99% Invisible - The Horn That Divided the World Cup

Episode Date: June 16, 2026

Love it or hate it, one buzzing horn changed the sound of the World Cup forever. Subscribe to SiriusXM Podcasts+ to listen to new episodes of 99% Invisible ad-free and a whole week early. Start a free trial now on Apple Podcasts or by visiting siriusxm.com/podcastsplus.  Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This is 99% invisible. I'm Roman Mars. Every four years, dozens of football teams from around the world, that's the soccer kind of football for our American listeners, gather for a time-honored tradition, the World Cup. And every four years, millions of football fans from around the world gather for another time-honored tradition, being mad at the World Cup.

Partly, they're mad at the opposing teams. That's the fun kind of mad. But they're also mad at FIFA, the nakedly corrupt organization that runs the tournament. This year, the main reason to be mad at FIFA is for outrageous price gouching. Their new dynamic ticketing system, along with their blatantly self-dealing resale market, are causing ticket prices to skyrocket. The most expensive seats for the previous World Cup final were $1,600. When the first round of tickets for this year's final went on sale,

the cheapest seats in the house started at a staggering. $2,790. Then, they more than doubled in later rounds. For those who missed the pre-sales, there's always FIFA's resale market, where they take a hefty 15% cut from both buyers and sellers. Seats behind the goal for that final game were recently listed there for $2.3 million each. Last year also saw FIFA award a sycophantic peace prize to the sitting U.S. president. The lead-up to the 2022 tournament in Qatar had numerous human.

rights violations in the construction of the stadiums, reportedly leading to the deaths of hundreds of migrant workers. The Cup before that was hosted by Russia in the wake of their annexation of Crimea. And in 2015, 11 FIFA officials were indicted for accepting over $150 million in bribes. So we thought we'd take you back to a comparatively quaint World Cup controversy from 2010. Plastic horns that were just too dang loud. Enjoy. In the spring of 2004, Journalist Mark Gleason sat in the front row of a small conference room in Switzerland for a big announcement. There was a dramatic buildup. There was a lot of tension. Everyone was on edge. The winning bid to host the 2010 FIFA World Cup was about to be revealed, and South Africa was among the leading contenders.

I mean, they had all the top guns go to Zurich for that particular announcement. Mandela was there. Bishop Tutu was there. The former president of the Clack was there. South Africa wanted to be the first African nation to host the World War. World Cup. They also wanted the tournament to be the start of a new chapter. During apartheid, the country was banned from the international sporting community. Now they were on the precipice of hosting soccer's biggest event. South Africans gathered in the streets of Johannesburg, Cape Town and Durban to await FIFA's decision. I discover it with you. The 2010 FIFA World Cup will be organized in South Africa. You know, South Africa, it's

come full circle in the sense of its horrible past and how it had moved on from being a pariah state and was now, you know, hosting the biggest event in world sport and very much part of the international family. The celebrations that erupted that day in Zurich were full of cheers and whistles, but also one notorious sound that came to define South Africa's World Cup. The sound of the Vuvuzella. Back in 2004, nobody really talked about. vivisela's. Even people in the soccer world didn't know what they were. Reporter James Parkinson.

But six years later, by the time the first game of the tournament was underway, the Vuvazella was the hottest word in sports. The 2010 FIFA World Cup is ready for kickoff. And to the sound of 80,000 Vuvuzellas, Bufana Bafada. The Vuvuzela is a two-foot-long injection molded plastic horn. It plays only one note, a beef flas. And it gradually became a regular feature of South African soccer.

But prior to the 2010 World Cup, the rest of the world had never heard anything quite like it. And a lot of people hated it. It's been likened to a giant swarm of angry hornets or a herd of distraught elephants. So loud the stadium with the boozealous. It's ridiculous. It's not noisy. There's nothing irritating about it. There's nothing irritated. But at the end of it, for fans watching abroad,

the constant drone of a Vuvuzela wasn't what the beautiful game typically sounded like. European soccer games, or football games, are often characterized by songs and chants bellowed by the supporters. But the hum of 80,000 Vovazellas drowned out that type of crowd noise.

The sound caused actual headaches for television broadcasters. French network, TF1, opted to change their commentator's microphones for a kind that would reject more background noise. Other networks chose to use special audio filters to try and eliminate the Vivazella from their sound mix altogether. The controversies surrounding the Vuvazella was hard to ignore. It drew attention away from the players on the field and placed the focus on the crowd in the

stadiums. It also sparked a debate about the history of the Viva Zella and its true origins. For critics, the Vovazella was a role. relatively new mass-produced noise maker, but for supporters, they tended to think of the Vuvazella as an instrument, a loud, attention-grabbing sound that grew out of South Africa's rich footballing tradition. In 1862, there's already documented matches that took place in Cape Town in Port Elizabeth. That's South African football historian Peter Allegie.

And that is a year before the Football Association was even founded in England and before the first rules of association. football were codified. Originally, the sport was introduced by British colonizers, seeking to impose their beliefs and values on the locals. But quickly, South Africans embraced football and made it their own. It's an interesting story whereby a colonial game really was transformed into a pillar of black culture by the racially oppressed.

The game was both affordable and accessible, becoming the sport of the world. the black working class. And when I use the term black, I'm referring to people who either are self-identified or were later classified under apartheid as African, Indian, or South Asian, and colored or multiracial. Football was not held in high regard by officials in the apartheid regime. Sports played predominantly by white South Africans like cricket and rugby were the ones that received political backing. So as a way to help organize themselves, football teams, formed supporters clubs. These were small but mighty organizations made up of fans from each city or town. Supporters clubs would hold fundraisers and hammer out travel logistics to away matches,

and black supporters clubs in particular played a special role, giving black South Africans who had no say in their government a voice to shape their community through the local team. Members held elections for various positions in the supporters club and also through their formal organization, they tried to influence the football club's internal affairs. And so the ability to campaign for office to achieve a kind of social honor and visibility by achieving these high offices was something that was highly valued, particularly in black communities. By the 1960s, supporter clubs existed all across South Africa, and they made their presence known to the noise they generated on game days at the stadium. Crowd of Fond Wild, just quietly left to play, and his chief to, which university too.

Playing music at the grounds, chanting, singing, dancing, maybe insulting the opponents. This was something intensely pleasurable and entertaining. During this time, political opponents of the apartheid regime were banned from gathering. It was one of the many ways the government tried to suppress the liberation movement. But football games and the noise and crowd that came with them made it harder to prevent black politicians from sitting together. It provided cover in a way by allowing activists to have conversations and even organize particular subversive activities. And in doing so, kind of undermining the white state's surveillance and censorship. The stadiums were a sort of sanctuary, a place where you could get rowdy,

and thumb your nose at the government, where you could fly the flag of the anti-apartheid movement while rooting for your favorite team. It was also the place where you could hear one charismatic fan pick up his horn and make a sound that would soon be heard around the world. So myself, I'm an owner, I'm a founder, and a pioneer of the VupuZela. It is started by me. This is Freddie Makei. They call me Mr. Vububuzela when I was over. walk around. Freddy actually prefers to be called Saddam, an edgy nickname he received during the Gulf War, because he used to set off huge firecrackers at football matches. People would say it sounded like the Iraq War on TV. Saddam Marke is a soccer freak, or a superfan, as they're known in

South Africa, the most passionate of football supporters. He loves the South African national team and his local club, Kaiser Cheaps, from Johannesburg. He can be seen at games wearing oversized yellow glasses, a jersey, and a mining helmet known as a marker, painted in the team's colours. For Saddam, you might say football is life. My first wife divorced me because of soccer. I said, chips is my first wife. You're my second wife. Every day, every night.

When I sleep, I sleep, I sleep, seeps, I sleep soccer, eat soccer, talk soccer. I can't talk to you without talking about soccer. In between all the soccer chat, I did manage to learn where Saddam grew up. the province of Limpopo with his large family. His claim to the Vivazella dates back to his childhood and a gift he received for his birthday in 1965. My brother called Solomon Market. He bought me a bicycle.

And that bicycle, he used to have a hooter. The hootah, Saddam is referencing, is a bicycle horn. That hooter, I've gotten here. That is a bicycle hooter. He'd bring that horn to local football games to support his team. But instead of squeezing the little rubber bowl at the end, he'd take that off and blow into the horn.

I was doing that one to entertain the players motivate them, encourage them to score at the stadium with this one. 1965, when I arrived in John's back. Saddam liked the sound the detached bicycle horn made. He called it Apalafala. When his local football club, the Kaiser Chiefs, was established in 1970, Saddam says he brought a number of other homemade horns to the game.

This included a large aluminium horn he called a boogie blast. The boogie blast was basically a long metal stick you could blow into. It was also a long metal stick you could beat someone up with. So stadiums eventually banded. But by then in 1989, Saddam says he met with a plastics manufacturer and asked him to make a plastic version of the boogie blast. This new instrument they created sounded similar. But it had a different name.

I call it this one, Vuvazela. Vivazela is derived from Zulu. Vuvzela mean welcome and unite. Same thing, Vuvhvhela, welcome and unite. Saddam says he coined the name Vivisela back in 1992, a claim he supports with photos of him blowing his many horns at football games in the 70s and 80s, and a Vivazella in the 90s. He also recorded an album in 1999,

titled Vuvuzella Cellular. Saddam tried selling some of these plastic horns at football matches, but it just never really gained traction. Even at Kaiser Chiefs games, it would often be one of the only supporters in the crowd, blowing a Vivisela. However, that slowly started to change when a company in Cape Town started mass producing their own plastic horns,

which they also called the Vuvuzela. The company's name is Masen Kedahani Sports. The clique is important because the name of the company is from Issa. This is Dwayne Jethro. He studies South African culture and wrote about the history of the Vuvazawa. Dwayne says that back in 2001, Niel van Skulkwick and his partner, Beville Buckman, got funding to get their business off the ground.

He pitched this idea of injection molding a horn to a certain size and a certain specification. that would be easily used at football matches. Around the same time this new company was getting started, Saddam Make says he approached Neil Van Skulkwick to tell him that he was the true inventor of the Vuvuzela. Saddam says he tried to strike a business deal. Did you ever speak with Neil?

Neil Van... Yes, I speak to him. He promised me, he promised me, each Vuvuzela, I'm going to get a five franc out of East Vuvuzela. and I never get even a scent, but I didn't worry. I didn't complain. I said to myself, God is great. We tried to track Neil Van Skulkvick down for an interview, but run successful.

According to media reports, he denied ever meeting with Saddam Markeh in 2001. In interviews, Van Skulkvick didn't claim to be the inventor of the Vibuzela, but he and his company assert that they did popularize it. their version of the horn was cheaper and safer in that you couldn't beat someone up with one. Actually, Roman, you technically could beat someone up with it. Right. It wouldn't hurt as bad. Well, look, you know, we were at the forefront of developing the first plastic version of a thin horn that used to be used in, you know, football here in South Africa. And because, you know, those horns were quite unsafe at the time, we saw the gap in the moment.

to produce a plastic version of that one. Initially, Van Sculkvick's company also struggled to sell their Vuvazella's, but that changed when they started to focus on the marketing. The company handed out Viverzellas for free at football matches and partnered with some local clubs to get more of them into South Africa stadiums. It wasn't long before there was more interest in the Vivisela, and sales started to grow. Soon, the instrument could be distinctly heard at games across the country.

Yeah, thanks very much, Rob. The second half about to get underway, Stanton Fredericks on for Josemakamo. So that's the change the chiefs have made. The Vuvuzela, effectively being a generic horn, meant that Van Skulkevick wasn't able to patent the design. But the word Vubuzella was unique, so his company got a trademark for the name. And as South Africa prepared their bid to host the 2010 World Cup,

Van Skolkvick and his company were ready to capitalize on the event. The company's efforts were designed to position the Vivisela as, including its official slogan, the original sound of South Africa. They recognized that there was a marketing opportunity in having the Vuvuzela in the hands of important South African footballing officials, but also politicians that were trying to drum up support both locally and internationally for South Africa's bid. So what you saw was things like the gifting of Vuvuzela as diplomatic gifts on local stages. politicians were handed, vovozellas, etc. When FIFA announced South Africa's winning bid to host the tournament,

the joyful celebrations included these plastic vivuzillas. The aggressive marketing worked. In the lead-up to the World Cup, the sound of South African football was inextricably linked to the Vuvazella. The instrument even appeared in national marketing campaigns, fronted by prominent rugby players who'd been called in to promote the 2009 Confederation's Cup, a sort of test-run tournament for the World Cup.

We behind the FIFA Confederations Cup. The Confederations Cup was the first time a global TV audience had been exposed to the Vivazala. Not long after the first game, the international debate started taking off. One thing that I found, I don't know if I'm the only person, I found excruciating, was this constant droning that is going on. They're blowing these like trumpet-looking. know how they have enough air in their lungs. And it never ends.

And it is just a, it is like you are being attacked by a swarm of locusts for 90 consecutive minutes. I know exactly what you're talking about. How can they constantly do that? I don't know. I don't know if they take turns. Media reports were quick to raise concerns about the Vuvuzella's potential impact on the World Cup.

Set Blatter, the beloved and totally non-controversial FIFA president, was asked if the Vivisela that was going to be banned at the upcoming World Cup. To the surprise of many, he came out in support of the instrument, saying it is African culture. We are in Africa, and we have to allow them to practice their culture as much as they want to. He's journalist Mark Gleason again. It struck me at that point that that was the turning moment,

because I do think it was a bit of an issue for FIFA, whether the Vuvuzila was going to be part of the 2010 World Cup or not. It's a moment I remember very distinctly, and thinking to myself, this is the Vuvuzella now. We will have the Vuvuzela in 2010. From the moment the World Cup kicked off, the Vuvuzela was a constant and persistent presence. From the atmosphere in the stadiums

to the jokes on late-night TV, it was inescapable. While broadcasters were trying to mitigate the noise on their end, DIY solutions were making their way around the internet. One of them involved writing your TV's audio through your computer and using software to remove the particular frequencies of the Vuvazella. And as the tournament continued, players on the field cited the Vivuzella for causing communication problems. Leonel Messey, regarded by many as the best player in the world, even went so far as to blame the noise for his team conceding a goal. The complaints were even enough to inspire a study from the South African Medical Journal.

It measured the Vivisela's sound levels, which peaked at 131 decibels. That's as loud as a jackhammer or a jet engine. It concluded that prolonged or regular exposure could cause noise. induced hearing loss. There was no middle ground with the Vuvazala. You either loved it or hated it. Most of the Vivazala outrage came from a very Eurocentric perspective. It was an argument about what was considered appropriate in football fan culture,

which Dwayne Jethro says was an attack on the idea of Africanness. It raises these old, old ideas of Africa as a dark continent, cultural forms from Africa as being primitive or outdated, etc. And I think that's how the outrage was received in South Africa. And it was in that space that not only the South African Football Association, but also South African fans started to speak back and speak out and to say that this is how we represent ourselves in our sporting traditions and sporting fan culture.

While the Vivizawa was condemned by international audiences, it's also true that many visitors to South Africa embraced it. For comedian Trevor Noah and plenty of other South Africans, the appropriation was the problem. In South Africa, we should have a thing where you have to have a license to blow Vuvuzela. You can't just come here, not knowing Vuvuzela etiquette, blowing it randomly. The English fans, the Spanish fans, middle of the day, there they are, 9 a.m. What are you doing? It's so much fun.

It's wrong. It's the wrong people. You know who should be blowing Vufuselah's qualified, skilled practitioners? Chiefs and pirate supporters. That's who should be blowing Vuvuzela's. There is no doubt that for thousands of South Africans, the Vuvuzella was an expression of national identity. But as the first African nation to host the World Cup, the instrument came to represent more than just South Africa. For viewers watching around the world, it represented the sound of an entire continent.

And that was by design. FIFA and South Africa's organizing committee marketed the tournament as Africa's World Cup. The slogan was Celebrate Africa's Humanity. Even the official song of the tournament, which you'll surely remember, proclaims this time is for Africa. And because the Vivazela became such a huge focal point of the event, Peter Raleji says the instrument got wrapped up in all the archonography of the tournament too. The government was keen on using it because it saw it as a symbol of, you know, Africanness.

but there were also other African visitors who hated it who said, you know, we have no tradition of horn blowing where I come from. So how is this supposed to represent pan-Africanism? The Disneyfication of the tournament made the Vivazella feel cheap, like the rest of the marketing around it. And with that cheapness came a certain skepticism about its authenticity. Despite the instrument being so criticized, people still wanted to claim credit for its existence.

The disputes over its history, and origin played out side by side with the tournament. One story the press picked up connected the Viverzella to the horn of the kudu, a species of antelope. Historically, animal horns have been used in South African culture, but the theory linking the kudu horn to the Viva Zella was likely inspired by one supporter of the team Mamelode sundowns, who was known to bring the horn to football games. His researcher Dwayne Jethro again.

While it is absolutely true that we have indigenous traditions of horn blowing in South Africa, whether and how we can trace the genealogy of the Vuvuzela all the way back to those indigenous traditions, that's open to argument and debate. Another claim came from the Nazareth Baptist Church, also known as the Shembe, who have a horn of their own. The Shembe Church operates in the Kuzulu-Natal area. They have an annual pilgrimage And during this annual pilgrimage They use a horn called the Izibomu

When football fans were blowing the Vufuzele, they felt that the Holy Spirit that was generated by their horn Had been appropriated in this context of football atmosphere The Shembe first accused Saddam Markei of appropriating the Isambomu They said he visited the church in the 90s And fashioned his own version in plastic when he wasn't allowed to bring the metal horn into stadiums. Saddam denies these accusations.

The church threatened the legal action initially against FIFA and World Cup organizers before going after Neil Van Skulkwick and his company. According to media reports at the time, the two parties eventually came to a settlement. All these claims regarding the origin of the Vufuzella are compelling in their own way, but it was the heightened context of the World Cup tournament that raised the stakes in the ownership debate.

In all cultural heritage debates, origins and ownership are really important elements and strands of being able to claim a certain heritage tradition. You cannot claim a heritage tradition until you can claim ownership and a valid persuasive origin story. Despite the lack of a straightforward origin story, the Vivazoa is still considered cultural heritage, at least in the eyes of some institutions. The United Kingdom's National Football Museum and the British Museum both have vivisela's in their collections. So if we use the collecting principles of these heritage institutions

as a guideline for how heritage is staked and made, then you see the vovozella entering into that heritage narrative. I mean, the British Museum is no stranger to stealing credit for cultural artefacts. But if you look up the Viverzella's listing on their website, there is only one origin story they recognize. For me, to talk about this, Vubesela, you make my day. They attribute the invention to none other than Freddie Saddam Marke. You make my dream come true.

I'm feeling grateful because Mubuzela is my baby. Saddam's story is the closest thing the Viverzella has to an actual origin story. And unlike the noise that surrounded the Viverzella in 2010, his story at its core is simple. He loved his team and he wanted to show his support for them as loud as possible. Today, Voo-Zellos aren't nearly as prominent as they were back in 2010. A few years after the South African World Cup ended, FIFA turned around and banned them from all major tournaments. And several other major sports leagues have as well.

But for Dwayne Jethro, that comes with this overlining. I'm very glad that no future World Cup tournament. will be blessed with a beautiful sound of the Vubuzela, that the sound will always remain South African. Just a few months ago, the South African women's football team won their first ever Africa Cup of Nations. When the team arrived at the airport, they were greeted by fans expressing their national pride

through songs and chants. Saddam Markei was there too, blowing his Viva Zala. There were no complaints about the noise. The fans just celebrated the way they wanted to celebrate. the way they wanted to celebrate. So I'm back with James Parkinson, and you've got another story about football culture in South Africa for us.

Yes. So a few other interesting details came up while I was working on this story, and it has to do with that culture of noise-making in the stadiums. And I'm dropping you a picture now, so you can see what I'm talking about. So this must be Saddam Makeh, who we heard from him in the piece, who has a really great voice and a really great look to go with it.

Yes, this is Saddam, Vivizella fame. And in this picture, he's decked out and all this gear screaming his lungs out at a football match. He's wearing really large, comically yellow glasses and a helmet with all these different logos on it and icy stickers of Kaiser Chiefs and even Orlando Pirates on it. Yes. So what I want to talk about is that helmet, the Macarapa, because that was another item like the Viverzella that gained popularity during the World Cup. So the word Macarapa actually means scrapers. And scrapers is a reference to the migrant workers. He used to move into cities like Johannesburg to work in the mines. People would say they scrape for a living. And so the story goes

that a Carter Chiefs fan, not Saddam this time, went to a particularly rowdy game back in the 70s where he saw someone get hit in the head with a bottle. So naturally for the next game, he thought, you know, I just... He was like, well, I should wear that helmet. Yeah, exactly. All these people were wearing helmets. I should wear a helmet. Yeah. So this fan started painting these helmets in the team's colors and selling them at games, and it became a thing. But this isn't the only connection between the minds of South Africa and noise making in the stadiums. Duane Jethro told me there's also this sound. It's a kind of alarm. It's a wind-up alarm. It goes... Like an old aerate siren.

Exactly, yeah. And these alarms used to have this very specific use. It was the sound miners would hear for their shift change at work. So fans would, you know, bring these handheld sirens to make noise at the games, and they were pretty popular in the Nannis. Yeah. Because these are working class fans, so they're bringing what they have on them. They're bringing their helmets. They're bringing their sirens that they use in everyday life. Yeah, they're picking up their helmets and, you know, these alarms and sort of repurposing them to reflect their lives as miners in the culture of South African football. Oh, I love that. I love that.

Yeah, and one of my favorite examples of this is that they repurposed a work song they would sing in the minds, that fans would then sing, you know, loudly at games. It's called Shoshaloza. And you sing it, it goes something like, Shosholoza, I don't know the words properly, but that's how the rolling beat goes. It's the kind of song that you sing

when you really want to rouse up the crowd and South Africans across the board know the song. And it speaks to migrants, moving from different parts of Southern Africa to come and work on the mines. So Shoshal Lohza, this traditional minor song, actually became quite popular in the 90s. People refer to it as South Africa's second national anthem. It was sung in a call-and-response style by the workers to kind of, you know, generate a rhythm and also to alleviate stress from working long, hard days underground.

Shoshal-Laza means go forward or make the way for the next man. And famously, Nelson Mandela spoke about how he would sing this song while he would sing this song while he was imprisoned on Robin Island off the coast of Cape Town, along with many other political prisoners, and the ways in which the song reflected the struggle during apartheid. I mean, it reminds me of something that you mentioned in the piece that these games and the noise that surrounds them, I mean, yes, it's about sports and a game and about leisure and fun,

but it's also like a certain amount of political resistance just built into the fact that there's people singing along loudly in a stadium, they're playing instruments, And there's this way to make noise for your team, but also, you know, let the powers of be know that, you know, we're all here. And there's a bunch of us and we're all here. Yeah, we're here. And, you know, we're really loud.

And we're going to let you know. Well, thank you again, James. I mean, this was such a cool, fascinating history. And I'm so glad that you shared it with us. Thanks, Norman. Anytime. That story originally aired in 2022. It was produced by James Parkinson and edited by Jason DeLeon.

Mixed by Martine Gonzalez, music by Swan Real. with additional music provided by Freddie Saddam Makeh. Fact-checking by Graham Hesha. Kathy 2 is our executive producer. Kurt Kolstad is the digital director. Delaney Hall is our senior editor. The rest of the team includes Chris Baroube, Emmett Fitzgerald, Christopher Johnson, Lashma Don, Vivian Lay,

Joe Rosenberg, Kelly Prime, Jacob Medina Gleason, Talon and Rain Stradley, and Me, Roman Mars. The 99% of visible logo was created by Stefan Lawrence. We are part of the Serious XM Podcast family, now headquartered six blocks north in the Pandora Building. in beautiful, uptown, Oakland, California. You can find us on all the usual social media sites as well as our own Discord server.

There's a link to that, as well as every past episode of 99PI at 99PI.org.