The former Togo goalkeeper Kodjovi Obilale has undergone seven operations after being shot and disabled in a guerilla attack on the Togo squad at last year's African Cup of Nations in Angola. Photograph: David Vincent/AP It is 12 months since the Togo squad were attacked by guerrillas in Angola while travelling to the 2010 Africa Cup of Nations and, while the incident remains far from forgotten in west Africa, the year has done little to enhance the reputations of football's governing bodies.
The assistant coach Abalo Amelete and the press officer Stanislas Ocloo were killed and several others seriously injured, including the goalkeeper Kodjovi Obilale, who was left disabled. Last week the République Togolaise reported that he felt let down by both Fifa and the Confederation of African Football (Caf), and abandoned by the Togolese Football Federation (FTF).
Obilale, who has undergone seven operations and will never play again, elaborated to the BBC World Service. There had been no contact from Caf, he said, adding: "There are people who just don't have hearts, all they think of is counting their cash."
Caf did not cover themselves in glory in the aftermath of the attack, either. The confederation remained silent during the first 24 hours, prompting Togo's prime minister, Gilbert Huongbo, to withdraw his team after assurances over safety were not forthcoming. "We received no co-operation from the Confederation," he said at the time. The blunders were compounded when Caf disqualified Togo for not attending and punished them with a fine and a ban from the next two Cup of Nations tournaments. This ill‑judged and insensitive decision was later overturned by Fifa.
While Togo announced this week it was in negotiation with Angola for compensation, Obilale claims his own federation, the FTF, has not done enough: "Nobody cares," he said. "I don't want to bite the hand that feeds me – they paid half my medical costs. But, for my future, nobody asks anything. Everyone stays quiet." The FTF insisted there was a plan to support Obilale but, bizarrely, had not told him about it. "We want to give him a surprise, so that he understands all the board is entirely on his side," their vice‑president, Herve Pizza, said.
Obilale had played semi-professionally for the French side GSI Pontivy, but since his contract ended at the end of last season he has had no source of income. His team-mate Emmanuel Adebayor, who escaped from the attack uninjured, has remained supportive and in contact, while Fifa paid out $100,000 (having offered $25,000) in November last year, a sum that only covered his medical bills up to that point.
Understandably, Obilale, a full year after his spinal cord was shattered in the attack, feels football could have done more. "Honestly, if my name was Samuel Eto'o or Didier Drogba, it wouldn't be happening like this," he said. "We all kick the same ball – it should be fair for everyone. They don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow, what my plans are. Nobody is asking." It's a silence he remains determined to rage against: "I'm fighting every day to ask for fairness in all this, to get compensation. Everything I do, I do myself ... And that's why I say football is a rotten world."
And yet it is also a quietude that, he reflects sadly, resounds with a shameful echo across all of football. "I now realise that people are worthless. We're nothing, we're like grass. The day you get yourself burned or you wither away, you just become dry grass – no good to anyone. When you're on two legs, everyone's running after you. The day you fall down, there's nobody there any more."
The assistant coach Abalo Amelete and the press officer Stanislas Ocloo were killed and several others seriously injured, including the goalkeeper Kodjovi Obilale, who was left disabled. Last week the République Togolaise reported that he felt let down by both Fifa and the Confederation of African Football (Caf), and abandoned by the Togolese Football Federation (FTF).
Obilale, who has undergone seven operations and will never play again, elaborated to the BBC World Service. There had been no contact from Caf, he said, adding: "There are people who just don't have hearts, all they think of is counting their cash."
Caf did not cover themselves in glory in the aftermath of the attack, either. The confederation remained silent during the first 24 hours, prompting Togo's prime minister, Gilbert Huongbo, to withdraw his team after assurances over safety were not forthcoming. "We received no co-operation from the Confederation," he said at the time. The blunders were compounded when Caf disqualified Togo for not attending and punished them with a fine and a ban from the next two Cup of Nations tournaments. This ill‑judged and insensitive decision was later overturned by Fifa.
While Togo announced this week it was in negotiation with Angola for compensation, Obilale claims his own federation, the FTF, has not done enough: "Nobody cares," he said. "I don't want to bite the hand that feeds me – they paid half my medical costs. But, for my future, nobody asks anything. Everyone stays quiet." The FTF insisted there was a plan to support Obilale but, bizarrely, had not told him about it. "We want to give him a surprise, so that he understands all the board is entirely on his side," their vice‑president, Herve Pizza, said.
Obilale had played semi-professionally for the French side GSI Pontivy, but since his contract ended at the end of last season he has had no source of income. His team-mate Emmanuel Adebayor, who escaped from the attack uninjured, has remained supportive and in contact, while Fifa paid out $100,000 (having offered $25,000) in November last year, a sum that only covered his medical bills up to that point.
Understandably, Obilale, a full year after his spinal cord was shattered in the attack, feels football could have done more. "Honestly, if my name was Samuel Eto'o or Didier Drogba, it wouldn't be happening like this," he said. "We all kick the same ball – it should be fair for everyone. They don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow, what my plans are. Nobody is asking." It's a silence he remains determined to rage against: "I'm fighting every day to ask for fairness in all this, to get compensation. Everything I do, I do myself ... And that's why I say football is a rotten world."
And yet it is also a quietude that, he reflects sadly, resounds with a shameful echo across all of football. "I now realise that people are worthless. We're nothing, we're like grass. The day you get yourself burned or you wither away, you just become dry grass – no good to anyone. When you're on two legs, everyone's running after you. The day you fall down, there's nobody there any more."
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