to Europe.

  Dad had been in a legal battle to allow him to stay in the UK and after being successful the first thing he did was apply for me to join him.

  I had to sit down for a second and try and absorb all this. By the time it started sinking in I thought it was pretty cool. Europe sounded fun. Most of all it sounded safe. It was a chance for me and mum to get out alive.

  But the next words spoken really rocked me.

  “It’s just you,” they said.

  No visa for mum. I was going on my own. That felt weird and sad but I must admit that I was too excited to let everything really sink in. I was young and selfish and I couldn’t stop thinking about this big, bold adventure I was going on.

  After receiving permission to join dad we couldn’t tell anyone I was going in case somebody tried to stop me. It was still a dangerous time.

  We got the visa on a Friday and on the Saturday mum took me for a haircut and bought me new shoes, shirt, trousers and a jacket. She wanted her baby boy to land in Europe looking his best. It was all a blur.

  Everybody in Congo wants to come to Europe. They’re obsessed with it – it is one step closer to heaven in some people’s eyes – so mum was happy I was going but also obviously upset at the same time. Although we were sworn to secrecy, my Aunt Fifi was someone who obviously knew what was going on. On the Sunday, she told me to behave myself and be good.

  During the rest of the day, I saw other family and friends who had no idea where I was going or why I was dressed so smartly. I was usually covered in sand and cuts from football and here I was dressed in all these new clothes with a fresh haircut. It was hard to keep it inside. Hard not to tell everyone, hard not to hug my aunties and uncles, to not let people know that I was leaving the country. It’s the biggest secret I’ve kept in my life.

  I will never forget my departure. I couldn’t wait to see dad. I was excited as this was my first time on a plane. Mum bought me a ticket with money dad had sent back from the UK. From Kinshasa to Nairobi then Nairobi to London Heathrow, Kenya Airways.

  As we left my house for the last time I had one last look around. I knew that would be it for a long time – and it was.

  Mum put me in the back of the car and as we set off for the airport all my mates were walking towards our house to see if I was in, to see if I was coming out for a game of football. That upset me. ‘I’m never going to see them again,’ I thought to myself.

  I slid down my seat in the car and thought about what was happening to me. I was so excited about Europe but that moment and those memories will never leave me. I was heading for a new life but I’d also enjoyed my old one too.

  We left the house and mum was holding it together well. We got to the airport for the Sunday afternoon flight and she was ok. She was her normal self. The journey was uneventful, as if neither of us could quite believe it.

  But that changed when I started walking to the plane. At the airport in Kinshasa you can see someone boarding their flight directly from the terminal. Mum was looking through the glass viewing gallery, blowing me kisses with tears running down her cheeks. I was the same.

  I was only 11 years old.

  First I’d lost my dad and now I was losing my mum.

  One minute I was living in Kinshasa, getting on with life, moving forward and trying to literally survive. The next minute I’m landing at Heathrow. It is moments like these which made me as a man. Not many youngsters can have gone through that.

  After my tears had dried, I remember sitting on the plane chilling and relaxing, checking out everything. I had a woman looking after me in Nairobi for a day, chaperoning me, before the flight to London.

  Nothing thrilling happened on the flight, but as I got closer

  to London the excitement started to build. Now I was the most hyper kid on the planet. I couldn’t wait to land, couldn’t wait to see my dad and see what was happening.

  The first shock hit me as soon as I stepped off the plane. Nobody had told me about the cold. My God, cold like no cold on Earth! Cold, cold, cold. As cold as can be. I can still shiver thinking about it.

  When you get off a plane in a hot country you can feel the warmth seeping through the tunnel as you walk into the airport building. It was like that in reverse. This cold got into my bones big time. December in England – how could people live like this? It was a totally new and strange experience.

  I put that to one side and sprinted through to get my bags. I just wanted to see my father after so long without him in my life. I was crazily excited.

  I walked through into the arrivals and there he was. Tears flooded down my face. I’m an emotional guy and I sometimes find it hard to keep it together.

  I’m back with my dad. I’m finally back with my dad.

  He bent over and gave me a massive bear hug. He was clean shaven and he looked so smart and young. I remember thinking ‘Does everyone in Europe look so good for their age?’

  It was one of the most memorable moments of my life. That hug from my father will last forever in my heart.

  #4

  Culture Shock

  IT’S hard to express just what a shock to my system London was. There I am, an 11-year-old African boy thrown into a new country. It might as well have been an entirely different planet. What was going on? We got on the Tube back from the airport and I couldn’t believe there were so many people, so many sights
and sounds, so many grown-ups crammed into one space.

  This was not Kinshasa, that was for sure. My eyes must have been popping out of my head trying to take it all in. Two days ago my mum mentioned that I needed a passport photo and now I’m holding my dad’s hand on the Tube in London, feeling the train rattling along, freezing cold, wondering if I was in some sort of exciting dream. It was unbelievable. We arrived at Lea Bridge Road in Leyton where dad lived in his two-bed flat. I looked up at my new home thinking how strange it was to be there. I was now a Londoner, for better or for worse. It was time to try and begin again.

  After a month at home settling in, I was ready to face the big, bad world of school. Dad had enrolled me in Kelmscott School in Walthamstow.

  I’ll never forget it. If only somebody could’ve seen me that day. It was so different to everything I had known before. I was excited and nervous. I remember walking through the massive school gates thinking ‘what is going on?’ It didn’t feel like five minutes since I was kicking a football around on a dirt patch in Africa and now there I was, in my blue jumper, white t-shirt and blue trousers desperately trying to dodge the puddles while people’s mouths opened and closed with these strange noises coming out of them. In my head all I could think was ‘why are you all speaking so fast?’

  I walked into reception and the Head of Year 7 took me in and introduced me. It was the shock of a lifetime. The receptionist was talking to me but all I could do was just nod my head and grin. I didn’t have a clue what she was saying. I stood there like an idiot. I was taken in to meet 7E, my form, and everyone was talking and shouting. It was just all so different.

  Everyone’s first day in a new school is a frightening prospect. Anyone who has done it will admit they would’ve preferred to stay in bed that day instead. Well, imagine trying to do it on a different continent with people talking in this crazy, weird language while the cold from the stone floors seeps through your school shoes. That’s what I faced! The thought makes me grin wider than ever; it was all so insane.

  I sat in the class, terrified, and all of a sudden this bell went. What was that? What is the bell for? I soon realised it meant we had to leave our form room for class.

  My new classmates were barging past and hustling their way through the corridors. I staggered around trying to understand the timetable someone had shoved in my hands. I eventually got some help from a boy called Cameron. I sat at the back of every class with a special assistant who could speak French.

  She translated all the lessons in a tiny whisper, helping me to come to terms with the craziness around me. It wasn’t easy. Back in Kinshasa I concentrated on just three subjects and used different coloured pens in my one notebook to work out which subject was which. In England, all of a sudden I’ve got what feels like 50 subjects to try and conquer, all with their own notebooks, textbooks and so on. I didn’t think I could carry all of them never mind read them! Imagine going to university as well? Oh Lord...

  However, as time went by, I slowly picked up the language and as I improved I realised one thing: my learning was way ahead thanks to what I had been taught in Africa. The stuff you learn when you are eight in Congo you learn at 11 in England, so I sped through most of the work. But there were still hiccups along the way. My teachers realised I was very good at maths but we couldn’t talk about it because my English was so bad!

  Bit by bit I got better. I slowly started putting sentences together so I could read small books but learning to speak sometimes worked against me. I remember once going on and on to dad about letting me go on a school trip to Barcelona. The chance to go there was too good to miss. Dad paid up and off we went.

  When we got there I told everyone I could swim. “Watch me, watch me, I can swim, I can swim!” I just got carried away.

  I couldn’t swim then. I can barely swim now.

  The rest of the class were shouting at me: “Fab, Fab, jump in, come on, jump in.” I jumped in thinking I would be fine, only to realise that I was in the deep end. Half a minute of coughing and spluttering later and I was plucked out by a lifeguard who had dived in to rescue me. That was the end of my swimming career. At least it helped me fit in a bit more as everybody laughed their heads off. I just wish I could’ve found an easier way to do it!

  That school trip also made me realise how much I truly loved playing football. I was obsessed with everything about it. There were a few year groups mingling on the trip so a ball would appear and we would all play together.

  When you get away from school the classroom cliques disappear and we all joined in together. I loved the ethnic mix we had at our school. Some people criticise London schools for being too multicultural but ours was amazing.

  All those different people from all over the world gave us an early understanding of the different kinds of cultures and worlds there are out there. We all learnt and respected our differences and religion and the different way of seeing things.

  But football gave some of us the chance to come together. It was during those games that people realised that I wasn’t a bad player. I faced older boys and did well. I realised you can gain self-respect and the respect of others from what you do on the pitch. It was a lesson that stuck with me.

  #####

  The stadium falls silent and still. The only movement seems to be the electronic pitch-side advertising hoardings which continue to rotate every few seconds sending out their message. Their bright colours seem at odds with the rapidly darkening mood. That stillness is broken as the pitch becomes littered with fluorescent saviours.

  Dr Tobin mutters: “Oh my God, it’s Fab” to himself as he sprints over to me. He is met at the scene by the Spurs doctor Shabaaz Mughal.

  Dr Mughal has also seen me hit the deck. Again, he needs no second invitation. Again, he isn’t officially summoned on to help. He is simply a doctor trying to save a man’s life regardless of whether he was one of ‘his’ players or not. You’re technically meant to wait for the referee to give you the nod before entering the field of play.

  I guess the rulebook went out of the window 14 seconds ago.

  #####

  I didn’t own a proper football kit until I started playing for my first Sunday team, Phoenix FC, in Year 8. My friend Cem had spotted me playing well on the yard and asked me to come along. I was bigger than everyone else and could head the ball so I did ok during lunchtime games. I could barely speak a word of English but he wanted me to try out. However, my first problem was that they played on a Sunday. There was no way dad would let me sacrifice church for football. But Cem’s dad went round to our house and worked his magic. The next thing you know, as long as my homework was done and I still attended church, I could play. I couldn’t believe it when dad said yes.

  On the Friday before my debut I came home from school and on the kitchen table were a pair of football boots. Proper, actual, boots. Oh my God. I’ve never been so happy. They were a pair of Fila Eurocup II. I just couldn’t believe it. I picked them up and sniffed them, turned them around and upside down, read the label inside – everything. They were black, blue and white with a big tongue that bent over. It was love at first sight. Every time I wore them I used to go straight home, wash them in soapy water, dry them and polish them before putting them under my bed. They were my pride and joy. I never, ever played in dirty boots – they were too precious for that.

  That Sunday, Cem’s dad came to pick me up and we travelled to some pitches in Leytonstone, right next to where the Olympic Park is now. I was proper nervous. I was about to play football in boots and on grass – actual proper grass – for the first time. I had my boots in my school bag and that was it. No shin-pads, no kit, no nothing. We arrived and I remember thinking ‘this is it!’ My English was still really bad so I couldn’t really speak to anyone as I walked into a changing room full of lads I didn’t know.

  Anyone who’s played any sport at any level knows that the first time you go to training or play a game for a new team is scary. I don’t care what anyone s
ays, you’re always a bit nervous. Within a month you’re all best mates but that first time never gets any easier. Well, on top of the usual nerves, try and imagine being a gangly African boy, easily the tallest in the team, thrown into a room full of kids speaking a different language to you. It wasn’t easy. You could see everyone wondering who this new quiet kid was. Why was he here? Was he any good?

  Then it got worse. “Here you go,” the coach said and threw me my kit. You’ve never seen smaller shorts in your life. They were tiny! They didn’t cover anything. But they were still part of my first football kit so I couldn’t be upset for long. I felt like a million dollars in this red and black shirt, red shorts and red socks. Add in my blue and black boots and I had so many colours on!

  They underestimated what I could do so I started on the bench and I was like every Sunday morning substitute in the country – freezing cold and bored. God, it was cold. I ran up and down just to stay warm, never mind trying to drop any hints to the manager. I pulled my shirt sleeves over my hands and shoved my hands in my armpits but nothing could put a smile on my face. The first half came and went, we conceded a goal and I was still doing nothing. I finally got on with 20 minutes to go. Little did I know, but something magic was about to happen.

  I played at the back and was determined to show what I could do. I was fast and sharp and the first thing that happened was I nailed their striker with a great tackle – bang – before passing the ball off nice and calmly to start another attack.

  You could hear the surprise on the sidelines. Maybe this big African boy could play. ‘Maybe this big African boy should’ve started,’ was what I was thinking. I got on the ball more and more until our left-back slipped it to one of our guys in midfield and I set off. As I went past him I screamed “give me the ball!”