A split second before he crossed the finish line in Turin, Biniam Girmay sat up on his bicycle.
He let go of his handlebars, smiled to himself, and then punched the air in defiance. Behind him, heads bowed, still pedalling hard for the line, were 175 of the world’s best bicycle riders.
There were no bicycles ahead of him.
The Tour de France is the world’s oldest and most prestigious cycling race. Over 21 gruelling stages that span 3 500km, cyclists race each other through streets and up mountains and along winding, picturesque country roads.
It is one of the most brutal competitions in world sport, and also one of the most elite. Never before in its 121-year history had a stage been won by an Eritrean. Never before had a stage been won by a black African. Until Girmay.
The 24-year-old was not much fancied heading into the race, but that win in stage three was no fluke. He also won stage eight and stage 12, and is currently wearing the iconic maillot vert, the green jersey that is typically awarded to the fastest sprinter (the polka-dot jersey goes to the fastest climber, while the yellow jersey is for the fastest cyclist overall).
“It was unbelievably crazy, people everywhere celebrating,” Girmay said.
Those celebrations were especially pronounced in the streets and bars of Asmara, Eritrea’s capital, where cycling is a religion and Girmay is already a national hero.
“The plan was to build up for the Olympic Games but now I think I’m almost in my top shape,” said Girmay. “First, the goal is to finish the tour safely.”
He may have tempted fate.
Just a few days later, in the last few hundred metres of stage 16 — on a flattish course ideal for the kind of sprint finish in which he excels — Girmay crashed as he navigated through a roundabout at high speed.
His teammates helped him up, and he gingerly pedalled to the finish line — but the stage was lost to his closest rival, the Belgian rider Jasper “Disaster” Philipsen, and his hold on the green jersey suddenly felt a lot more precarious.
Girmay was undeterred. He dusted himself off, got a good night’s rest, and the next day he smashed Philipsen in an intermediate sprint on a mountain stage, increasing his lead once again. Given the obstacles that he has overcome to get here, a few bruises and scratches were never going to hold him back.
The first bicycle in Eritrea was imported by the Italian military — then an occupying power — in the late 1800s. The sport caught on quickly. At first, bike races were strictly segregated, and Eritreans were not allowed to compete with their colonial rulers.
In 1939, Italian authorities organised a special race with both Italian and Eritrean riders — ostensibly to prove Italian superiority. It backfired: the race was run by Ghebremariam Ghebru in a victory that is still celebrated today. In the words of Eritrea’s information ministry, “that victory shattered colonial Italian myths about Eritrean inferiority”.
Since then, Eritrean cyclists have continued to prove their excellence in the face of considerable obstacles. At home, riders have had to contend with civil war, diplomatic isolation and one of the world’s most authoritarian governments.
These conditions can also provide a perverse incentive, as African Arguments reports, because professional cycling is one of the few ways to escape mandatory, indefinite national military service — as long as athletes can keep riding fast enough.
Meanwhile the country’s high-altitude and relatively quiet roads — a consequence of economic stagnation — provide ideal training conditions. For riders able to keep ahead of all this, they must enter the cut-throat, expensive and at times racist world of international cycling, where opportunities for African riders are scarce.
Girmay hopes his success will change this. After his first stage win, he posted a picture to social media with the caption: “Let me open the door.”
“It is a huge opportunity for African cycling, especially for my country,” he said, and urged the big international cycling teams to start investing more in talent from the continent.
“They need to invest for this because my team invests a lot on me and now it’s time to pay them off.
“The other teams need to do the same and believe in [African cyclists] also.”
This is a familiar refrain in Africa’s growing cycling community.
Despite the huge potential in young talent, cycling clubs in Africa mostly survive thanks to the self-sacrifice and collective support of members who are driven by their goodwill and passion for cycling.
They often survive in spite of national cycling federations, who struggle with leadership issues and fundraising.
Cameroon’s most renowned cyclist, Kamzong Abesselo Clovis, is one of the few Africans who can make a living from the sport.
He counts himself as lucky that he is in a team that pays him a salary and training bonuses. He said that African athletes need more opportunities to compete.
“A sportsman’s food is competition,” he said. “Training can’t make you progress like competing.”
Girmay’s dominance in this year’s Tour de France is proof of what happens when African cyclists do receive the necessary support: his exceptional early promise earned him a rare spot at the International cycling body’s World Cycling College in Switzerland, which brought him to the attention of his current Intermarché-Wanty team.
He then pedalled into the global spotlight. And he is still pedalling.
This article first appeared in This article first appeared in The Continent, the pan-African weekly newspaper produced in partnership with the Mail & Guardian. It’s designed to be read and shared on WhatsApp. Download your free copy here
