You know how, sometimes, your dream is so real, so extraordinary, so wonderful, or so weird, that to wake up from it is a really unpleasant experience? And how it lingers throughout the day — snippetsof it. Snatches. Vignettes. Pieces. Often difficult to piece together, or recreate any sense of coherence. All that remains — all that you try to recapture — are these curious bits and pieces. The flotsam and jetsam of the night. And compared to the fairly boring reality of the day, these dreams in all their vividness and colour and glamour make common living seem grey. The dream of hosting the biggest sporting tournament in the world, on the African continent, was now a reality. We did not wake up the next morning to find that we had been collectively tricked. That it was all a beautiful mirage. We woke up the next morning with the blood thundering in our ears. We were it.