6667: More than just a game (fwd)

[Bob Corbett <corbetre@webster.edu>]

From: nozier <nozier@tradewind.net>

 Posted at 10:00 a.m. EST Monday, January 1, 2001
 MORE THAN JUST A GAME
 In Haiti, soccer provides hope for many children___By  YVES COLON


 PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti -- The children step out of the pickup, laughing
and
 tugging on their blue and green undershirts as they race across the
soccer field.
 Nearby, cows and horses lazily munch on the grass, not seeming to mind
the
 company.
 The youngsters look up at the jets flying low overhead, and joke that
they could
 reach their silver bellies with a good kick of the soccer ball. They
lace their boots
 and head for the training field bathed in the gentle, tropical light of
the setting sun.
 Bobby Duval doesn't notice any of this. He's frowning. The day before,
someone stole one of L'Atletique d'Haiti's large red coolers. Buying
another one is out of the question, and replacing it will involve
another complicated dance with his sponsors. The club was running out of
juice, too, not to mention the small soccer balls used to teach the
smaller players. ``Man, this never stops,'' laments Duval, 47, the
founder of L'Atletique, an anomaly in Haiti because it takes youngsters
from the slums of this city and gives them
 training, food and hope -- at no cost. ``This is a lot harder than
playing. Much
 harder.''
 It's easy to spot Duval on the field. A former semiprofessional soccer
player, he's
 a tall, muscular man who has gone a little soft in the stomach because
he no
 longer plays. In his own way, he's an anomaly, too, this light-skinned
man who
 has spent the past six years of his life transforming a field of broken
glass into a
 place where kids can launch their dreams of soccer stardom.
 In Haiti, where skin color marks boundaries and possibilities, Bobby,
as everyone
 calls him, shouldn't be here. His charges would point him out as a
child of the
 light-skinned elite from the hills above the city. Duval's father is an
auto-parts
 industrialist, and his brother, Edouard, is a celebrated Haitian artist
in Miami.
 Unlike many in his social class who have left the country or retreated
behind walls
 and private security guards, Duval came down those hills -- at least in
spirit --
 many years ago. He sees L'Atletique as his own longterm development
project, to
 bring his people together and to bring hope to youngsters like Wendy
Jean, a
 17-year-old from Duvivier, an overcrowded neighborhood nearby.
 ``I want to make millions,'' said Wendy, standing in front of the goal,
wearing a
 goalkeeper's gloves and dressed in a black and purple long-sleeve
shirt. In his
 wallet, he keeps a picture of the star keeper for the French national
team, and
 has a poster of the Brazilian star Ronaldo on the wall of the bedroom
he shares
 with four brothers and sisters. ``I want to go far,'' he said. ``I want
to participate in nationals, and I'm working hard for that.''
 Younger children such as Fedner Jacquet get recruited, if they're
talented, or are
 enrolled by families who want to take advantage of the opportunity.
They pay
 nothing, get picked up every day and get help with equipment. All the
children
 have to do is maintain good grades. ``I can't think of being anywhere
else but here,'' said Fedner, 8. ``I make sure I study before I come.''
 The children are split into several groups and learn how to move the
ball. By the
 time they're 12, ``they're supposed to know well all the different
techniques, but
 we're not expecting them to be totally clean,'' coach Biguesnel Felix
said.
 Duval doesn't want his program to be a canteen, where kids come only
for the free
 lunch. ``If a kid with better skills comes arounds, he'll take the
place of somebody else,''
 he said.Wendy is among the older boys who have been with L'Atletique
the past four
 years. He's typical, too. (He said his father only recently realized
the name he
 gave his son is a common girl's name in the United States.) He stayed
away for
 six months because his father could not come up with $50 for a new pair
of
 soccer shoes. He stopped going to school, too, because the family could
not
 afford the monthly tuition. His mother is dead, and his father hasn't
worked since
 he was 11.
 ``Whatever you want to be in life, you have to fight for it,'' said
Wendy, who is also
 learning plumbing and health care in case he doesn't make it on the
soccer field.
 ``I'm going to win. I'm going to be a footballer. I'm sure of it.''
 Duval is less certain of the future of the club, which used to be a
dumping ground
 for a bottling company. There are as many as 300 children in the
program, about
 130 of whom show up every day. Duval, who still has many friends among
the
 elite, gets some to donate uniforms, shoes, balls and nets to keep the
program
 going. He also gets help from abroad. Every two months, Food For the
Poor brings in
 bags of rice for the hot meals each child receives after every workout.
Duval gets
 other people to donate cooking oil, beans and juice, as well as money
he uses to
 pay the coaches he employs.
 ``I want this to work because I want to help the kids of Haiti,'' he
said. ``I want
 them to be successful through sports. This is the space I'm trying to
change, in a
 progressive manner.' He takes no salary for his efforts, living off
rent from a building he bought several years ago during his 15 years as
a businessman.
 Duval's own soccer career with the Violette club ended abruptly in 1976
after he
 was jailed. He was young back then, full of idealism. He thought he
could make a
 change by speaking out against human-rights abuses committed by
Jean-Claude
 Duvalier's Tonton Macoutes. He spent 17 months in prison. When he got
out, he started a support group for former political prisoners, and
continued to speak out until the regime fell in 1986.
 He returned to Violette several years later as president of the club.
But, looking around, he saw that Haitian children were being left on
their own to learn soccer. Haitian soccer, competitive at one time at
the international level -- especially in the Caribbean -- was in
shambles. By this time Duval had a son he wanted to place into a club
that would teach him how to play, but he couldn't find one. That's when
he stumbled across the field where dozens of children from the nearby
slum of Cite Soleil were playing. The land was unused after mobs
occupied the property during the waning days of the Duvalier
dictatorship.
 ``I said, `That's what I want to do,' '' Duval said. ``I thought the
owners were going
 to help me.' They did. For a while.
 Duval built two basketball courts and an outdoor lunchroom where the
children
 can eat. Lately, though, he has been locking horns with the owners.
They want their field
 back, now that he has cleaned it up and the property has increased in
value
 because of its proximity to the airport. The 15 acres could easily
accommodate
 several factories and warehouses.
 ``If they leave me here, not kicking me out, it's because they see I'm
doing a job
 the people appreciate,'' Duval said. ``I'm trying to make them realize
that this is a
 way out of the tensions between the haves and have-nots. I'm trying to
show them
 how strong they can be, how powerful they can be. ``If you decide to do
good and make a dent in this country's poverty, that's power and that
translates into goodwill. Power is when you talk and people listen.
Really, they don't have a choice.''
 Duval has gotten a few people to listen. He regularly holds meetings
with parents,
 who support him on just about everything he wants to do. He has even
convinced
 some of his business friends to bring their children to the club to
learn how to
 play.
 ``I hope my efforts will inspire others, show them that in the end it's
going to be
 better for them,'' Duval said. Some of the industrialists have used the
field to organize soccer tournaments for their own employees, to ``lower
tension,'' Duval said. He's negotiating to run a similar training
facility for another businessman who has been impressed by his
successes, but so far they have not come to an agreement.
 For Duval, soccer is more than the workouts, more than just a daily
plate of hot
 food for the children. Soccer can be a key that helps open other doors,
he said.
 The lessons he learned from his playing days have come in handy -- in
business
 and elsewhere. Since Haiti is a soccer-crazy country, he made many
friends,
 some of whom have saved his life on several occasions by warning him of

 impending attacks. He feels the center is a way to pay back.
 ``You have to show people how to find a life,'' Duval said. ``We don't
have a choice
 here.''It's paying off. L'Atletique teams have 18 first-place prizes in
various tournaments.
 In one tournament alone, L'Atletique teams earned eight first-place
trophies. Six
 of its players have made it in the Under-17 National Team, and several
players are
 being scouted by Haitian professional teams. Two of Duval's players,
including his
 son, were invited to try out with a second-division team in France.
 Duval hopes the successes will encourage the children to stick with it,
to learn
 discipline, become goal-driven -- like the professionals he brings to
meet them.
 ``That's what makes a citizen,'' said Duval, who last year invited
Haitian American
 basketball player Mario Elie -- Duval is married to Elie's sister -- to
visit the club.
 ``Wherever this kid grows, he'll succeed.' Coach Felix believes that,
too. On that afternoon, he was working with 83 players on the field,
making them run sprints and practicing set plays. Felix knows the value
of what Duval is trying to do.
 Like many of the children, he was born in Cite Soleil. He has gone on
to coach a
 first-division team and has been the head technician at the club the
past four
 years. Soccer has no secrets, he says, as a farmer rounds up the cows
and walks them
 through the field. Here, he says, soccer needs work from the bottom.
 ``This program allows the kids to know they have a talent, something in
life,'' he
 said. ``Instead of being on the street, they are here learning they can
do
 something.''