Africa-Press – Tanzania. THIS week in East African football felt like a Bongo movie director secretly infiltrated CAF headquarters at night. He found the desk with the “Fixtures & Logic” file, threw it out of the window and replaced it with a script titled: Season 4 – Continental Madness.
Plot twists appeared without warning. Emotional collisions happened with the punctuality of Dar es Salaam traffic jams. Villains returned from last season. Underdogs discovered dangerous confidence.
Even referees played cameo roles in this emotional series, forming something close to a love triangle with crossbars and the concept of extra time. And standing in the centre of all this chaos? Our beloved East African giants.
Some rising like gospel choirs on Sunday morning. Some collapsing like broken plastic chairs at a village ceremony. But all of them delivering enough drama to sustain us through the long workweek.
Naturally, we begin with Simba. A rule older than the stadium floodlights: Before treating the patient, we first examine the symptoms. Simba SC travelled to Bamako to face Stade Malien for their second CAF Champions League assignment.
What transpired was less a football match and more a poetic presentation titled: “How Not to Defend in the First Half.” It was as if Simba had arrived in Mali under strict instructions to conduct tourism, not competition.
Stade Malien, with the politeness of librarians asking for silence, gently tucked in two goals before halftime. There was no malice. No violence. Just the professional courtesy of opponents saying: “Karibuni, but this is our home.”
By the time Simba realised this was a competitive match and not a sightseeing expedition, they were already two goals deep and searching the continent’s clearance section for dignity.
Yes, they scored early in the second half. Yes, they tried. Yes, they huffed and puffed. But Simba’s huffing these days feels like a man blowing into cold tea expecting it to turn into hot coffee. Nature doesn’t work like that. Neither does football.
Simba remains bottom of Group D, staring upwards at Esperance Tunis the way a confused student stares at exam results, wondering where the teacher found the audacity to award such marks. And then came the second earthquake of the week.
In a move that shocked nobody and yet surprised everyone, Simba announced the sacking of their General Manager Dimitar Pantev and his two Bulgarian assistants, Vitomir Vuntov and Byoko Kamenov.
Three men, one decision and a very loud signal: “We are resetting the reset.” Simba’s season has become a long novel titled “What Exactly Is Happening Here?” and every chapter introduces a new character, a new crisis, or a new committee.
But before the region could sink into sorrow, enter Yanga, because the Lord gives and the Lord takes. This week, He took Simba’s peace but gave Yanga’s fans a continental makeover.
Yanga travelled to Algeria to face JS Kabylie, a fixture that historically has given East Africans high blood pressure. But the Yanga that emerged in Tizi Ouzou did not resemble the Yanga of old.
These new Yanga walked onto the pitch like diplomats on a peacebuilding mission but fought like men who had finally found continent-compatible courage.
They produced a goalless draw that smelled suspiciously like maturity. They hit the woodwork. They defended with honour. They attacked with a clarity rarely seen in North African away fixtures.
People watching at home cleaned their TV screens, wondering if it was a technical glitch. Elders squinted. Experts whispered. “Is this truly Yanga? Or visiting spirits from Casablanca?”
The standings delivered the biggest shock of all: Yanga SC level on points with Al Ahly, Africa’s footballing aristocrats. The plot twist was so extreme it deserved dramatic music. Aunties paused their chores. Uncles lost their remote controls.
“How? When? Where has this team come from?”
Now East Africans observe Yanga with the cautious fascination normally reserved for relatives who suddenly become rich and begin speaking with a faint Dubai accent.
Are they real? Will they maintain this? Should we pray with them or for them? But the East African continental drama had more chapters. Far away in Singida, Alejandro “Gamondi the Builder” was polishing his footballing gemstones.
This is a man from Argentina, the land of tango and Maradona, where football is not played, it is felt. He has a talent for transforming clubs into disciplined, stubborn, well-drilled forces of irritation.
His Singida Black Stars faced Stellenbosch and drew 1–1, but the draw came with a scent of something brewing. Something slow, steady, patient and very dangerous.
Stellenbosch expected a comfortable meal. They instead received an unbreakable East African steel rod. Gamondi’s Singida do not sparkle. They do not dance sambas. They do not swirl. They cling. They claw. They refuse to die.
In every match they appear like determined old men collecting plastic bags: Suspiciously committed. If their form continues, Singida will likely spoil someone’s continental ambitions on the final matchday and the region will celebrate like it’s Eid.
But nothing this week, nothing, matches the premium continental comedy brewing in Nairobi. Enter Azam FC vs Nairobi United: The first-ever CAF East African Derby.
Do you feel that trembling in the atmosphere? That is history adjusting its spectacles, getting ready for the spectacle. Azam, two matches, zero goals, but strangely shimmering with offensive promise.
Nairobi United, two matches, zero goals, zero shots of ambition, but full of home-based confidence only Kenyans can produce. A perfect derby of droughts. A continental clash of THOU SHALT NOT SCORE clubs.
But the real circus. The masterpiece of comedy is that nobody knows where in Nairobi this match will be played. Nobody. Nobody at all. The fans? Already designing posters for stadiums that might not host the match.
The journalists? Pretending to “wait for official communication” while guessing locations like people choosing lucky lotto numbers. CAF? Calm on the outside, but inside refreshing Google Maps like teenagers stalking an ex.
Kasarani? Maybe. Nyayo? Possibly. Rongai? Could be, though once you enter Rongai, even Google Maps throws its hands up. Kibera? Kariobangi? Westlands parking lot? At this point, even the roundabout near Uhuru Park is a serious option.
CAF seems to be “feeling the vibe” of the city before deciding a stadium, the way aunties decide who deserves more pilau at the family gathering. Kick-off time? Unknown.
Fan attendance? Unclear. Probability fans will attend without permission? A healthy 120 per cent. With an overflow into Thika Road. Azam’s training must now include all grass types: natural, artificial, goat-eaten and roadside.
Nairobi United, meanwhile, are preparing with the full confidence of people who believe home soil solves all problems, even when they haven’t identified which soi
And yet, poetry lives in this derby. Two teams starving for goals. Two nations desperate for bragging rights. Two fanbases ready to declare continental dominance based on one win.
But should this match end 0–0, as probability and destiny suggest, the region will collectively laugh, cry, meme and call for both teams to be given community service for emotional trespass.
Meanwhile, Simba will still be asking what exactly hit them in Bamako and who kidnapped their defence. Yanga will be writing postcards from every foreign stadium they conquer. S
ingida will be recharging their stubborn batteries for their next heroic draw. Azam will be asking Google Maps for answers. Nairobi United will be reminding everyone they still exist.
And through it all, we, the great Wachambuzi Republic, remain undefeated. We analyse football with authority we do not possess. We criticise with confidence we did not earn. We predict with the accuracy of a broken weather app.
And we enjoy every blessed minute of it. Because this, dear reader, is East African football. It is therapy. It is medicine. It is comedy and tragedy sitting on the same bench. It is an unpaid counsellor raising the region’s blood pressure with exquisite consistency.
