973/FCS

Dispatch: a series dedicated to immersive storytelling, where our photographers and writers journey to chosen places, combining evocative imagery with long-form editorials to uncover and share unique football cultures.

THAT 2010 FEELING

WORDS & PHOTOGRAPHY Liam Harwood

AUGUST 6 2026
SOUTH AFRICA

For many South Africans, the most socially integrated we have ever felt is when we hosted the Football World Cup in 2010, which is the last time we were in the tournament. 16 years later, I thought that the same vibes, fan parks and celebrations would take centre stage again. After all, it was a huge achievement making it to the world stage and then making it out the group stages for the first time in Bafana Bafana’s history.

What was meant to be a celebration of different cultures, teams, food, and music ended up being over-shadowed by a mass mobilisation, protest and attack against foreign African nationals. Named the ‘March and March’ protest, dangerous right-wing rhetoric was weaponised, where vulnerable foreign people were scapegoated for economic and social crises outside of their control. Protest groups gave foreign African nationals an arbitrary deadline: “Leave South Africa by June 30th, or else”. On the 28th of June, South Africa made their first appearance in the knockout stages against Canada, and on June 30th thousands of people fled the country for their lives.

I felt disillusioned with what it means to be South African. ‘Ubuntu’, a phrase in South African Nguni philosophy, means “I am because we are”, a sentiment that holds no weight anymore. I travelled around the Western Cape trying to find the ‘2010 feeling’: superfans and real-life stories of people who resonated with the sense of Ubuntu through football. Like me, it seemed most South Africans shared a dual sense of pride and disgust. I couldn’t feel patriotic, sitting in bars and packed screenings felt like ignoring the elephant in the room.

I decided to take my efforts to real third spaces, beach football, street football and local football games, to try and regain a sense of community through football. I was visiting a friend in the Bo-Kaap, a historically segregated neighbourhood that is celebrated as the cultural heart of the Cape Malay Muslim community, when we came across a street football game. All I did was look at the ball and I was invited by default. Communication was a mix of Afrikaans, Arabic, and English. The game was choppy with no flow and pretty hilarious. The ball constantly went under cars and ran down the road. Arguments on whether it crossed the imaginary line in different languages.

The ball does not discriminate, it connects people who are separate, it speaks to people who can’t communicate. I immersed myself in these spaces again, playing street games as I came across them and connecting with people I otherwise would not connect with in my daily life. —

INDEX NEXT