'I don't believe in losing'

George Weah is Africa's most famous footballer and a hero in strife-torn Liberia. Now he is running for president - but is he really the man to end the corruption and chaos? By Sue Turton

In Bomi county, two hours' north of Monrovia, an excited crowd is clapping and cheering the most charismatic politician ever to make a stump speech on their patch. George Weah, world footballer of the year in 1995, ex-star of AC Milan, one of Italy's most famous football clubs, is making his play for the presidency.

"Liberia belongs to all of us," he tells an audience who lived through the appalling civil conflicts of the time of former president Charles Taylor. "Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist. No Liberian is better than another. We are all the same and we must have justice and equality. Here in our country we lost two decades of a generation that should have been moving Liberia forward. Instead we fought against each other. The only reason is tribalism."

Later, he confides the motivations behind what has become an emotional crusade. "I have answered the call from my people. I am a national hero. I am a role model. The world must know I am speaking about credibility, dignity and accountability. And about noble people. I won't be threatened by a bunch of gangsters. I love my people. This is my home."

After a build-up that has generated headlines around the world, the most famous footballer Africa has ever produced is about to embark on the most ambitious and unorthodox phase of a stellar career. On 11 October, the strife-torn state of Liberia will go to the polls to elect a president. Fifty or so candidates are standing for the top job; five are seen as real contenders. One of them is Weah, footballer turned firebrand politician.

Although campaigning proper for election is not yet allowed, the Weah cavalcade has spent the week speeding up and down the country, meeting party workers and "making acquaintances". His early forays out of the capital into the country are designed to win over some of the tribal factions that hold the key to sustained peace. The convoy of 4x4 Jeeps in Bomi county is mobbed as he walks through the town.

After spending most of his working life playing football, Weah is not a natural public speaker but the cheering reception, boosted by busloads of supporters brought in especially for the event, represents an encouraging start. Behind the scenes, we are told, delicate discussions are being held with rebel leaders and community elders. On 11 October, their support will be crucial.

The candidate has spent the past few years in the United States. Weah left when his house was burnt to the ground by Taylor loyalists, once his political ambitions became known. Now, as the election campaign nears, his residence in the capital is full of bodyguards and hangers-on: from muscular security men to singers and former politicians. Even George's 17 year-old-son, Junior, who is currently playing for AC Milan's under-18s, is back in Liberia to join the party.

On the day I went to visit him, the crowd is playing pool and drinking Bacardi Breezers. Another group is in the back yard repainting the basketball court. Weah, though, has his eyes on the prize and is busily deploying football metaphors to describe his coming campaign.

"I don't believe in losing. I believe in winning. In football it's how you prepare your game and how you play your game. The people know what they want so they will decide. People know this must be a true democratic process with transparent elections. If not there will be dissatisfaction. I'm optimistic and I know I'm going to win. I never think I'm going to lose. Losing is not part of my game."

Such confidence from an ex-footballer of Weah's stature is perhaps not surprising. But in politics he is an ingénue - albeit one with a beguiling message of unity and an end to endemic corruption. And he leads a virgin party, also contesting its first elections, the Congress for Democratic Change (CDC). Travelling across Liberia, it is not difficult to find those who wonder whether either party or candidate is truly ready for political office.

Weah had asked Kofi Woods, a Liberian civil rights lawyer who also fled the Taylor regime, to be his running mate. Woods refused, doubtful that the footballer was up to the rigours of a cut-throat political culture. "I think someone who takes the presidency must not take it to learn," said Woods. "This is a crisis of leadership and it needs someone who understands already the depth of human suffering and the difficulties we are confronted with. There's no time for learning."

The scale of the corruption against which Weah is pledged to fight is dramatic. After Charles Taylor's ignominious departure from the Executive Mansion, under the cloud of United Nations allegations of war crimes, an interim government was put in place for two years until elections could be held.

But a UN Security Council report last month discovered systematic corruption to be endemic in the caretaker administration. According to the report, the transitional government is guilty of: "widespread disregard for accounting procedures, allowing financial abuse including unsubstantiated travel, questionable tax exemptions ... unjustified contributions to officials ... and payments to contractors for services never rendered."

Whoever takes over the presidency in October will have to work fast to demonstrate they have formed a transparent, accountable government if flows of foreign aid are to be accessed. Yet the anti-corruption credentials of Weah's party have been questioned. Two senior members of the CDC, including the party chairman, were suspended from the current transitional government over allegations of corruption. Weah says he will not accept the allegations until he sees some proof.

The day after our visit to Bomi county, we head out to talk to some of the Lurd rebel fighters to find out if they are taking his candidacy seriously. After the peace deal was signed back in 2003, UN troops were ordered to break up all warring factions, disarm them and send them back to their villages. But this rubber plantation in Gutherie is still under Lurd's control. Local people claim they still have arms. An invasive search by the UN found nothing.

In Gutherie there is fond talk of Weah as a man who has Liberia at his heart. But locals say they will not spare even a football star president if their lives do not improve swiftly once he is elected.

"The peace process is fragile," announces Lurd's general secretary. "When you talk about peace there must be sustainability. If this is not prevalent, what kind of peace is it?" Could the fighting break out again? "Yes, at any time. If these people stay as they are, destitute, then they could be regrouping."

Even down in the south-east of the country, where Weah's native Kru tribe live, they are not sure he is equipped for the job. "He is called King George for one fact," says one man sipping tea outside a cafe. "Because he's a star in sport. But from my own perspective he's not well ripe for the presidency. He's not well up with political issues."

The local travel agent had similar concerns: "You see me, I like George Weah but I'm worried about him because if he takes over as a president maybe the same people from the past government will fool him because they are more educated than him. He has the country at heart and I like him but I worry about his educational background."

In Weah's Monrovia apartment, a large photograph of the player dressed as Caesar stands on top of a television set. Two former presidents of Liberia have met violent ends to match that of Rome's greatest emperor. President Samuel Doe's ears were sliced off before he bled to death in the bath. President William Tolbert was bayoneted in his bed. But Weah, who is devoutly religious, says he is happy to leave his own fate in God's hands, whatever dangers may lurk in a high-profile political future. After spending so much of his life enjoying the best that the rich West had to offer, while Liberia was plunged into civil war, he appears genuinely determined to improve the abysmal lot of his compatriots.

"I was always in touch when the war broke out and some days it was difficult," he says. "I would sit in my apartment every day and cry because I didn't know about my mother and grandmother, my brothers and sisters. So I cried every day.

"I went through borders to the refugee camps. I saw the way people were treated in the camps. I saw Liberians who had no hope and no food. I came to their rescue. Today the same people are back home and Liberia is looking for a true leader that can champion their cause.

"I always quote Martin Luther King. In his speech he said the ultimate measure of a man is not where he lies in comfort but where he lies in times of challenge and controversy. I take that very seriously."

Inevitably, a sporting analogy comes to mind. "It's just like a football club," he says "When a coach is not successful he brings in his own team, his own deputy. Then everybody around him wants to be successful. I think we can make a difference because I am a disciplined person. It's not my thing to be corrupt. My mind is not a corrupt mind."

Liberia is a country crying out for investment at every level. Fourteen years of civil war have left an infrastructure in meltdown. Most people live in corrugated iron shacks with no sanitation and no electricity. Buildings have been stripped bare. Raw materials, including the roof tiles and copper wiring, have been routinely stolen and sold for scrap. Everywhere there are scars of battle. Even the lamp- posts are riddled with bullets.

The shattered landscape and its war-weary population would present a challenge to the most skilful and experienced politician. George Weah can offer charisma, determination and the huge goodwill that his sporting past generates among ordinary voters. On 11 October, that may be just enough to turn a footballer into a president.

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This article first appeared in The Independent

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