THE other night, I had the strangest dream. I was a cheeky waiter at this boardroom café tucked somewhere in the chaotic, fast-paced heart of Dar es Salaam.
The sun was setting, the coffee was brewing and everything felt just right for a little eavesdropping. In walk the best of friends or let us be real, the fiercest rivals in town Yanga and Simba.
Two legendary clubs whose history dates back to the 1930s, sitting down to discuss the most pressing issue of the hour. And now thinking about it, I am pretty sure it was the recent stadium buzz sweeping across Mainland Tanzania and Zanzibar that triggered this oddball dream.
So, there I was, doing my waiter thing pretending to wipe down tables (while, let us face it, I was just leaning in to hear the gossip).
The topic on their minds? No, not their onfield strategies. Not their international glory days. But stadiums. Yes, stadiums (smile) or more specifically, the glaring lack of one.
Yanga, the ever ambitious one, had been flirting with the idea of abandoning Azam’s Chamazi complex as home turf in favour of Kinondoni Municipal Council (KMC) ground.
A move wedged somewhere between the hustle of Dar es Salaam’s residential chaos. “Can you believe this, Simba?” Yanga grumbled. “Azam, KMC, Ruvu they all have got shiny new stadiums. What have we been doing?” He shook his head dramatically.
And I, being a seasoned café eavesdropper (it is a profession, don’t look @ me), could not resist. I leaned in, slightly closer, but still pretended to be wiping the next table.
It was the perfect opportunity for some stadium drama. “You know,” Simba said, letting out a sigh, “maybe we have been a little too laid-back about this whole ‘owning a stadium’ thing.” Now, granted, these two are legends.
They have been fine renting out Benjamin Mkapa Stadium for years, with zero commitment, just cruising through life without the headache of ownership.
I mean, who needs to own a stadium when you can rent the best one in town and look fabulous doing it? But I could feel the change in the air like a dark cloud creeping over the café as the realisation hit. Azam had built its own stadium. KMC, Mtibwa and Ruvu Shooting? Same thing.
All these younger clubs were out here flexing their new grounds, while the big guns were still sitting pretty, renting and pretending they did not care. Simba leaned back in his chair, sighed deeply, and muttered, “Why have not we kicked off our Bunju stadium project yet? It’s been five years.
Five! Every time we get close, something sidetracks us contractors, foreign players, budget reallocation… It is like the stadium keeps slipping through our fingers.” Yanga, chuckling bitterly, did not let it slide. “You are right.
We are in the same boat. Remember our Kigamboni plot? Vanished into thin air, like a signed contract. “And the Jangwani project? That one is always ‘coming soon’ as soon as the bridge is built, of course.
You know the drill new signings, shiny new players and then maybe, just maybe, a stadium.” Both clubs looked at me, probably wondering why I was lingering so long with the coffee pot.
I gave them my best innocent waiter look and moved away but in reality, I was not about to miss a word.
As I brought them another round of coffee, the conversation took an interesting turn. Simba scratched his head, clearly deep in thought. “So here we are, years of talking about building a stadium and we have not even started.
Why? Because every time we are ready to commit, the budget gets diverted to the latest signing. Is it really worth it?” Yanga, ever the reflective one, chuckled again, this time more knowingly.
“Oh, do not get me started. We have got land, sure, but what are we doing with it? Chasing Mwamba wa Lusaka around while our dream stadium gets put on the back burner?
At this rate, we will be playing Kaunda stadium at our Jangwani club house and calling it a ‘masterpiece’ by 2030!” Simba, holding his coffee with a new sense of urgency, leaned in.
“It’s not just about the stadium. It is about the fans. Imagine the revenue we are missing out on. Own a stadium and we can host concerts, community events, even weddings!
We could be raking in cash while making our fans feel at home!” Yanga nearly spat out his coffee at the thought of Yanga-themed weddings, but the idea had a kernel of truth.
Renting the stadium might work for now but imagine the cash flow if they owned their own turf training programmes, fan events, merchandising galore! Simba, ever the realist, quickly brought them back down to Earth.
“You know, building a stadium is not pocket change. Azam can do it, sure, but for us? We are talking millions. Millions! Land acquisition, construction, maintenance. It is not just a project; it is a lifestyle.” He looked down into his coffee as if hoping it would give him the answers.
“I mean, look at Manchester City. They rent the Etihad. West Ham? London Stadium. It works for them. They do not own their stadiums, but they are still raking it in.” Yanga raised an eyebrow.
“So, you are saying we could rent a stadium and leave the construction costs to someone else? Seems too easy.” Simba shrugged, a slight grin breaking through. “It is not about easy it is about practical.
Renting allows you to save a fortune and you still get the exposure and fan experience. Yeah, there are scheduling conflicts with events, but that is a small price to pay for not bleeding out on maintenance.”
Yanga leaned in, intrigued. “Okay, I will bite. What about sharing? Teams like Liverpool and Everton shared Anfield until they had a little falling out.
They built a whole rivalry out of that rent dispute!” Simba nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Exactly! It’s not just about the stadium; it’s about what happens around it. Sharing a stadium can create some of the fiercest rivalries.” Yanga, who had been quiet for a moment, could not help but chuckle.
“You know, maybe you are onto something. Sharing a stadium could actually work. I mean, look at AC Milan and Inter Milan. Same turf, no problem, still bitter enemies.
They get the perks without the costs.” Simba smiled. “Exactly. And they’re still getting top-tier players and exposure. Not bad for two clubs that don’t own their home, right?” Yanga mulled it over, clearly torn.
“It sounds good on paper, but can you imagine the banter? Fans would riot! We cannot share. We are Simba and Yanga. The rivalry is too deep.” But Simba was not done yet.
“Sure, the fans might grumble at first. But think about it two clubs, one shared home. It would save us millions on building costs and we could still build the rivalry. Maybe we just need to be flexible for now.
” The conversation grew more heated as the two of them bantered back and forth about stadium ownership, rental and even sharing.
It was as if the fate of Tanzanian football hung on whether or not they could agree on one simple question: stadiums or not? Yanga, ever the dreamer, let out a sigh. “True, true.
But owning our own place? That is a whole different level. A place where every inch scream Simba or Yanga, not just the football but the heart and soul of the fans, too.” Simba, with a sly grin, leaned back in his chair, looking at his rival. “Maybe it is time we shared. I mean, we won’t be the first. AC Milan and Inter Milan have been doing it for years.
They’re still going strong, right?” Yanga seemed almost convinced, his eyes glinting with a mix of scepticism and excitement. “Yeah, yeah… maybe. But do you really think we can pull it off? I cannot imagine the fans just accepting it.”
Simba was in full brainstorming mode now. “Why not? If we get creative, we can brand the stadium, make it feel like both clubs have their identity…” Two egos, one stadium. Sounds like a sitcom waiting to happen. S
o, I thought. In my dream. The café was quiet now, the conversation winding down. The coffee cups were nearly empty and the dream, just like the stadium debate, was beginning to fade.
They both knew it was not just about pride. It was about legacy. Whether they built their own or shared a ground, the need to evolve was clear.
The fans expected it. The players expected it. And most importantly, they themselves expected it. As the café emptied out, Yanga and Simba shook hands, a mutual understanding between them.
Stadiums were not just about construction they were about a future. Whether they built one together or separately, the dream of a home was no longer something to put off.
It was time to get to work. And just as they left, I woke up from my dream, with a start.
