The Ugly Game: The Qatari Plot to Buy the World Cup

by Heidi Blake

  In contrast to Hayatou, two of the three other members of the Exco from Africa had been voted onto the committee only the previous year. Jacques Anouma, 56, was a quick-witted former accountant for a French airline who had prospered in the Ivory Coast under the ruthless dictator Laurent Gbagbo. In fact, he and Gbagbo were so close that Anouma had been the country’s financial director for years while at the same time running his nation’s football federation.

  The other newcomer to the Exco was the squat Amos Adamu, the president of the Western African football union, who clearly had the Midas touch. He had grown rich as a football administrator in Nigeria, owning at least three homes, including one in London. His critics had blamed him for the millions of dollars that were lost following the 1999 World Youth Championships and the 2003 All Africa Games, but the accusations went no further. Bin Hammam resolved to invite all three men to Doha to show them what his gleaming city had to offer. The fourth African Exco incumbent, Slim Chiboub of Tunisia, was widely expected to be replaced at the next election in 2009, with the former Egyptian footballer Hany Abu Rida looking like a strong contender for the seat. Bin Hammam wasn’t going to waste much time on Chiboub until he knew who was going to be in position in December 2010, when the World Cup vote would be decided.

  Winning the support of the four Africans was crucial because they were expected to vote as a bloc. That would get Bin Hammam a third of the 12 votes on top of his own which he needed to win for Qatar. CAF was a tight-knit federation under Hayatou, and its member associations knew how to make their voices heard. Bin Hammam knew that if he was to sew up the African voting bloc, he was going to have to drum up a groundswell of support among officials from across the continent who would lean on their Exco members to back Qatar’s bid. His campaign in Africa would be two-fold: he would deal directly with the voters and he would buy up an overwhelming coalition of support from across their confederation to make it impossible for them not to support Qatar. He had done it before in Africa, and he would do it again. This was to be the first phase of his campaign and he was going to start right away.

  Three

  Bagmen and Brown Envelopes: The Campaign Begins

  It was bright and early in the morning in Kuala Lumpur, and already the humidity was so high that walking outside felt like stepping into a steam room. This drenching tropical climate was always a shock to Mohammed Meshadi’s system, accustomed as he was to the dry desert heat of Doha, and his closely tailored suit wasn’t nearly as cool as the loose white dishdasha he wore when he was at home. Anyone strolling under the shady palms outside the Asian Football Confederation’s headquarters on that morning in early June 2008 might have spotted the perspiring figure of Bin Hammam’s trusted gopher taking the last few drags on his cigarette before heading through the entrance of the glass-fronted building. Meshadi was there on an important errand. He was collecting $200,000 in rolls of crisp dollar bills, withdrawn from AFC accounts controlled by Bin Hammam.

  The AFC president’s bagman was a favourite among the secretaries who administered his expense accounts, and they looked forward to his visits. Even in his fifties Meshadi still had plenty of rakish appeal. He was almost always in tow when the president swept into the AFC building, and he liked to keep the girls who held the purse strings sweet. He would pop by their desks to feed them chocolates over their mid-morning coffee break or deliver cups of fresh noodles at lunch time. Meshadi wasn’t a classic dish but he was broad-chested, slightly thicker round the middle than he had once been, but still a strapping figure of a man. He wore his collar open under his royal blue suit and his hair slicked back. The secretaries liked to giggle and gossip about him. So they were happy to count out $200,000 as he grinned and mopped his forehead on that steamy June morning. He joked and chatted with them as they noted in their ledger the reason he told them he needed the money. The rolls of dollar bills were required, he said, to provide ‘cash advances for CAF guests’.

  Bin Hammam ran the Asian confederation like an extension of his private office, so he had no qualms about draining its coffers of cash when the occasion demanded it – and this was a special occasion indeed. The Qatari football chief had invited the leaders of 25 football associations from the Confederation of African Football to stop off in Kuala Lumpur on an all-expenses-paid junket on their way back from FIFA’s annual congress in Sydney. Days earlier, Sepp Blatter had announced in his speech to delegates that Qatar wanted to bid for the World Cup, so now it was vital that Bin Hammam made a favourable impression on his guests. He knew well that to secure the support of Africa he would have to start from the bottom up, winning the hearts and minds of the federation chiefs across the continent by filling their pockets. That way they would bring their influence to bear on the continent’s four voters through the key committee that ran CAF. Phase one of that campaign began today.

  Once Meshadi had picked up the cash, he headed up to the president’s office to confirm the last few details before the guests began arriving. As they touched down throughout the day, the African officials were picked up from Kuala Lumpur International Airport in air-conditioned limousines and chauffeured to their five-star hotel. They were given envelopes stuffed with spending money and presented with gifts, before being greeted by Bin Hammam. That night, they dined sumptuously on Malaysian specialities alongside their Qatari host. The next day, they were treated to a trip to the historic port of Malacca, where they could stroll along the waterfront, spend their rolls of dollars at the antique shops along the bustling Jonker Street, and even pray for their future prosperity in the richly gilded Cheng Hoon Teng temple, if they were so inclined.

  Bin Hammam was charm personified as he moved among his guests. The Qatari was not a garrulous host, preferring to listen than to talk, but he exuded the quiet charisma of a man entirely in command of his situation. He had that penetrating ability possessed by certain powerful people to make each man feel like the only person in the room when fixed with his attention. Bin Hammam had no difficulty in making each of his guests feel special. But he needed a fixer who could talk straight to them. Someone who mixed naturally with the Africans, understood them and spoke their language. Someone who he could take into his confidence, besides Meshadi. Fortunately, the perfect candidate for the job was already at hand.

  One of Bin Hammam’s key roles at FIFA was to chair the Goal Bureau committee which doled out cash to the less wealthy federations for projects such as building training pitches and administration headquarters. Between 2001 and 2007, the Goal Bureau had employed a Paris-based freelancer called Amadou Diallo to monitor the projects in Africa. A small ebony-skinned man with darting eyes, Diallo had grown up in the West African country of Guinea and spoke fluent French, the most widely used language among the continent’s member associations in the continent. He had friendships across the African football fraternity and crucially knew most of its Exco members. Bin Hammam had put Diallo on the payroll as his go-between, and this was his first outing in the World Cup campaign. The fixer surpassed himself: glad-handing the guests as they arrived; laughing and joking with the group as they explored Malacca; taking each man aside for a private word. Diallo’s speciality was finding out what the Africans wanted and making sure they got it.

  After the delegates left, Bin Hammam ordered his finance staff at the AFC to transfer direct payments to Anjourin Moucharafou, the president of the Benin FA, as well as three other delegates, without saying what the money was for. Moucharafou was key because he was a member of the powerful CAF executive committee, chaired by its president Issa Hayatou, which would play a crucial role in determining how the continent’s four voters would cast their ballots.

  The junket had exactly the desired effect, and emails of thanks flooded into Bin Hammam’s inbox in the days and weeks after everybody flew home. He had not yet shaken off his trepidation about the scale of the task before him, but the gushing gratitude of his African brothers must have gone some way to steadying his nerves. Mohammed Iya, chairman of the Cameroon
FA and a close associate of Hayatou, wrote: ‘We have really enjoyed the trip and all your staff at all the levels have just been wonderful. All of you left no stone unturned to assure the success of our stay in Kuala Lumpur.’ The general secretary of the Ivory Coast FA, whose president, Jacques Anouma, was a key Exco voter, also wrote to thank the Qatari for his hospitality, extending particular gratitude to Diallo. He said he would describe the welcome he had received to Bin Hammam’s ‘friend’ Anouma. Already, Bin Hammam had won the gratitude and loyalty of three men close to the World Cup voters whose support he needed.

  Even the formidable Izetta Wesley, then the Liberian FA president who was known to her colleagues as the ‘Iron Lady’, was uncharacteristically gushing in her appreciation. ‘I had a wonderful time and was previledge to sea that part of the world,’ she wrote in an email to Bin Hammam after returning to Monrovia. ‘I will always cherish these memories. Thanks for all the beautiful gifts.’

  The campaign had got off to a flying start. But soon after the delegates returned home, a story broke in the football press which upset Bin Hammam’s equilibrium. People had started to gossip about the generous hospitality laid on for his African visitors on their way home from the Sydney congress. They remembered the rumours about how he had sweetened the continent’s voters during Blatter’s presidential campaigns in 1998 and 2002, and this looked like the beginnings of a similar strategy. What was Bin Hammam up to? Was he laying the groundwork for a FIFA presidential bid of his own, as the internet rumours suggested? But the next presidential election was three years away, and Bin Hammam’s sole focus right now was on doing everything necessary to win the World Cup for his Emir. Blatter’s support in this was more important than anything else, and if he felt threatened he would surely go on the attack. Bin Hammam had to put the story straight, so he issued a statement on the AFC website. ‘It is very clear that I support Mr Blatter who is the current president of FIFA. I do hope that he runs for another term in 2011 and I will support him as I always do,’ he insisted. ‘I believe that all AFC Member Associations are on the same page with me on this.’

  It worked. Within two hours, another grateful email appeared in Bin Hammam’s inbox, this time from Zurich. ‘Dear Brother, Very good News! Thank you for your trust and confidence. With my best regards, Joseph S. Blatter.’ Bin Hammam wrote back: ‘My dear President and Brother, Like in the past, you may count on my commitment and loyalty for the present and in the future. Always by your side, Mohamed.’

  Bin Hammam had been the overlord of the Asian Football Confederation since 2002, and he ruled with the proverbial iron fist in a velvet glove. At the head office in Kuala Lumpur, he surrounded himself with an adoring coterie of female assistants who did his bidding unquestioningly, but there were others in the organisation who took a more hostile view of their president’s autocratic style. For the most part, Bin Hammam’s manners were impeccable, but there was no doubt that he was high-handed. He insisted that staff call him ‘Your Excellency’ or ‘Mr President’ rather than just plain ‘Mohamed’. He was softly spoken, courteous and always over-generous but, if you crossed him, he could also be cruel. He talked down to people in meetings. He refused to have his methods questioned. Sometimes he scolded grown men as if they were naughty schoolboys. His detractors muttered that he was a pedant and a control freak. He was only meant to be an elected figurehead as far as they were concerned, but he ran the AFC like a fiefdom.

  Bin Hammam was used to wielding absolute power over the workings of an organisation, having been the sole owner of his multi-billion-dollar construction company, Kemco, since 1985. Back in Doha, he commanded a workforce of thousands of migrants who toiled away dutifully under the desert sun by day and retreated at nightfall to the labour camps where they lived on the outskirts of the city. As their employer, Bin Hammam held their passports so they couldn’t return to their home countries – usually Bangladesh, India or Nepal – unless he chose to let them. His power over the Kemco workforce was absolute, and the billionaire ran the AFC like he ran his business. He never relaxed his grip on any aspect of the confederation’s management. He acted as president, chief executive, finance director and general secretary all at once, leaving the officials who were paid to perform those roles wringing their hands in frustration. His detractors at the AFC said he had no right to ride roughshod over the work of his colleagues. Who did this jumped-up Qatari think he was? Though maybe they were just jealous that they weren’t part of the inner sanctum who really knew what was going on in the secrecy of the president’s office.

  Bin Hammam had done many laudable things since his election in 2002. He had launched the Vision Asia programme to pump millions of dollars into football development, education and training in each of the 46 member associations. He had transformed the AFC from a financial wreck into a decent money-maker by stepping up the sales of marketing and TV rights. At the same time, however, there were some strange things going on at the confederation under his watch. The president used the organisation’s funds interchangeably with his own, moving sums amounting to millions of dollars in and out of his sundry-expense account so regularly that his finance staff struggled to keep track. He often generously topped up the football development funds from his own coffers, but then he took money out of the AFC too, and it wasn’t always clear why, or where it was all going. It was an unorthodox approach to running a football confederation, and Bin Hammam needed to know he could trust the people administering his affairs.

  The president kept his inner circle tight: there were only three people he really took into his confidence at the AFC. First, there was Jenny Be Siew Poh: a sweet-natured woman in her mid-thirties who worshipped her boss. She was pretty and petite with fine cheekbones and a pointed chin, and she wore her silky black hair in a girlish bob. Be was divorced and raising two young sons on her own. Sometimes life was tough, but she cheered herself up by baking treats like pineapple upside-down cake, banana loaf, lemon meringue pie, blueberry muffins or peanut butter cookies, which she often brought into the office to share. You had to be careful not to mistake her sweetness for weakness. She was the director of the president’s office at the AFC and his closest aide in Kuala Lumpur. The head of the inner sanctum, she defended her master like a tigress.

  Then there was Amelia Gan, the AFC’s director of finance. Gan was in charge of all the confederation’s accounts, including the president’s. She oversaw the movement of millions in and out of the AFC for Bin Hammam: it was she who had transferred the money to the four African officials after their visit to Kuala Lumpur in June. Like Be, she revered the president and her loyalty to him was unshakeable. If the president’s office director was small, his finance director was tiny. Gan was bright-eyed with round cheeks and a pert little heart-shaped face. Her black hair tumbled over delicate shoulders and she had a winsome way of tilting her head to one side and smiling up through her lashes. But she too was a force to be reckoned with when it came to protecting Bin Hammam’s interests inside the AFC.

  The third woman in Bin Hammam’s closest circle was Michelle Chai, the AFC’s assistant general secretary and director of the Vision Asia football development programme. Chai was different from the other two: sharper and more boyish with a quick tongue and an impish smile. She wore her floppy hair short and sported round spectacles. She didn’t bother with makeup or jewellery and she was happy coming to work in her sloppy AFC polo-shirt, or a blazer if she was out on official business. Chai was a skilled administrator and a genuine football nut. She loved the game almost as much as she loved Bin Hammam, and for that he respected her. The AFC’s assistant general secretary was a strong woman and she didn’t take any nonsense. But, when it came to Bin Hammam, she was just as hopelessly devoted as Be and Gan.

  All three women adored him, and vied for his attention and approval. They spent much of their day chatting to one another over electronic messages, exchanging titbits of gossip, joking about Meshadi or sometimes scratchily competing over who was closest to the pre
sident. Mostly their messages were friendly and light-hearted, but at times the rivalries within the group became clear. They were suspicious of each other. They got jealous. And sometimes tittle-tattle swirled around the office which exacerbated the tension.

  ‘Since we are being honest and in a confessional mood,’ Be wrote to Chai one May morning, ‘I was not jealous of you but was uncomfortable when it seems you were doing my job. I must admit, I was convinced by the rumours. I have always known the president loves you very much, from the start, so I have no reason to be jealous of a fact but I was very worried that I’ll lose my job.’

  ‘I have absolutely no intention to do that,’ Chai replied. ‘You know how it is with boss . . . He sees and he asks to do. Doesn’t draw the line. And yes, my weakness is, if he ask I cannot say no. This is my problem.’

  Be was pacified. ‘We all have our weaknesses. But we have many things in common too. One thing for sure. We both love the president very much.’

  It was vital to Bin Hammam that the women who oversaw his affairs at the AFC were slavishly loyal and unquestioning, and that they guarded the gates to his private office in Kuala Lumpur jealously. He had been using the AFC sundry accounts as a slush fund for years now, pumping money in and out from accounts controlled by staff at Kemco, back in Doha. The Qatari had learned early on that the way to secure power in world football was to buy it. He had a network of officials across Asia on his payroll, as well as a scattering of football chiefs in Africa who remembered his generosity in the 1998 and 2002 elections and kept coming back for more. This was a power-base he planned to build from substantially for his World Cup campaign, and it was going to be necessary to crank up the cash flow.