The echoes of CHAN 2024 still hum in the valleys of East Africa, a tournament that dazzled with promise yet exposed cracks beneath the glitter.
Now, as the dust settles and silence falls over the stadiums, Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania must look inward, for in three short years Afcon 2027 awaits—and with it, the judgment of history.
For the three East African economies, the tournament is more than a contest of goals and tackles. It is a rehearsal, a mirror held up to our collective face, showing both our brilliance and our blemishes. In three years, a greater stage beckons: the Africa Cup of Nations, Afcon 2027. And if CHAN was the trial, AFCON will be the verdict.
In CHAN 2024, stadiums became both temples and tombs. The faithful flocked, but too often the gates closed. Seats were scarce, facilities wanting, the promise of inclusion turning to exclusion.
At Kasarani, CAF’s heavy hand cut capacity, a punishment born of disorder. It was a painful reminder: without infrastructure, dreams crumble. This must not be our inheritance in 2027. The three nations must strip their stadiums to steel and rebuild as sanctuaries of football—safe, capacious, modern.
International standards are not luxuries; they are commandments. Let Kasarani roar again without fear, let Namboole breathe freely, let Benjamin Mkapa stand proud as a fortress of the game. For in stadiums that shine, nations find pride, fans find belonging, and the world finds reason to believe.
What use is a grand stadium if the people are shut out? CHAN’s ticketing scandal—whispers of politicians hoarding, of fans left heartbroken at barred gates—was a betrayal. Football belongs not to the powerful but to the passionate.
Afcon 2027 must restore trust. A transparent, digital system must rise: simple, fair, incorruptible. Lotteries, loyalty programmes, club membership rewards—let these be the new gatekeepers, not shadows of patronage.
A boda rider in Kampala, a fisherman in Kisumu, a trader in Kariakor—all must have the same chance to clutch a ticket as a minister in a chauffeured car.
Football is the people’s covenant. Break it, and the tournament is hollow. Honour it, and the atmosphere will sing.
If the stadium gates were too narrow, fan zones became wide rivers of joy. In thirteen towns, giant screens flickered, and fans gathered under the open sky. Strangers became brothers, sisters, one family bound by the pulse of a ball.
This must be expanded, not as consolation but as celebration. Let fan zones be cultural festivals—food stalls of nyama choma and matoke, dancers in Maasai ligalia, taarab singers blending with the commentary. Let tourists taste Africa not only in football but in music, spice, and story.
Afcon 2027 must not be confined to concrete walls. It must spill into the streets, the markets, the hearts of villages. For only then will the tournament belong to all. But joy was not unbroken. At moments in CHAN, the crowd swelled like an unruly tide, security stretched thin, and fear trembled on the edges.
For Afcon, safety must be sacrosanct. Trained stewards, rehearsed drills, clear gates, open exits, and emergency plans—these are not optional. They are the spine of a tournament. Law enforcement must serve not as a cudgel but as a shield, partners to fans, not predators.
A safe crowd is a happy crowd. A respected fan is a responsible fan. And in safety lies the freedom to sing, to dance, to live football as it was meant to be lived. Yet the most haunting sight was emptiness—the hollow echo of the Taifa Stars playing before sparse stands at Benjamin Mkapa. How can a nation’s sons play without the embrace of their mothers and fathers?
Afcon 2027 must not repeat this silence. Local pride must be nourished like fire. Schools must be invited, youth clubs engaged, and villages mobilised. Let halftime shows belong not only to imported stars but to our own choirs, our dancers, our poets. Let the boy in Mbale, the girl in Arusha, see themselves reflected in the festival. If we do not sing for our own, why should others? If we do, the songs will never end.
by TONY MBALLA
