CECAFA Women Championship goes unnoticed as Simba-Yanga drama holds the nation hostage

TANZANIA: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and all those spiritually held hostage by the never-ending national drama known as Simba vs Yanga… we need to talk.

No, not about whether the latest derby will be played in a stadium, a courtroom, or on Mount Kilimanjaro.

We need to talk about something far more shocking—real football. Played with passion. With skill. With pride. And here’s the twist: played by women.

But before we get to that, let’s recap the melodrama that has paralyzed an entire country.

It all began on what should have been a normal day: March 8, 2025.

While the rest of the world was celebrating International Women’s Day, Tanzania quietly slid into a football coma. Since then, nothing has moved.

No other sport has breathed. Unless it’s dressed in red or green, nobody cares.

Tanzania’s sporting soul has been taken hostage by two clubs—Simba and Yanga— whose disagreements are now more culturally significant than Independence Day.

Every day, citizens wake up not to news about the economy, health, or education, but updates on whether Simba’s secretary-general used the wrong emoji in a WhatsApp group.

This madness even extends to how we label things.

The infamous “Kariakoo Derby” is a textbook case of how geography was declared irrelevant in the face of football fanaticism.

Only one of these clubs is actually located in Kariakoo. The other is from a neighbouring area called Jangwani.

But does that stop anyone from shouting about the Kariakoo Derby like it’s a sacred truth? Of course not.

Meanwhile, in a quiet corner of Dar es Salaam— Chamazi to be exact—something magical has been happening.

An actual international football tournament has been going on. No drama. No press conferences. No legal threats. Just football.

Enter the CECAFA Women’s Championship.

Yes, that’s right. The Council for East and Central Africa Football Associations has been hosting a full-blown women’s tournament since June 13.

You didn’t hear about it? That’s okay. Most Tanzanians didn’t either.

The first match saw Uganda take on Burundi. On the same day, Tanzania faced South Sudan.

The matches are held at Azam Complex in Chamazi, and they are quite frankly, excellent.

But back in the real capital—where football drama is the national religion— Mama Prez had summoned the top brass of Simba and Yanga to State House.

The goal: to try and end the deadlock that had turned every sports headline into a courtroom summary.

Naturally, this meeting swallowed all the media oxygen available in the country.

Imagine the scene: Ikulu Chamwino, the air heavy with the scent of tension, sweat… and Surprise by Mama.

Simba officials tumbling out of their convoy in what can only be described as emergency leisurewear — one still clutching a half-eaten chapati…

The other clearly robbed of his socks by fate or sleep.

Meanwhile, Yanga’s delegation looked like they were summoned mid-matinee: one chap had on a safari suit top and sweatpants bottom.

Another sported what can only be described as “church shoes for the left foot, beach slippers for the right.”

But the cherry on this cake of chaos? The kit manager. He came. Full tracksuit. Whistle around neck.

Probably thought Mama called him in to inspect the presidential dressing room.

And yet, amidst the fashion faux pas and mismatched blazers, something magical happened.

Mama, in her usual demeanour, didn’t even need to raise her voice.

One glance — just one motherly, don’t-make-mecome-over-there glare — and suddenly the most stubborn football standoff in Tanzanian history melted like Blueband in the sun.

They talked. They compromised. Someone probably wept softly into a Zanzibar kofia.

And no one, NO ONE, dared repeat that now-infamous declaration: HATUCHEZI!

Not under Mama’s roof. Not in her house. Not when the nation’s peace was at stake.

And the CECAFA Women’s Championship was out here dying in obscurity at Chamazi.

All of a sudden, just like during the famous white smoke flow from-you-knowwhere… We had a Derby!

We now await the rematch with popcorn, but next time, please… someone tell Simba and Yanga to carry an extra pair of socks and a comb.

Back to our day’s agenda, let me give you a bit of history while we are here.

The CECAFA Women’s Championship first took place in 1986 in Zanzibar. Guess what? The host team won.

Then the entire tournament disappeared for three decades.

A revival was attempted in 2007 but fizzled out.

Then, in 2016, Uganda hosted it, and Tanzania won. Tanzania won again in 2018.

But these victories were treated like a neighbour’s wedding you forgot to RSVP for.

No one showed up.

Why should you care? Because our national obsession with just two football clubs has created a warped sports culture.

When 90% of all sporting energy is focused on a single rivalry, everything else withers away.

Netball, basketball, athletics, volleyball—slow deaths. No fans. No sponsors. No headlines.

Talented young athletes are ignored. Facilities decay. Coaches go unpaid.

And eventually, the dream of becoming a world-class athlete becomes a joke reserved for club house conversations.

And so, while Simba and Yanga book first-class tickets to mediation hearings in Europe, Olympic hopefuls are training barefoot on dusty pitches.

Surviving on bottled water and motivational quotes.

We’re raising a generation of sports fans who can recite the full Simba squad but can’t name a single Tanzanian sprinter.

Or even worse, we don’t even know we have a women’s national team.

And no, we’re not saying abandon the beloved derby. Let Simba and Yanga have their thunder. But they cannot be the only ones allowed to make noise.

So, what can we do?

First, the Ministry responsible for sports needs to expand its vision.

Broaden the definition of “national sport” beyond two clubs.

Begin nurturing talent across all disciplines. Otherwise, we’re training national futility.

Second, sports media editors need to grow a spine.

Start dedicating real airtime to lesser-known sports.

And no, one paragraph buried under a football gossip column doesn’t count as coverage.

Third, give sponsors a reason to diversify.

If you’re a major company, stop pretending your only branding options are derby jerseys.

Put your money where the neglected talent is. And throw in some bonuses for good measure.

Fourth, revamp the school sports system.

Make it mandatory for schools to include more than just boys’ football.

Let girls run. Let them jump. Let them spike volleyballs and shoot hoops.

The future gold medallist could be stuck playing football because that’s all the PE teacher knows.

Fifth, educate the public. Let it be considered cool—yes, cool—to support women’s sports.

Turn the narrative. Get influencers talking about handball and javelin.

Let gym selfies include basketball courts, not just treadmills.

Because sports are not just about competition. They’re about national identity. Pride. Hope. They bring us together—when we let them.

And while Simba and Yanga continue playing chess with the entire football federation, young girls are quietly building a legacy.

In silence. In shadows. But with immense strength.

So next Sunday, instead of waiting for the latest club statement about a cancelled press briefing about a postponed match, maybe—just maybe—check the CECAFA Women’s Championship schedule.

You might be surprised. You might even enjoy it. Because the real derby right now isn’t Simba vs Yanga.

It’s Progress vs Obsession.

And obsession is currently leading by 6-0 on aggregate.

But all is not lost. There’s still time to make a comeback. We just need to care.

So, if you’re reading this in your comfy chair, sipping tea and scrolling through your sports WhatsApp group for Simba gossip—pause.

Take a breath. Google “CECAFA Women’s Championship.”

Find the next match. Tune in. Cheer like you’ve never cheered before.

And when someone asks, “Who’s playing this weekend?” look them dead in the eye and say: “Uganda vs Tanzania… in women’s football.”

And if they look confused, give them directions to Chamazi. Tell them entrance is free….

Because that’s where the real game is being played.

Let Simba and Yanga argue in peace. But let’s not miss the real sport blooming quietly on the sidelines.

Here’s to the ladies in boots, playing with heart, even when the nation forgets.

We see you. We salute you. And finally, we’re paying attention. Happy Sunday. Let’s broaden our scoreboard.