I recently followed an interesting discussion on Doha Debates around a question that goes to the heart of what football really is: “Football fandom: community or commodity?” Football writer and historian David Goldblatt argued that a football club is much more than the team on the pitch. It is a form of collective memory built through symbols, rituals and narratives created by teams, the media and supporters. How many of our clubs genuinely fit that definition? How many have become repositories of collective memory and shared stories? Sadly, not many. Most of our clubs exist largely as small entities run by a handful of individuals and their associates. Many carry the names of districts, towns or communities but have little meaningful connection with the people they supposedly represent. Their relationships with schools, grassroots structures, young players and supporters are often weak or non-existent. A club can therefore represent a place in name without truly representing its people. This is striking because it does not reflect the football culture from which the game in Rwanda emerged. Football did not arrive in Rwanda simply as entertainment or competition. From its earliest days, it became woven into education, culture and community life. Catholic missionaries introduced the game into schools in the 1930s, after which it gradually spread and developed, with significant support from King Mutara Rudahigwa III. The traditional Rwandan football club was therefore more than a team. It was a cultural institution rooted in its community. A club’s players, character, traditions and relationship with supporters became part of what it represented. Players were expected to embody values such as unity, discipline, mutual respect, patriotism, excellence and teamwork. Those values are now among the concerns repeatedly raised about the state of Rwandan football. The late Frédéric Maboneza, popularly known as Mana y’ibitego, captured this generational difference in an interview for a documentary about Rwanda’s history and relationship with football. “Today’s players are abashahyi—mercenaries. They can sometimes seem more focused on their own interests than on the pride of representing their country. We played for the pride of our country and our leaders.” His words reflect an earlier culture in which football was closely associated with representing values, community and country. That culture was also expressed through songs, poems, chants, rituals, traditions and symbols associated with clubs. These created shared memories connecting players, supporters and communities while giving each club a distinctive character. I experienced that culture from a young age. Through my family connections, I was privileged to be part of smaller local clubs such as Bugesera Sport and Rwamagana Sport. My memories belong to an earlier generation, when their community connections were much more tangible. They were part of the social fabric of their communities. A club was not simply an institution carrying a place name; it was something people recognised as their own. Local players represented the club, while community leaders were directly involved in its life, creating a genuine sense of ownership and belonging. Then there is Rayon Sports, the club I grew up in, played for and remain deeply connected to today. I joined Rayon Sports at a very young age, giving me the rare privilege of knowing the club not only as a supporter but also from within its community and everyday life. Through that experience, I came to understand its origins and character when it was still a club built around its people—a character that has weakened considerably over the years but has not disappeared. When I joined Rayon Sports, it had a strong community, loyal supporters, a rich history and a distinct culture. Being part of it meant having a relationship with the people who loved the club and understanding its place in the community. That character helps explain why so many Rwandans have continued to love and support Rayon Sports across generations, despite the serious challenges the club has faced. What makes Rayon Sports particularly interesting is the contrast between its place in the history of trophies and its place in the hearts of Rwandans. It does not rank among the country’s most decorated clubs, yet it has one of the largest supporter bases. That tells us something important about what makes a football club endure. Its strength lies not only in performance but also in the relationships and memories it creates. People do not support a club for generations simply because of what it wins. Attachment grows through childhood, family, friends, school and shared experiences. For many Rwandans, supporting Rayon Sports therefore represents a sense of belonging that goes beyond football. “More Than a Club” is not simply a slogan; it reflects an experience lived by those who love it. My memories of Bugesera Sport and Rwamagana Sport remind me that community-rooted football is not an abstract idea for Rwanda. We have experienced it before. That should not simply be a source of nostalgia. It should be a reason to rebuild. But there is another dimension to this story. Rwanda’s football culture has also been profoundly reshaped by the country’s tragic history, particularly the impact of the 1994 Genocide against the Tutsi. Football did not emerge from that experience untouched. Clubs disappeared or were fundamentally transformed. Leaders, players, technicians and sports journalists were killed, forced into exile or displaced, while others were marginalised or lost influence through subsequent institutional changes. The consequences went beyond individuals. They disrupted institutional continuity and the transmission of knowledge, traditions and experience. When people disappear, institutions can disappear with them. When institutions disappear, memories, traditions and archives can disappear too. This history does not excuse the weaknesses of our football today. But it helps explain why rebuilding clubs as genuine institutions—and preserving the institutional memory that remains—is so important. This is not simply a problem for individual clubs. It is also a challenge for the wider football ecosystem. Despite investment, political support and relationships with global and continental institutions, organisational progress has often been uneven. Too often, football discourse is dominated by controversy, transfers, personalities, European football and short-term results, while youth development, community engagement, schools and grassroots structures receive far less attention. So, what should we do? We need to deliberately rebuild the relationship between clubs and the communities they represent. A club carrying the name of a district, town or community—or benefiting from public funding—should have a meaningful presence there and a clear responsibility to the people it represents. It should build relationships with schools, academies and youth teams, create pathways for local talent, engage supporters and become part of community life beyond match day. Football authorities also have a role. Club licensing should go beyond stadiums, finances and administrative compliance. It should consider a club’s relationship with its community, investment in youth development, local-player pathways, supporter engagement and contribution to football development. Clubs should also preserve their cultural identities. Songs, stories, symbols, traditions and rituals are not relics of the past. They are part of what turns a football team into a club. That means taking club histories and archives seriously—from photographs, match programmes and trophies to records, memorabilia, oral histories and the stories of those who built the clubs. These are the collective memory of a club and a link between generations. The media has an important role too. We need more stories about the history of our clubs, the communities behind them, the players they develop and the traditions that shape them—not just results, controversies and personalities. Perhaps most importantly, we need to broaden our definition of success. Winning trophies matters. Financial sustainability and professional administration matter. But so does the number of young people a club inspires, the players it develops, the communities it connects, the supporters it brings together and the legacy it passes to future generations. This is not an argument against modern professional football. We need to modernise our clubs without stripping them of the qualities that make them meaningful. Perhaps, therefore, the question we should be asking is not simply...How do we make our clubs better at winning football matches? It should be...how do we make them football clubs again—clubs that belong to their communities, carry their memories, nurture their talent and become part of Rwanda’s cultural fabric? Because football was never just about the 90 minutes. It was always about belonging.
