Jamal’s football embodies his dreams, hopes, and aspirations. Throughout his journey, he often envisions himself playing on one of Australia’s professional teams, sharing the field with Bibi—something which would be impossible in Afghanistan. This vision sustains him during his difficult travels, motivating him to keep moving forward. In this regard, Jamal’s football represents not only his athletic aspirations, but also his hope for a better life in Australia; through football, Jamal believes he can create a better future his family.
However, Jamal’s football also symbolizes his deep connection to Afghanistan. Gifted to him by Yusuf, a friend from his home village, the ball connects him to his past and reminds him why he wanted to become a professional football player in the first place—to return home and help fix his country. As such, Jamal’s football is the symbolic bridge between his old life and his new beginnings, embodying his dreams for finding a better life in Australia and, ultimately, an improved Afghanistan. With the football by his side, Jamal can have hope for the future while preserving his ties to the past.
Jamal’s Football Quotes in Boy Overboard
I’m Manchester United and I’ve got the ball and everything is good. There’s no smoke, or nerve gas, or sand-storms. Which is really good. Bomb wind can really put you off your football skills.
The others are still backing away and looking at me and I realize I have to do something. This person who is putting us all in danger is a member of my family.
[…]
Bibi must have forgotten that girls aren’t allowed to leave the house without a parent. She must have forgotten that females have to keep their face covered at all times out of doors. And it must have slipped her mind that girls playing football is completely, totally and absolutely against the law.
“I hate this whole country,” says Bibi after a while. “This country is camel snot.”
I’m shocked.
Nine-year-old kids shouldn’t hate their country. They should love their country and want it to do well in the World Cup and earn the respect of other nations so they’ll stop bombing us.
I wish I could go to the city and get the government out of bed and tell them what they’re doing to our family. How they’ve made my mum cry. How they’ve stopped me from getting lino. But I can’t. I don’t even know where the government lives.
A wonderful thought hits me. We can do it together. We can improve out skills and impress the government and start a national team and win the hearts of Afghans together. When the government sees how talented Bibi is, they’ll change their minds about girls playing football. They’ll have to.
If Mum and Dad are really going to convince that government football official, they need us there too.
We look at each other. And suddenly I know that if Dad can be a desert warrior in the football stadium, so can I.
‘If a person goes somewhere else and becomes a huge football star,’ I say to Yusuf’s grandfather in my imagination, ‘and so does his sister, and they play regularly on TV, and then they come back to Afghanistan with their parents, do you think they’d be popular enough to help form a new government? A kind and fair government that wouldn’t murder anyone?’
I feel like crying too, but instead I reach out and touch my rucksack. I want to check that my football is still packed safely. Just because I’ve never heard of any Australian football teams doesn’t mean there aren’t some good ones. I want to get all the practice I can on the way there, so I’m ready.
I want to go back to Australia. I saw it. Green football pitches and goalposts of solid gold and little stools for one-legged goalies to sit on. Me and Bibi winning the cup final for Dubbo Abattoirs United. I was there. Now I’m here on this deck shivering.
A pirate stops right in front of us, studying the ball as it goes back and forward. I pray he doesn’t know how brilliant females can be at football. I pray he assumes anyone with knee skills like Bibi and Rashida must be male.
Bibi’s asleep at last. That’s why I’m lying out here on the football pitch. So I don’t disturb her while I try and plan our future. It’s hard to plan quietly when you’re crying. I don’t want to think about the future. I don’t want to think at all. But somebody’s got to do it and Bibi’s only ten.