Mark Budow with Johnson, his parents' caretaker at the match between Spain & Portugal, Cape Town 2010

When asked to write this piece my initial reaction was to give a rundown on the atmosphere at the games I attended, which included both the semifinals and the final itself. But, as my friends will tell you, I do not really like soccer so I shall rather tell the tale of a South African expat who travelled back into the future. If someone had suggested in 1982 when I landed in Israel making aliyah, that I would in the not too distant future be standing in Soweto next to a black policeman after he body-searched me on my way into the Soccer City stadium to see the World Cup Final, I would have said in my best South Afrikaans “you are skoon bedornered” (which, for our non-South African readers means you have lost the faculty of your senses).

Some six years ago the world’s football governing body awarded the 2010 FIFA WORLD CUP to South Africa, land of my birth. Avid sports fan that I am, I knew then that G-d willing I would be at that monumental event. But could South Africa pull off such an event? On my visits to South Africa over the years I was so often faced with third world inefficiency, leaving me and many other fans worldwide with huge doubts.

It takes a lot of serious planning or a lot of money to acquire seats to the main events of high profile sports events like the Olympics and ‘Mondial’ (as the soccer World Cup is known in the Holy Land).  So a Kupat Cholim GP has to plan seriously.

I shall not bore you with the details but to make a long story a bit shorter, suffice it to say that in February 2009 (some 16 months before a ball was kicked) I was in possession of several tickets to matches that I knew I would not attend. I have no real business sense and was brought up never to leave food on my plate (by finishing all the food I would solve the food crisis in Biafra, my mom would explain, or something to that effect).

So what should I do with my unwanted tickets to matches in Cape Town, Bloemfontein and Polokwane. One day, whilst driving to work, it struck me - donate them. But how? To whom?  I got on the internet and googled “Polokwane High Schools” and then did the same for Bloemfontein. The Mitchell House in Polokwane’s motto is ironically “Surrender Nothing Worthy”.   It reminded me of a patient of mine who for confidentiality purposes I shall call Yoram Van Der Merwe, who was so relieved when I told him that as he had prostate cancer he would have to be castrated. “Thank Heavens, doc,” he replied.  “The urologist said he was going to have to take away my test tickets!”

And so I wrote the following email to several headmasters in South Africa. Below is a transcript of the correspondence with Mitchell House: 

Dear Sir

Your website impressed me.

I currently live in Israel and am in possession of a ticket to the World Cup soccer match in Polokwane on 24 June 2010 between Paraguay and New Zealand. I shall only be arriving in your country on the 28^th, hence I am writing to the headmaster of three schools in the hope that they will give my tickets to three deserving pupils.

It would give me much pleasure to know that the tickets are not going to waste and my hope is that they will go to students who cannot afford the entrance fee and for whom it would be a memorable moment in their lives.

The ticket is currently in Cape Town being held by my father, Dr Gerald Budow. He can be reached by phone 021 434 6940 or mail.

All I ask is for you to choose a student who fits the above criteria. Please provide the student's name and address and the ticket will be in the mail.

Best regards

Dr Mark Budow

Israel 

More than a week went by before I received the following reply. 

Dear Dr Budow 

When I read your email I must confess that I thought it must be some sort of scam, such is the degree to which I have become cynical of good deeds! Your offer seemed just too good to be true. 

I have phoned your father, Dr Gerald Budow, to confirm the arrangement. He will be sending the ticket to the school at the following address marked for my attention: Mitchell House, PO Box 1051, Fauna Park, 0787. 

The lad we have chosen, Moloko Raphahlelo, represented our U15 soccer team in the Polokwane league. In the semifinal, his team went 1 nil up against a school with some 1000 pupils only to lose in the last minutes of the game. His coach, Ray van Rensburg, had no hesitation in selecting him for this wonderful gift. In his words, "Moloko has been the rock on which I have built the team.” 

I shall get Moloko to write to you after the match. We break up on Friday, 11 June, but I shall be coming in to school during the course of the week following breakup, and have told Moloko that I shall let him know the moment I receive the ticket. 

It remains for me to thank you on Moloko's behalf for the most generous gift to him. 

Yours sincerely

Andrew Cook 

And then a bit later: 

Dear Dr Budow

On rereading my email to you I see that my typing is not as good as my punctuation! I am delighted at the prospect. I told Moloko this morning in front of some youngsters who look up to him and they were astonished at his good fortune and recognised him as thoroughly deserving. I am always amazed how a small act of kindness has the ability to transform people beyond our telling: it is a sort of moral compound interest. I shall look out for the registered letter. 

Yours sincerely

Andrew Cook 

The headmaster in Bloemfontein was far more suspicious, but they too eventually received their ticket. By all reports a good time was had by all. My ticket plate was clean and my cup runneth over with the joy of giving. 

And so after six years of waiting I was finally on my way. What a wonderful surprise at Oliver Tambo airport. A mere 40 minutes after touching down I had managed to disembark, clear passport control, claim my bag and check in for my connecting flight to Cape Town - amazing! And this set the tone for the two weeks I stayed in South Africa - certainly the most efficient airports I have ever come across and the event organization quite spectacular - as efficient as the Chinese in Beijing - WELL DONE. 

But for me this World Cup was more than my personal endeavors and search for adrenalin rushes at high profile world sport events. For me it was  some small form of closure. As a child and young medical student I always felt uncomfortable about my privileged status as a wealthy Jewish white person surrounded by so much poverty. And so it was only natural for me to invite my parents’ caretaker, Johnson (I am embarrassed to write I do not know if that is his name, surname or both), to join me at my first match - a clash of the Titans between Spain and Portugal. I invited him in December 2008 - before I had tickets and then again in May 2009 when my application was successful. Since then he had been dreaming of the day that he, for the first time in his 70 years on planet Cape Town, would go and see a sports event live. 

As the day approached I toyed with the idea of selling his ticket on the black market and offering him the R2000 or so I would get for it - a huge amount for him. But that would possibly humiliate him and deny him a moment his nonexistent MasterCard could not buy: a place in the Johnson Family Hall of Fame. 

3pm game day (8.30pm kick off): I arrived home to find him sitting on the stairs outside my folks’ flat, patiently awaiting my arrival. We embraced and I gave him the South African hat and scarf I had bought for him in town a couple of hours earlier. He beamed like a four-year old on his birthday - the smile never leaving his face for the rest of the day. We met at 6pm as planned and my eyes lit up as Johnson produced what I can only describe as the great-grandmother of the modern Vuvuzela made out of seaweed that had been hollowed out and then painted in bright colors, including an animated face at the one end with the mouth open wide to allow the propulsed air to leave the instrument with its unique sound that both excited and irritated most humans on the planet for the entire World Cup. 

We sat down in the beer tent outside the magnificent stadium.  I fetched two beers only to be told that beer would hinder his focus of attention as it would make him want to “pukka pukka” (a term he accompanied with a fist slamming into his palm).  Beers were out.  He graciously accepted the pie and muffin and coke I bought him for dinner, popping them all into his bag to take home.  Then it was time for play. 

The game started and Johnson turned to me. "Mr Mark,” he asked, “why can't we hear the commentary?" This reminded me of the 1960's joke of the little boy at his first game who said, “Look Dad, it's in color." 

And yes, this too was in color, but for me was all about Black and White. Despite Mandela's attempt at building a rainbow nation, on this historic night for Spain, Johnson and myself,  the disparity between Black and 2010 White could be seen in Full HD. 

The game ended with a Spanish victory as Johnson had predicted and we left the stadium smiling and chatting together till we parted ways. We embraced one last time as he got on the bus to the Kayelitsha township and I walked back to my luxurious Sea Point beach-front flat; he with a memory of a lifetime, a night in a world that he knew existed but could not reach on his own, and me, a Knight of good deeds clutching my new toy, the sixty year old Vuvuzela I could never have dreamed of owning.

My World Cup experience then took me to Durban and Soweto where I saw Spain win 1-0 against Germany and Holland respectively. I stood just a few meters away from Sepp Blatter as he handed the Spanish captain the coveted trophy which he then held aloft for all the world to see. But for me the most uplifting moment of my trip was yet to come in the form of two emails I received, the second arriving Erev Succoth. 

The first was from a 15 year-old schoolboy from Polokwane who wrote (I leave it uncorrected): 

"I would like to thank you for the big opportunity to expereeince the FIFA 2010 World Cup. I reall enjoyed the game between Paraguay and New Zealand.

The most interesting part of the game was when the New Zealand players gave their boots to the crowd. That was really fun! I loved being at the game and thought it a great experience. I hope one day to be able help another young man go to the World Cup.

Yours sincerely

Moloko 

To which I replied: 

Dear Moloko

I am pleased you enjoyed the game even though as I recall it was quite a dull affair.

I was touched by your wish to be able to help someone else in the future. Did you ever see the movie "Pay it Forward"? It is one of my all time favorites. Try and get it from a video library. The moral is not to pay someone back for what they did for you but rather to "pay it forward" - in other words to do a good deed for someone else (not for the person who did you a good turn).

I wish you fulfill all your dreams for the future.

If by some chance you ever find yourself in this part of the world do not hesitate to contact me.

Yours sincerely

Mark 

And then whilst preparing for this article I wrote to the school asking permission to print my story. The answer came swiftly: 

Hi Mark 

I have just been reviewing reports and I noticed a distinct improvement in Moloko's academic performance. I am convinced that the realization that there are people in the world who are able to offer others something more than they would otherwise have, has inspired him. I shall ask his permission for you to use real names and get back to you today. I am sure he will have no objection; neither do I. 

Thank you for your continued contact and interest in Moloko and Mitchell House. 

Best wishes

Andrew Cook 

It is hard for me to have my story end here. I daydream about bringing a young underprivileged pupil from Mitchell House on a visit to Israel. In my fantasy he later becomes South African ambassador to the United Nations and becomes the leading voice of the sane standing up for Israel against the hypocrisy we are so used to.

If you were touched by my story and would like to be  a part of my dream to bring a pupil here, then drop me an email (markb1@bezeqint.net),  or call my mother, Sonia, at Protea Village (09 775 6282). All it takes is for 100 people to leave about 40 shekels on their plate and we can all Pay It Forward.