From The Archives - Edwin “Scara” Tšiu

Edwin “Scara” Tšiu - Matlama Legend

Edwin Tšiu is up-front and forthright, sturdy and fearless; but then those aren’t surprising qualities for a man who terrorised defences throughout a glorious but sadly forgotten career that spanned fifteen years.

A burly, goal-hungry forward, firstly for Qacha’s Liphakoe and then famously for Matlama, Tšiu is a football immortal.

As part of a team that on a cold autumn day in 1972 became Lesotho’s first ever participants in a competitive international match, the name Edwin “Scara” Tšiu should forever be engraved in Lesotho’s history books. The game itself, a 1974 World Cup qualifier against Zambia first-leg on the 30th of April, 1972, ended in a 1-1 draw at the Setsoto Stadium.

“It was so cold that day,” Tšiu recalls. “I had never felt anything like it, (but) the match was of a high standard... we had a proper team.”

The return leg in Lusaka two weeks later ended in defeat for Lesotho but for Tšiu memories of that “family” remain vivid.

“This name of Likuena is a new thing,” Tšiu says. “I don’t know Likuena. I never played for Likuena, we were Basotho, we were a family,” he adds bullishly. The debilitating effects of age have slowly diminished the bull in the 64 year-old, but the passion within still beats as strongly as ever.

“You see that picture, you would never believe that’s me,” Tšiu says, pointing to a portrait of him in his Matlama days. “You don’t see our players like that these days, you rarely find them,” he continues. “Players today are not fit, they check the training schedule – as soon as they see that there is physical training involved they dodge,” he laughs.

Tšiu’s views on Lesotho football and Matlama in particular, echo passion and hurt in equal measure. After retiring in 1980, Tšiu coached Matlama and Lioli in the eighties. These days he runs the Scara Tšiu Youth Development Football Club based in Khubetsoana.

“People these days just don’t love football. It’s not like in our days. I rarely go to matches anymore because it hurts me to see what has happened to our football,” Tšiu says ruefully. “Matlama is worse, this is not the Matlama I knew and loved.”

Indeed in this just ended Premier League season Matlama not only missed out on the title but also suffered the indignity of finishing outside the top four.

“I started playing in 1965 for Liphakoe while I was still at Masitisa High School, then in 1966 Matlama came to me,” Tšiu beams.

“At that time the teams were Linare and Matlama. Lioli and Majantja we also there. LDF came much after,” Tšiu, a vital part of Matlama’s 1974, 77 and 78 championship teams, smiles.

However, harping on about past glories is not what Tšiu wishes to do. The current states of affairs are too grave, too alien to what he once knew. Lesotho’s senior team is floundering, his beloved Matlama is “worse”. Tšiu is a concerned man.

“The coach (Zavisa Milosavljevic) needs to be helped,” he affirms. “He was supposed to have been given the old players that have retired, that have played international games as advisors. Not that we want be the coaches, but to assistant. They should be employed out of respect for what they have achieved.”

“It is true that they have experience, we cannot deny that. And when you have people like those, you have to put them close-by,” Tšiu says.

“This (Likuena) is not a team; they have not even won a match. Swaziland and Botswana were never a match for us, they were write offs, but things have changed.”

But Ntate Tšiuwhere are Lesotho’s football legends, where have they been? Where have they been? Is it not fair to conclude that they aren’t interested in the state of football?

“People will say that they are lost. This it is not true, it’s just that they have not been taken care of,” Tšiu insists. “There are so many around, in Leribe, in Maseru, Mafeteng, and Majantja (Mohale’s Hoek) – they are there. Unfortunately these things have not been able to happen. Of course we want to join and help out but there is a barrier there,” he says.

“I’m not here to talk bad about other people, but this is the reality,” Tšiu adds. “In other countries teams are run by mature people. But our football has discarded its retired players.”

Indeed whereas men Tšiu once shared a field with – Kaizer Motaung, Jomo Sono, Screamer Tshabalala – have helped shape football in South Africa in Lesotho it’s a very different story.

“Today Pele is considered something huge in his country and that is down to the people in that country,” Tšiu says. “It’s the same with our neighbours (South Africa). But right now there is no one who knows if I’m alive or dead, we meet accidentally at funerals. There is a lack of respect, that passage of traditions has completely died. There is no discipline.”

This is case with his beloved Matlama, he says.

“Mocholene (Matlama coach Ntebele Taole) has many good players there (at Matlama), but they lack discipline. The supporters of Matlama also have to make sure that they don’t get into the affairs of the team,” he says.

“Matlama now has groups and factions. That why they are not playing well. Matlama has gone back from where it was. But the biggest thing is discipline. And this discipline thing, when you talk about it, it’s something strange to them.”

“When have taken the choice to be a footballer you have to sacrifice. The standard now is low, if you’re a coach you have to teach these players how to control the ball, how to trap. That is something that they have to do in their own time,” Tšiu insists.

The fact that thirty years after his retirement Lesotho’s football remains an amateur affair also upsets Tšiu. “This is pathetic,” he says with obvious disappointment. “This is wrong because things are changing. We have to turn into professionals too. Whether it is five rand (maloti) and or ten, we have to start somewhere. We are too late.”

“These are things the country in general should have been able to provide a long time ago. For instance, if you go to Lefa (Lesotho Football Association) you won’t find any records from the past. There are greater players than me, players who played before me, they are unknown,” Tšiu laments.

“Right now a bright future for our football is not there. We have great talent but there is a serious problem in organisation at the top. Players have forgotten what it means to play football. The only team now is Lioli,” he says.

Still, despite problems these seemingly indefinite problems and Maseru’s chilly winter breeze, Tšiu remains warm with memories of a magnificent career - memories that transport him through time.

“I remember we were playing Mauritius (Africa Cup of Nations qualifier, 1974),” Tšiu says with a glow in eyes.  “We had to win the game and the scores were level. We had been given a penalty in the last minute so we gathered as the senior members of the team to discuss who was going to take it. In the meantime ‘Frisco’ (Senator Tšeliso Khomari) was loitering around, he was one those rebellious players... we didn’t take notice of him.”

“All of a sudden he just ran up and kicked the penalty over the bar. We were amazed, and upset because we failed to qualify,” Tšiu says.

“It might be funny now but it wasn’t funny then,” Tšiu laughs.

Well, even the greatest fail at least once.

This piece was originally written in June 2009. Matlama have since recovered from their slump to win the league and Zavisa Milosavljevic is no longer coach of Lesotho’s national team. Much loved Ntebele Taole is also no longer Matlama coach, despite leading Tse Putsoa to the Double last season. Hopefully Lesotho’s football will continue to see more changes… but only for the better.