If Msimbazi’s prayers work, can Doumbia also deliver Taifa Stars from their goal drought?

DAR ES SALAAM: SOMEWHERE in Wekundu wa Msimbazi’s extended family, elders have reportedly turned to prayer, asking that Ibrahim Doumbia start scoring.

I support this initiative, provided the application specifies several goals.

One would merely give football radio six hours to establish whether he intended it, slipped, or received assistance from ancestral wind.

Please also request goals against serious opposition.

Otherwise, a friendly against somebody’s departmental team will arrive, Doumbia will score four, and Wachambuzi will demand the goalkeeper’s employment history before recognising any of them.

The young man came with credentials: a breakthrough season in Mali, 21 goals in all competitions, including 17 league goals, five assists and honours as Top Scorer and Young Player of the Season.

That is a proper football CV. Unfortunately, the Tanzanian net appears to have requested certified copies.

He has scored in CECAFA competition, but the wait for a league or Champions League goal has unsettled Msimbazi.

Goals that answered his telephone in Mali now see his number and pretend they are bathing.

Supporters have remained both patient and affectionate, though, displaying a banner declaring their love for the striker with bleached hair.

This is encouraging.

Football affection usually involves several thousand people advising you which bus to board, including its departure time and whether you should purchase a return ticket.

News of the elders’ intervention reached me while I was digesting Taifa Stars’ defeat by Guinea-Bissau and draw with Madagascar.

Immediately, my mind wandered towards Home Affairs, although nobody had invited it there.

Suppose Doumbia finds his scoring boots just as somebody grants him Tanzanian citizenship?

Msimbazi supplies the prayers, Home Affairs supplies the passport and Miguel Ángel Gamondi collects the striker.

Finally, a government process in which every department knows where the file is.

We have precedents: Kibu Denis Prosper received citizenship in 2021, and three Singida Black Stars players followed in January 2025.

My contribution is an express counter marked “Goals”.

Applicants who can finish inside the penalty area proceed directly; applicants carrying impressive folders join the ordinary queue.

Meanwhile, Gamondi must find goals among eligible players.

Coach, where are they?

The Republic of Wachambuzi has appointed 17 search committees, although fourteen are investigating your formation and the other three are quarrelling about who should receive sitting allowances.

Republic of Wachambuzi membership requires a loud voice, a microphone and certainty. Experience is optional.

Somebody whose last competitive appearance involved school shorts and a compulsory haircut can explain the high press until the radio presenter begins praying for an electricity cut.

I have joined the republic. My qualifications include watching football, arguing with television and shouting “Shoot!” when a player has four defenders around him and the ball is still travelling towards his weaker foot.

Nevertheless, possession needs a destination.

Taifa Stars sometimes approach the penalty area like visitors entering a government office before lunch. Everyone looks available, but nobody wants the file.

A midfielder looks up, the striker waits and the ball goes sideways for further consultation.

Another pass follows. The opposition reorganises; drinks water, asks after the children and returns to find us still preparing the covering letter.

By the time somebody shoots, the goalkeeper has renewed his insurance.

Of course, Gamondi cannot finish chances himself, and national teams have limited training time. Fair enough. But when a striker runs, somebody must spot him. When he receives the ball, somebody must join him.

We cannot send one man into a crowded penalty area as though he has gone to collect rent.

Use the width when the middle is blocked. When a full-back goes sightseeing, leave somebody guarding the house.

Our opponents should not find an open gate, enter comfortably and ask where we keep the valuables.

Wachambuzi must examine those failures too. Was the forward isolated? Where was the supporting run? Why did that defensive gap remain open long enough to acquire a business licence and employ a watchman?

AFCON 2027 gives Tanzania, Kenya and Uganda a magnificent hosting opportunity.

But we cannot invite Africa to dinner and announce that the meal has completed 400 passes without reaching anybody’s plate.

Guests will eventually ask whether the kitchen exists.

Explore legitimate options, Coach: Eligible players abroad, forwards at home, sharper movement and better service.

Asking Doumbia alone to rescue everybody would be asking one umbrella to supervise the rainy season, including drainage in Jangwani.

Still, when he scores, watch the celebrations.

An analyst will produce an August recording proving he predicted everything. His seventeen other recordings will have disappeared during routine maintenance.

Football prophecy comes with a delete button, you know…

Such confidence reminds me of a Dar es Salaam boxing tale that has suddenly climbed into this column without paying admission.

Enter Ringbarrier Kanyaboya.

According to sporting folklore, the Burundian boxer refused a taxi and walked from his Kariakoo hotel to Gerezani Railways Club in full boxing kit, punching the air while an excited crowd escorted him.

Details may have grown through retelling; Dar never lets a good story leave the table hungry.

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Children followed, traders abandoned their counters, and men whose boxing experience involved separating neighbours assessed his technique.

One praised his shoulders, another his footwork, and a third declared the opponent finished. Nobody had seen the opponent, but research can spoil a perfectly enjoyable conclusion.

By Gerezani, Kanyaboya had defeated several cubic metres of air. People who had gone out to buy onions were now his technical advisers.

The procession had awarded him the belt; somebody merely needed to ring the bell and regularise matters.

Unfortunately, the opponent had missed the procession. Nobody had informed him that his defeat was compulsory.

When the bell rang, he punched back, an outrageous breach of the programme and reportedly knocked Kanyaboya out in the first round.

The Kariakoo air had been much better behaved.

Returning experts revised their statements. One had always questioned preparation; another blamed the walk.

Clearly, Kanyaboya had spent his best punches outside shops. Nobody admitted having promised victory beside the tomato stall.

“Kanyaboya” eventually escaped the boxing ring and entered everyday conversation: A grand arrival followed by results so modest that the welcoming committee quietly denies having organised the procession.

A coach arrives with a reputation that frightens opponents, only for his attack to frighten nobody except his own supporters.

A striker arrives from Mali with enough goals on his CV to require an extra page, then leaves the Msimbazi elders asking whether heaven has a department responsible for releasing them.

The publicity has scored a hat-trick; the football is still looking for its boots.

I hear Msimbazi clearing its throat. Gentlemen, please postpone the delegation.

Doumbia may score freely yet, and Gamondi may get Taifa Stars firing.

I would happily celebrate both, preferably somewhere that does not require me to explain myself to the club secretary.

After victory, dear Gamondi, our Republic becomes wonderfully accommodating.

The fellow demanding your dismissal on Friday will explain on Sunday that he was applying psychological pressure.

His neighbour will claim the winning substitution came from his WhatsApp message, although he sent it to a plumber who has never watched a football match.

Coach, give us goals and Wachambuzi will claim your tactics were their idea.

Give the Wekundu elders time to enjoy their tea before the whole country joins their prayers.

Finally, my apologies to Doumbia, Kanyaboya and anyone suspecting a connection.

Their stories are entirely unrelated; they simply fell out of the same cupboard and landed on my laptop.

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