In some African countries, Scrabble is more than a game — it's a sport. Here, a Senegalese player sits in front of his board during a competition. they bring to communities where they resettle. But there’s another aspect of long-term exile that is less known — the creative dimension. In my work I’ve met chess wizards, extraordinary artists and heard of a Shakespeare aficionado who performed all the parts in entire plays.
When I asked around, I was pointed toward a cluster of small brick huts. I had no idea that I was about to enter the exotic universe of the Liberian Scrabble Kings. I looked at my own tiles and the board again, and settled down for a serious, unhurried game — the kind I was used to. But suddenly my thoughts were interrupted."You have to play," said Sayun, who was now staring, not at the board, but at me. A bit flustered, I played a word, probably not my best option. He was in a rush, though I was unsure why. Ten seconds later Sayun played again and immediately looked back at me.
The Liberians in Danané seemed as obsessed as the world-class players Fatsis describes, perhaps more. The serious ones memorized the, reading through and making word lists day in and day out for weeks, months or even years. These adepts could not only tell you whether a particular word appeared in the dictionary, but on which page it could be found.
The winner received prize money and the coveted title of champion until the next tournament, which usually produced a new top player. But the champion was not by any means the best. The best were in another realm altogether. These luminaries were the Big Four, Danané’s “Scrabble kings.” This term referred to the four individuals who had simply gotten too good at the game. They could as easily have been called the Scrabble Gods.