The Indo British influence had spurred Zanzibar’s old settlement to the action of cricket. There were as many as 11 teams (Ithnashris, Ismailis, Hindus, Bohoras, Arabs, Comorians, Sunnis, Parsis, Goans, Cosmos and at times even the English) which competed in the League, KJ (knock out) and Bagban (limited overs game). The 1964 Zanzibar Revolution brought an end to its cricket and led to the exodus of the community. Though Daressalaam did not shower bounty over them it did provide moral support and accommodated them into its sports teams. In fact the merger did a lot of good to Daressalaam’s cricket and Union Sports Club became Tanzania’s dominant cricket force.

Basically the settlement in Daressalaam took place much later. Daressalaam itself developed in the post World War 1 phase and a cricket team or a volleyball team here and there made up of certain community members was the only feature of our sporting activity. It therefore became a matter of great pride for the Ithnasheris when in 1946 one of the community members, Mohamed Haji, was made to play football for Eastern Service in the Sun Light Cup. 

The first Ithnasheri Sports Club was launched in 1952 under the leadership of Abdulrasul Virji. Later in 1956 other clubs like Philomaths (table tennis), Twilight (badminton) and Radio Club (snooker) which had been formed to cater for the sporting needs of the community joined hands with Ithnasheri Sports Club to form the Ithnasheri Union. Along with sports it also took under its wings the literary, nursery school, volunteering and employment portfolio and Bashir Rahim elected its first Chairman. 

Talking of the word ‘Ithnasheri’ there are over a hundred million Shia Ithnasheris in the world but interestingly none subscribes to the name Ithnashri except us Khojas. We hear of Shias from Iran, Iraq, Lebanon, Bahrain and other places or the affix ‘Shia’ to say Punjabi Shia, Kashmiri Shia, Pathan Shia, Lucknowi Shia, Haidrabadi Shia and others. The term ‘Ithnasheri’ has been our identity since those days of the secession, and to differentiate ourselves from the Khoja main group we had tagged ourselves Ithnasheri meaning ‘twelwers’ (the Arabic term being ‘thnasher’). Hence our institutions are named Ithnasheri Jamaat, Ithnasheri Gymkhana, Ithnasheri Club, Ithnasheri School, Ithnasheri Dispensary or Ithnasheri Magazine. 

Back to Ithnasheri’s sports; in the fifties there was keen interest in table tennis and badminton. Individuals like Mohamed Pirbhai (table tennis), Raza Virjee (badminton) and Ahmed Ratansi (badminton) were looked upon with pride and admiration for winning the National Championship. Excelling them all was the remarkable Mahmood Noormohamed who besides winning the Students and Tanzania Open Badminton Championships also clinched the Kenya and Uganda Open on his way to become the East African Champion. He achieved this feat not once but twice. Mahmood was also a very fine cricketer and had the honour of representing Tanzania in the 60’s and 70’s when the country boasted of strong contenders for National selection. Our heart goes out to him on hearing recently the sad news of his youthful son Kaiz’s tragic and untimely death in a train accident in Portsmouth, England.  

Reverting to the scene then, it was the traditional style volleyball which Ithnasheris specialized in. From the forties onwards till the introduction of international style volleyball in the late sixties Ithnasheris dominated the Daressalaam volleyball scene. They performed miraculously winning all the championships year after year. It is said that during the days of FHR (Fida Habib Rhemtulla Kara) in the forties and early fifties Ithnashries hardly lost a set let alone a match.  

However, the most prestigious sports among the Asians was cricket which held special fascination for us. It was in the year 1954 that Ithnasheris won their first league title, otherwise league had been the monopoly of Hindu Sports Club and Agakhan Sports Club. One of the leading members of that victorious team was Hussein Bhalloo (Hussein Dogo) who passed away a few months back in London. Hussein was a jolly good fellow. In a memorable game against Goans, Ithnasheris were bowled out for a paltry 46. In reply Goans’ wickets also started tumbling and they were reduced to 45 for 9 but needed just 2 runs for victory with only a wicket in hand which Ithnasheris had to capture. The skipper Pyarali Merali who was bowling that decisive over adjusted his field and came up to say to Hussein who was keeping the wicket, “Hane tojo kam aye”. Pyarali spun the ball and Hussein rising to the occasion stumped the last Goan batsman as he left his crease to strike the ball but missed its line. Ithnasheris won that thrilling encounter and went on to achieve their first championship. Speaking of Hussein, it was at volleyball that he really excelled. He was a perfect exponent of kabuli service and with his all round court play a match winner on numerous occasions. 

Cricket-wise it was then downwards slide and the championship eluded Ithnasheris till the seventies. In 1972, following in line with the National Sports Council’s directive, Ithnasheri Sports Club became Union Sports Club and its fortunes started changing for the better. Its tremendous success was undreamt of. Never had any club enjoyed such a success. They went on to dominate the Daressalaam scene for over two decades with a great run of championship victories. From today’s perspective, local cricket in those days had a charm of its own. So much so that it created a special bond between the community and its members, and this feeling could override any other thing. Irrespective of the quality of our cricket the competition between various communities used to be so severe that it transcended the limitation of our standards (not that we had no class, had ICC been active in those days our cricket would have definitely been granted the ‘first class cricket’ status). 

Cricket enthusiasts thronged the ground in hundreds. They had come to love the game of cricket with a rare passion and awaited eagerly the arrival of weekends when they would reach the ground at the earliest possible lest any action was missed. The folded chairs lined up the spectators’ stand and motor vehicles filled up the parking space. There were even drum beats and trumpet blaring which provided festive environment. Some even ordered and arranged their lunch at the ground while tea time was a sumptuous affair as cups of tea and coffee made rounds and platters of snacks and biting passed to spectators. Cricket action led to heart beats, acclaim, criticism and even flaring of tempers. The end or climax often meant nail biting finish and forgoing the drive to Oysterbay. Such was the level of the players’ competence and mastery that they came to acquire a permanent place in the hearts of local cricket lovers. No doubt it is not possible for us old timers to adjust to the different administration and changing face of cricket in Tanzania today. 

When the youthful Imran Dhalla requested for this feature, the past came flooding back. The most exciting part of that time was the hosting of tournaments such as Tarmohamed or Supreme Council. A tournament with over a hundred participants in those days was not easy to organize and had to overcome a number of obstacles. It called for hard work and Union was fortunate to have some real dedicated workers who gave their energy and time to the organization. One such who easily comes to mind is Afzal Peera (Jimmy). Neat and dressed with casual elegance Jimmy was a regular feature of Union in his capacity as scorer or player. His best attribute was his ability to provide all sorts of records and statistics in those days when computer was not even heard of. You just had to refer to him and he would furnish everything that was asked for. During tournaments he bore hand to different committees and aided them in one way or another. Even today he readily assumes responsibility upon himself and delivers the goods. 

One of the tasks of the committee was to come out with a brochure to elicit profiles and articles on sports personalities and events. At times certain members would be overlooked or not accorded proper footage. Obviously emotions ran high and a feeling of guilt assumed for being oblivious of others sensitivity. The late Bali (Iqbal Damji) otherwise not much focused was highlighted in his obituary. So sad! Baali’s lovely countenance, benign smile and amiable personality captivated everyone. Recalling our London visit, we made a round of sports shops to procure the flannels and GM bat of his liking for the Tarmohamed Tournament that was approaching. He had passion for cricket and aspired to perform well in Zimbabwe where the tournament was being held. He made an adorable companion during Union’s tours abroad and had bought the Imran Khan hats for his team mates who displayed style on the field wearing the then in vogue hat. 

That reminds of another great character, the late Hussein Ahmed, whose presence on tours abroad was greeted with hilarity. He was a real jester and fun to be with. The Union lot just loved him for his reproachful utterance and incessant chatting. When targeted by anyone Hussein would retaliate with equal ease and abruption. It created such a comic situation that all those around would laugh their heads off. 

Hussein was a keen scout and had been awarded the Queen’s Scout Badge. That enabled him acquire sound knowledge on medical matters. He was thus Union’s ‘First Aid Officer’ and always showed his presence on the ground with his medical kit. It also earned him the nickname Dr. Who. As a member of the Organizing Committee he would turn up at the meetings with his flask and during the proceedings pour out fresh orange juice for his fellow members. Sitting on the committee was Muslim Jivraj who would have Hussein worked up into an excitable state. 

Sadly Muslim also remains no more. He will always be remembered for his melodious majlises in the mould of the legendry Jaffer Hassanali Mulla Raza. But it is in the context of sports that this feature talks about. In the memorable K.J.Cup final against Arabs at Khalifa Ground, Zanzibar in 1961 Muslim captured the last wicket of Agha Jawad whom he had caught on the boundary line by Akber Ghulamhussein (Akku) to give Ithnasheris a thrilling victory after more than four days of nail biting cricket. That evening Ithnasheri supporters paraded with a replica of the cup along Forodhani. Jawad was an Agha (of Persian descent recruited to Zanzibar by the Khoja Ithnasheris in the late nineteenth century). Several of the Aghas had opted for Arabs team and hence a fierce rivalry between the teams of Ithnasheris and Arabs in Zanzibar. 

Muslim died in Bombay and lies buried in the Aram Bagh cemetery. Also buried there is Mohammedhassan Musa (Babu Chinani) who had gone to Bombay for treatment after being tragically hit on the head by a fast delivery from Alban Fernandez in the Pardan Ladak Cup contest between Zanzibar and Daressalaam in the 50’s. The elder brother Ghulamhussein Musa (Sheni Chinani) passed away last year in Gloucester, UK. Once playing for Nairobi against Zanzibar after shifting there from Zanzibar, he bowled out his old mates cheaply by taking 6 wickets. Sheni was instrumental in rescheduling the itinerary of Pakistan’s memorable 1956 tour to East Africa as Pakistan’s match against Zanzibar initially coincided with Bibi Fatma AS’s wafaat. 

Another veteran who died sometime back was Abdulhussein Dawood (Babu Gulla) in Dubai, a vision of sporting delight. Decades back at the Ithnasheris’ Sateni Club in Zanzibar could be seen this well built lad endowed with perfect physique that was the envy of onlookers. After the regular session of ‘weight lifting’ he would prevail over the volleyball court with his hard smashes. As a daily routine he walked all the way to Beit El Raas and back via Sateni, Marhubi and Mtoni covering almost six miles. In modern perception it is jogging, so much in fashion among today’s community members. 

Times have changed, and not necessarily for the better. Whilst the strange haunting of Zanzibar stone town evokes sadness to its old inhabitants, the city of Daressalaam is transformed into metropolis. Skyscrapers adorn the city, including Kariako and Upanga. In the 50’s Kariako was a slum area and bushy while Upanga was hardly inhabited and not much heard of. Leave aside the Msasani, Mikocheni, Masaki and such places which were as good as non existent. Oysterbay breathed refreshing coolness. The spots like Slipway and Seacliff with their commercialism were unthinkable. Unlike today Acacia Avenue (later Independence Avenue and now Samora Avenue) with its Askari monument was familiarly intimate, and alongside the stretch of Nano Dario (sea shore) which made a lively resort and welcomed the crowd even beyond midnight.  

On arrival in Daressalaam during school holidays the first obligation was to check the local cricket fixture. The ‘Osman Tea Room’ beside the mosque (the building scheduled for demolition and the ownership of which being disputed) was a favourite hangout of community members. The restaurant remained open till late at night. The narrow passage therein led to the gymnasium (where now stretches the imambara) set up for gymnastic exercises. At the Ibrahim Haji Trust Building (now hospital) and the Ibrahim Ismail Trust Building Mulla Gulamhussein Dhirani and Mrs. Zainabbai Shivji conducted koranic and diniat classes for children. The openness of the spacious lavani (verandas) facilitated cricket and volleyball contests among youths and children. Today yielding to the demand of present time, the bulk and bulge of plastic tanks and odd construction block their openness (Damani Trust Building). The Jamaat Office Building overlies the once Ibrahim Ismail Trust Building and its ample lavani which commanded ethereal beauty. Historically and culturally Daressalaam is giving way to greedy investors and developers, and obliterating its past from vision if not memory. 

International cricket then was restricted to test cricket and the Dina brothers of Naaz restaurant (now Tai Huo San along Jamhuri Street) listening to the commentary on radio chalked the score on their black board. Every now and then the cricket enthusiasts kept peeping at the board to check the latest score. The feature of evening was fierce volleyball contest at Chungani Ground. At times while returning we lost our way but then resorted to the musafirkhana minaret for direction as it could be traced from a long distance away. The imposing and majestic minaret with its peculiar dome was the cynosure of public eye. It made us feel proud but the irony of time today sees the reddish brown dome indiscreetly chopped off. In the evening the elders gathered for mazungumzo in the adjacent mosque compound and sat on the pavement around the lime tree while the mentally disordered ‘Mithu’ walked up and down as chirpy birds glided away homewards into the dusk. A line or two sparsely filled the small mosque for maghrib prayers (for zohar prayers too) but it had serene look and its smaller congregation emanated great warmth. 

The community now boasts of the new complex at Boarding House which provides all the sporting facilities. It caters for indoor as well as outdoor games. The once Chungani Ground is altered out of recognition. The UWT highway pierces through it, at one end stands a row of structures while at the other end lies the sacred cemetery where once appeared only scattered graves under the ample shade of abundant trees. Today with countless graves it is devoid of space and belies the supposedly calm and unperturbed environment. 

The past is all history. Even if not written it is drifting mentally from one event or impression to another in the days gone by. Nisar Sherali (Jorgi) in a snippet informs “I remember sitting on the frame of my father’s (Sherali Meghji ‘Ndege’) bicycle with him returning home from Smith Mackenzie and he would get down to salute the Sultan Seyyid Khalifa who knew him very well through cricket. Seyyid Khalifa also used to stop his vermillion car driven by Askari in khakhi kizibao and red tarbush cap and watch my father play. They are but memories.” All this constitutes history. And so does the event to witness the swift and graceful Nazirhussein Fidahussein being presented to Tanganyika’s Governor Richard Turnbull in the British Colonial days. 

Time keeps flying. Even the untiring FHR has called it a day and no more turns up for his club in Poole, England. And the vision impaired Baker Tejani (probably the finest sportsman produced in the community having earned laurels in cricket, volleyball, tennis, badminton and golf), walking into the mosque with hesitant steps, is a sad sight. Time could be a big healer but also a grim reminder of life’s predicaments. In the end let us remember those who are mentioned here but remain no more with sura e fateha.