Blood Sweat and Treason
Alan Doyle
For those of us – most of us - who endanger life and property every time we throw a ball or swing a golf club, Henry Olonga is that supremely frustrating of creatures, the all-round sportsman. Who's that up front in the 100m sprint? Henry, taking the honours with style. Match winning tries by the handful for the First XV? That must be Henry. Thirteen Overs, Five Maidens, Eight for Seventeen? Oh, and just to rub it in, 103 Not Out in reply? Olonga again, this time as captain of his senior school XI against an English touring team. Not only that, he sings, acts, and paints as well. Anyone know an affordable assassin?
He is not the only one, of course. The sports pages are filled with stories of first class cricketers who play scratch golf, athletes who have to make an agonising choice between top flight rugby and top league football, runners who swim, swimmers who sprint. What marks Henry out, and has no doubt saved him from that assassin, is that it hasn't gone to his head. Anyone who has met him will confirm that he is modest, grounded, honest, and generous. Oh, and funny into the bargain. Quite an achievement, considering what he has been through.
This book tells the story of Olonga's journey through the world of Zimbabwean sport, where everything is political, and where the politicians are world class bastards. From all-round sporting excellence at school, he chose cricket as the sport in which he hoped to make his living. A difficult decision, since even fifteen years after independence, cricket would not have been the natural choice for a young black man. The entire national team was white, as were many of the administrators. There still existed in that senior generation, if not apartheid, a certain "apartness". But things were changing, however slowly, and Henry, picked as a fast bowler, became the first black cricketer to represent his country at the highest level.
This being Zimbabwe, he soon became a target for the politicians, inside and outside the sport, who wanted to use him to press home their point. Pour a political campaign "to eradicate racism in Zimbabwean cricket" on top of accusations of team underperformance due to racial imbalance. Stir in the by now rampant corruption within the Zimbabwean cricket establishment and the financial exploitation of the top players, and you have a recipe for volatility little suited to an idealistic young man who just wanted to play sport. The Zimbabwean cricket team, the minnows who had earned a reputation as giant killers, were suddenly in turmoil.
Then came the real turning point in Olonga's life - his wearing, together with Andy Flower, of a black armband in their opening match against Namibia in the 2003 World Cup, to mourn the death of democracy in Zimbabwe. In swift succession, there followed death threats, flight, exile without the means to earn a living. It would have floored a lesser man. But Henry, sustained by his faith, and together with his Australian wife, found his way again. This is perhaps the least known part of Olonga's story, and the more interesting.
Every now and again, a book comes along which is literally un-put-downable. This is one of those. Read it.
Blood, Sweat and Treason: My Story. Henry Olonga. Vision Sports Publishing 2010. ISBN 978-1-90532-681-5
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