The Rumble in the Jungle.
If you are or were a boxing fan, and of my vintage, the phrase evokes deep reverence. It is regarded by many as being arguably the greatest sporting event of the 20th century. In October of 1974, George Foreman, the reigning heavyweight champion of the world faced Muhammad Ali in the jungles of Zaire. Ali had returmed to boxing after a 3 year ban for refusing to enter the draft for the Vietnam war, but had been consigned to fighting unworthy contenders after he lost his title bout with Joe Frazier in one of the most memorable bouts in the history of the sport. At 32 years old, his chances of regaining his crown seemed bleak.
Since I was a child, I have always loved Muhammad Ali. It always seemed a bit strange to me in a way because I usually idolized the strong, self-effacing, quietly dependable type when it came to sports. Ali was many things, but he was rarely quiet. He talked incesantly, and time and time again proclaimed himself, "The greatest of all time". I can't explain why, but I loved the guy.
George Foreman was 24 years of age and one of the most physically intimidating specimens to ever enter the game. His size, strength and sheer physical dominance was unlike anything seen before. After winning a gold medal at the 1968 Olympics he soon gained the heavyweight championship by demolishing the only two men to have ever beaten Ali, Joe Frazier and Ken Norton. Many in Ali's own camp secretly worried that he would actually be killed if he fought Foreman.
The two men agreed to fight if a five million dollar purse was guaranteed. The president of Zaire was eager for the international publicity the event would bring and agreed to put up most of the money. For those of a younger vintage it may be hard to conceive of a time before MMA when boxing.... mattered. A heavyweight title bout commanded the attention of the entire world and this one, above all, had the world on the edge of its seat. The story is told in the Oscar winning 1996 documentary, "When We Were Kings", one of my most beloved films of all time.
During the months he spent in Zaire training before the fight Ali was a master at public relations, even more so than usual. Some close to him have suggested that he did it just as much to calm his own fears as anything else. Whatever the reason, the country of Zaire loved him. Wherever he went people chanted the iconic phrase. " Ali boma ye, Ali boma ye!" which translates to "Ali, kill him!"
My favourite footage in the docummentary shows Ali, just days before the fight, out for a training run on a dusty Zaire backroad. The sun is setting. He sets a relaxed pace in his grey sweats, and as he runs men and boys start to run alongside him, joy and excitement bursting from their faces. "Ali boma ye, Ali boma ye!"
His charisma carries them along behind him like a jetstream. Then he stops and does what he did best. He floats. He shadow boxes and he trash talks. For me, it's pure magic.
Today I was not feeling magical. I had been called to the hospital a few times during the night and was tired. Still I'd been feeling a little guilty lately for not getting much exercise. Things have been very busy on the wards and it has taken its toll. Since being on Tanna I have managed to occassionally get some cardiovascular exercise, despite the heat. Most often it's near the end of the day in the small window between when it starts to cool down and when the mosquitoes come out. Our house sits near the hospital on top of the highest hill in town and I will sometimes do sprints up the hill. I find it works well. Because of the high intensity I don't have to do it for very long so by the time I'm overheated I'm already finished. Today I didn't plan on running the hill very hard and was just proud of myself for even gettting out the door.
It's rare to see runners here, especially white ones (or in my case, white-ish) so I usually draw a lot of attention. Most people here do so much physical work as a part of their everyday life that the concept of intentional exercise is somewhat foreign. I'll admit to feeling a little sheepish the one time when I was running the hill and a guy, who was probably older than me, stepped out of the bush carrying three large sections of a tree trunk on his jungle hardened shoulder. He gave me a quizzical look and then proceeded to carry them up the hill.
I started off easy, and as I would walk back down the hill for the next run up I noticed I was attracting the attention of a few kids. They were boys around eight to 13 years old and they were staring at me with a mixture of fascination and bemusement. At the very least though, they were clearly intrigued. After I had walked by them a few more times I used what little Bislama I have to invite them to join in. We lined up and raced. They whooped and laughed out of pure fun and some surprise I imagine as I beat them up the hill. That was it. The game was now ON.
They got smart though. Half the group would sit out one race while I continued and then jump up to go the next time. My place finishes steadily plummeted from there. Eventually I told them I had one more left in me because I was, as they say in Bislama, "half-dead". I looked up the hill to see one of the previous race's contestants splayed out like a star fish at the top of the hill gasping for air. They keeled over laughing when I pronounced him, "full-up dead!".
I lost the last race badly, but you never saw a loser with a bigger smile. I high fived a few good-byes and started to slowly jog up the dusty road to the house. It was beautiful out. Near the top of our hill you get a view out over the ocean. The waves were breaking and the sun was setting. I was lost in the view when the boys slowly came up from behind to run with me. They had figured out that I was the doctor and I think they found it quite a hoot that someone in that position would goof around with them. There was definitely a little bit of "star power" going on.
With the kids, the dusty road, the warm glow of the setting sun, I couldn't help but think of the footage from my favourite documentary. I used to box a long time ago and the sport is popular on Tanna so I asked them If they knew how. As we ran along they showed me their best jabs and crosses and I showed them mine. It only lasted for a few precious kilometers, but for those brief, transcendent minutes........we were kings. It was pure magic.
Sean
Afterword:
Ali won the Rumble in the Jungle with a epic knockout in the eighth round. After goading Foreman to tire himself out with wild punches while Ali conserved energy laying on the ropes, the famous "rope-a-dope" tactic, Ali pounced with a flurry of near poetic combinations that sent Foreman to the canvas.
Some of the original footage of Ali running in Zaire can be found at :
www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-Jom8Ok_DA
