Empty stadiums, but the Olympic breath has arrived for Egypt

The night in Cairo did not have the usual roar of crowds. The stadium lights shone bright under fluorescent lamps, but the stands were half-empty. People said it was the season of the pandemic, the crowd restrictions, the unavoidable regulations. But I sat there, half a globe away from familiar Da Nang, and sensed something: sometimes, the emptiest stadiums are where the biggest dreams are lit. In 2026, I sat in a small rented room in Moscow, rewatching footage of Croatia's 3-0 victory over Argentina. Luka Modric was being mocked then for his unusual tactical positioning, and I couldn't understand him either. It was only later I realized: every pass Modric made was an attempt to reclaim a childhood stolen by the Yugoslav wars. Football, volleyball — they are not so different after all. Behind every victory, every medal, there is always a story about human destiny. This November, at the CAVB Women's Volleyball African Nations Championship, Egypt wrote a new chapter. They defeated Kenya 3-0 in the final, securing a spot at the Los Angeles 2028 Olympics — the first time in history that Egyptian women's volleyball has reached the Olympic stage. No fireworks, no millions cheering, just the sound of the ball hitting the floor and hugs exchanged among young women in the center circle. I have been following African volleyball for decades, ever since I was a young reporter for "Báo Bóng đá" in the 1980s. Back then, African volleyball was an alien world, appearing only on thin newspapers printed on yellow paper. Now, I can sit in Da Nang and update every score, every play, every thrilling moment of the Cairo final. Technology has changed, but emotions remain the same — the same hunger for victory, the same sweat dripping on training hall floors. What I want to tell you today is not statistics, not spike percentages or attack efficiency. I want to talk about the people behind those numbers — the young women who spent their entire youth chasing a round ball, and now are about to step onto the world's most prestigious sporting stage. In 2026, I hosted a live Facebook stream for the National Athletics Championship at My Dinh Stadium. Only 2,300 views, and a flood of comments mocking my "old-fashioned" delivery. When Nguyen Thi Oanh broke the national record in the 3,000m steeplechase, I said dryly: "This is the best result in history." Viewers turned off the livestream mid-broadcast. That night, my 80-year-old mentor called: "You're talking to a phone, not to a person. What good is a record if you can't tell us she woke up at 4 AM every day for 11 years?" That sentence changed how I view sports. Every statistic is just the outer shell of a longer, deeper, more painful story. For Egypt, the 3-0 victory over Kenya was not simply three consecutive set wins. It was the result of decades of youth development systems, coaches who sacrificed family lives to guide girls from rough training courts to international floors, mothers who encouraged their daughters every Monday when friends their age went out to play. In that final, there is a name I want to linger on: Nada Ahmed Houssameldein, nicknamed Meawad. She scored 14 points — the highest in the match — including 2 kill blocks and 1 ace. But what I truly care about is not that number. I want to know how she trained to stand firm in the most decisive moment, when the entire arena bore down with the weight of a continental final. I have witnessed athletes collapse not because of strong opponents, but because of internal pressure. In 2026, young defender Pham Van Hanh of SHB Da Nang had an 8 billion VND transfer to Hanoi FC collapse due to financial downturn. He sat crying in the corridor of Chi Lang Stadium before all the cameras disappeared. I witnessed it but couldn't comfort him. In the nights that followed, I lost sleep, exhausted emotionally, returned home and recorded for the first time alone: "They say football is entertainment. But tonight, it's killing people bit by bit." Sports is never just a game. It is where people bet everything — youth, sweat, tears, and sometimes even loving relationships — to touch a moment of glory. For Nada Ahmed Houssameldein, that moment was when the final whistle sounded and she realized she had brought Egypt to the Olympics for the first time in history. On Kenya's side, Veronica Adhiambo Oluoch also had a memorable match with 11 points, including 2 aces and 1 kill block. Elizabeth Marian Sokoiyo added 10 points. Kenya lost the match, but they did not lose the battle for a World Cup 2027 spot. They had secured that ticket through the semifinals, and the final was merely a contest for the continental championship — a parallel race to the world championship berths. This is what many often overlook: in elite sports, losing is not always failure. Kenya reached the final, faced Egypt in what many experts predicted would be a closely contested match, and lost. But they still brought home a ticket to the 2027 World Cup — this was their most important strategic objective at this tournament. I have followed countless matches in my life, and one of the greatest lessons sports has taught me is: never judge a team by a single match result. Look at the journey leading to that match, the strategic decisions made, and what the team can learn to become stronger in the future. Cameroon, the bronze medalist, also secured a spot at the 2027 World Cup. Thus, Africa has three representatives at two of volleyball's biggest tournaments: Egypt at the Los Angeles 2028 Olympics, Kenya and Cameroon at the 2027 World Cup. This is a significant harvest season for African volleyball, a positive signal showing the sport's development on the continent. But I also want to raise a question few ask: Is the 2028 Olympics the final destination for Egypt, or just a stepping stone for a longer journey? Will their first Olympic appearance create a new wave of investment in Egyptian women's volleyball, or will it just be a glorious moment that fades with time? I recall what my old mentor told me years ago: "Don't write about victory as if it's an ending point. Write about it as if it's the beginning of a bigger question." The bigger question for Egypt is: What will they do with this opportunity? Will they build a sustainable women's volleyball system, or just focus on one generation and hope for a miracle? Mariam Metwally Mohamed Morsy, nicknamed Meeto, scored 12 points in the final. She was Meawad's closest teammate, and in the most difficult moments of the match, I noticed these two constantly exchanged glances — a wordless language, a connection built through years of training together. That is what truly makes a team strong, not complex tactics or refined techniques, but absolute trust in each other. I have written about many teams in my career, and one of the lessons I have learned is: the team with the strongest emotional bond is often the most consistently performing team over time. Technique can be trained, tactics can be improved, but the connection between people — that cannot be bought with money, nor learned from a book. Returning to the Cairo final, I want to emphasize one thing: Egypt's 3-0 victory does not mean Kenya is weak. In elite volleyball, a 3-0 win can come from many factors: luck in decisive moments, superior endurance in the final set, or simply the opponent not having their best day. What matters more is that both teams got what they needed — Egypt has the Olympic ticket, Kenya has the World Cup ticket. I have hosted many major event programs in my life, from high-stakes football matches to national athletics championships. But what I remember most are not the grand moments on stage, but the moments behind the scenes — when all the lights went out, when all the cameras disappeared, and only real people with real emotions remained. That is when I truly understand what sports is. In 2026, I participated in Migu's special Winter Olympics program. I witnessed speed skaters, long jumpers, and swimmers from around the world, each carrying their own story, their own dream, their own pain. I realized that at the highest level, sports does not distinguish between countries, languages, or cultures. It is a common language — the language of effort, perseverance, and hope. For Egypt, the Los Angeles 2028 Olympics will be a completely new experience. They will face the world's strongest opponents, teams with decades of Olympic experience. Can they cause an upset? Can they create another sports fairy tale? Or will they just be participants, playing the role of new faces in an old playground? I have no answers to these questions. But I know one thing: Egyptian women's volleyball has written a new chapter, and regardless of the future, no one can take that achievement away from them. They overcame every barrier, every doubt, and stood at Africa's highest peak. That is what matters most. And for us, who love sports, what matters is not whether Egypt wins or loses at the Olympics. What matters is that we witnessed an incredible journey, a story about young women who dared to dream big and turned that dream into reality. That is the eternal message of sports. I recall my old mentor's words: "You're talking to a phone, not to a person." That sentence has followed me throughout my career, reminding me that behind every number, every statistic, every match result, there are always real people with real dreams. And my job — the job of a sports writer — is not to list numbers, but to tell their story. Tonight, as I sit here in Da Nang, looking out at the glittering Han River, I think about the Egyptian girls in Cairo, perhaps hugging each other in celebration, perhaps calling family, perhaps sitting quietly watching the nighttime city. They accomplished what few believed possible, and I hope their story will inspire young women across Africa — and around the world — to pursue their dreams, regardless of circumstances. The stadium may be empty of fans. But the hearts of champions are never hollow. And sometimes, in the emptiest stadiums, the biggest dreams are lit.