The iconic Jomo Sono, a man whose name is synonymous with South African football, has pulled back the curtain on the financial and political realities of coaching the national team during one of its most pivotal eras. In a revealing interview, “The Black Prince” disclosed that his salary for steering Bafana Bafana at the 1998 AFCON and during the 2002 FIFA World Cup qualifiers was a mere R50,000—a sum he describes as “peanuts” even at the time, but one he felt powerless to challenge.
His account paints a picture of a patriotic dilemma, where love for country was leveraged against fair compensation, and where the fear of being politically ostracized loomed large.
A Take-It-or-Leave-It Offer
“When I worked for SAFA as the Bafana Bafana coach, I earned R50,000,” Sono stated matter-of-factly via Kick Off, a figure that would raise eyebrows given the stature of the job. This was not the result of a negotiation, but of a decree. “I didn’t even negotiate,” he explained. “They simply told me this is what I would earn.”
The amount, even in the late 1990s and early 2000s, was surprisingly low for a head coach of a national team that was African champions and aiming for the world stage. “Even back then, it felt like peanuts,” Sono admitted, “but there wasn’t much I could do about it.”
The Weight of a Nation: Patriotism as Pressure
The core of Sono’s revelation lies in his explanation for why he accepted the terms. For him, it was never just a job; it was a national duty fraught with political perception. He sensed that attempting to fight for a better salary would be dangerously misconstrued.
“Fighting about it would have seemed like I was opposing millions of people living in South Africa,” he said, highlighting the immense pressure that comes with the role. “If I had refused the money, there would have been rumours suggesting I didn’t want to help my country and that I was against the country. So, I kept quiet and accepted the offer.”
This calculus reflects a common challenge for many national team coaches, particularly in nations with a deep and complicated history. The call to serve one’s country is often framed in patriotic terms that can be used to justify below-market wages.
A Strategic Silence: Navigating a “Set-Up”
Sono’s acceptance, however, was not born of naivety but of a sharp, strategic understanding of the footballing political landscape. “I was strategic. I didn’t argue because I knew it was a set-up,” he revealed, suggesting he was aware of underlying agendas designed to trap him in a public relations nightmare. “The world of football is full of such scenarios, and you need to tread carefully.”
This statement implies that Sono believed any public complaint about his salary would be swiftly used against him, painting him as greedy and unpatriotic, and ultimately undermining his authority and his work with the team.
The Ultimate Priority: Country Over Currency
Ultimately, Sono’s decision was rooted in a perspective broader than football. He connected his service to the broader sacrifices made for the nation itself. “It wasn’t about the money; it was about the country,” he affirmed. “I chose to prioritise my country because many people sacrificed their lives fighting for it. I wasn’t overly concerned about money.”
This poignant conclusion reframes his entire tenure. For Jomo Sono, coaching Bafana Bafana was an act of service, a continuation of the struggle by other means. While he acknowledges the financial slight, he makes it clear that his motivation was rooted in a love for South Africa, a commitment that SAFA seemingly relied upon to secure his services for a fraction of their true market value. His story is a stark reminder of the complex interplay between sport, politics, and patriotism in the beautiful game.
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