Who wants to go out when it’s raining—unless there is a football match!
With no ladder or stair, it was no problem for people who climbed onto tin-shed roofs, jumping off from nearby concrete buildings to get a view. When the ball fell on the wet ground from an on-field battle, mud splashed onto the clothes and uncovered body parts of some spectators. They flinched for a moment, letting out an unwilling scream, but it wasn’t much of a problem as they sat back down on a chair—something as rare as a golden deer, prized by those around. Two boys shared a chair as the mud occasionally pulled them off balance. They shouted, “Ouch!” but their attention soon returned to the game.
On one side of the field, around a hundred chairs were arranged in two or three rows—all filled up—just outside the sideline, surrounded tightly by plenty more standing fans. There was no seating arrangement on the other three sides of the pitch, as spectators gathered and stood shoulder to shoulder while rain continued to pour. Getting a full view of the game made one lucky. The roofs of every single-story building around the field gradually started to tilt under the weight of fans who thought football was a better idea—even in the rain. There was also an under-construction four-story building, every floor of which was occupied by people fervent for monsoon football. Others gathered under the shade of a two-story schoolhouse.
It was the final of a local football tournament held at a school field in Naria, Shariatpur. Two neighboring unions of the same subdistrict took part in the muddy battle. Naria Municipality hosted the game against the visiting Chamta Union. To secure the win, Naria hired three overseas African footballers including Diamond Kwasi Adiefe. They stole the show as their team cruised to a dominant 3–0 victory over Chamta, who had only local recruits. Naria also rented premier league footballers, but they didn’t want to be exposed.
Beating the top flight
Recently, a social media video showed a huge crowd gathering to watch a countryside football match during the monsoon. There was no seated gallery, but every inch of space surrounding the pitch was filled. Spectators sat or stood on the grass. Many climbed trees to get a view. Others watched from the roofs of tin-shed houses.
It was a locally organized, community-based match between two villages. No top-flight match in recent years could attract such crowds.
These random games are held across villages and suburban districts throughout the year. Those who can afford it hire foreign footballers, making it a key source of income for many African players in Bangladesh.
Diamond, from Ghana, is one of them. He has been in Bangladesh for eight years and got the chance to play in the top-flight league only once, last season for Chittagong Abahani. Financially struggling, the club was relegated after finishing bottom of the table without a single victory.
Diamond said he had never seen such crowds in any of his premier league matches as he did in these local games. In terms of spectators, amateur monsoon football in the villages easily beats the professional league.
After the final in Naria, a ninth-grade student, Shafayet Bin Zaman, said he enjoyed such amateur football more than league matches because “he can watch it simply better.” An attempt to travel and see Diamond play in Naria was more than just a game.
Painted in mud
As soon as Diamond entered the field before the final, fans—especially the younger ones—surrounded him to take a closer look and snap selfies. Diamond had experienced this kind of attention while training with Chittagong Abahani, but never on a match day, as it happens regularly in village games.
He is a defender. He scored the opening goal and kept a clean sheet. After winning the final, even more people crowded around him for photographs. It was still raining, and the field was muddy, but nothing could stop them.
Diamond kept smiling. He could not be reached for comments immediately. Later, he revealed striking insights into football’s monsoon appeal in Bangladesh.
Bangladesh is primarily an agrarian country. During the monsoon in wetland regions, there isn’t much agricultural work, leaving people with plenty of time—and football fills that gap. Mini-tournaments are organized, and Diamond stays busy throughout the year, as these matches are his only source of income. He was even hired for such games during his top-flight season since the club couldn’t pay him much.
“The number of matches held during the monsoon is the highest,” he told Dhaka Tribune.
Diamond has played across the country—Brahmanbaria, Cumilla, Kishoreganj, Tangail, Sylhet, Habiganj, Mymensingh, Munshiganj, Manikganj, Chattogram, Jamalpur, Jhenaidah, and even Bogura. “Many people in this country haven’t visited as many places as I have for football. Everywhere, there are so many crowds,” he said.
He played eleven matches during the two core monsoon months, nine of them in the rain. “Bangladeshi people love football,” he said. “The rural people also love this. Even if it’s raining, they come to watch.”
‘Can’t say no’
Along with the foreigners, league players are also top attractions. Top clubs usually don’t allow their players to join non-pro matches, but mid- and lower-tier teams often can’t enforce such restrictions due to a lack of professionalism and financial constraints.
Players are hired for a day or two—for semifinals, finals, or single friendlies—to entertain huge crowds who come to see big names. For these short football shows, national players are like hot cakes. They also play but try their best to stay unnoticed.
According to a source, national striker Sumon Reza, who previously played for league champions Bashundhara Kings, was set to join one such game. At the time, Sumon wasn’t officially registered with any club and was preparing to move to reigning champions Mohammedan Sporting Club, who hadn’t started pre-season yet.
Sumon admitted that he played a match in Balar Bazar, Shariatpur. “It’s more about requests,” Sumon told Dhaka Tribune. “I can’t say no to some requests, especially when they come from my hometown Tangail.”
He said, “I don’t play such matches much—one or two per year.” Earlier this year, he played in Tangail and was scheduled for another in Kosba, Brahmanbaria, later in the season—both during the monsoon. “If I want to play khep, I can play every day, but I don’t do this,” he added.
These local amateur matches are colloquially called khep by professionals and often viewed negatively if national players take part. Sumon acknowledged this perception: “As a professional and national player, we shouldn’t play these matches, but I can’t say no to everyone. I restrain myself most of the time.”
He smiled and added, “The madness among spectators for these matches is 100 out of 100. Sometimes I get requests just to attend the match, not even to play.”
The backdrops
During the monsoon, paddy fields go underwater. Farmers and their families find time for sports and entertainment—and football, the country’s most popular sport, naturally becomes the top choice.
Matches are arranged in or around village markets, suburbs, and municipalities. School fields are the most common venues for these mini-tournaments.
The game in Naria was held at the field of Bihari Lal Model High School. From the bus stand, one has to cross the Kirtinasha River (also known as Palong) by boat to reach the venue near the riverbank. The organizers spread sand to make the pitch playable. Players must adapt their style, as normal techniques don’t always work in mud and water. “We struggled at first, but now we’re used to this,” said Diamond. Still, injuries remain a concern.
On the eve of the final, the hired footballers stayed at the Water Development Board’s rest house in Naria. Gambian midfielder Al Amin Camara was in one of the rooms. Camara, a well-known former top-flight player, began his Bangladesh career with Feni Soccer Club in 2011 and later played for Mohammedan, Farashganj, and Sheikh Jamal Dhanmondi Club.
He sat on a couch while local fans came for selfies, chatting in fluent Bangla he had picked up over the years. “I stopped playing league football in 2018. Since then, I’ve only played these matches,” said Camara. “In the league, I wasn’t happy because there were no fans. Here, I enjoy a full crowd every match. I see this nowhere else in the world.”
Camara missed the final due to an injury sustained in the semi. The foreigners were hired only for the semifinal and final. In another room, the local footballers rested and chatted.
“As a player here since 2009, the big thing about these matches is the vast number of spectators. They respect the players,” said Mohammad Alam, a local footballer from Shariatpur. He noted that the number of foreign players had increased since 2018–19, which, he felt, limited opportunities for locals as the overseas players drew the most attention.
Joy in the rains
These non-professional matches and tournaments take place across Bangladesh throughout the year, said sports organizer Mostafizur Rahman Shekhor. “It’s true that these matches increase in number during the monsoon,” he said. “Cricket and football are the two most popular sports in Bangladesh. Cricket stops during the monsoon—football rises.”
There are no tickets. Funds come from local businessmen, politicians, and expatriates to cover arrangements and player payments. Preparing the pitches becomes tricky as rain makes surfaces uneven. “A lot of sand has to be managed to improve the pitch and clear the drainage system. Sometimes matches are canceled due to thunderstorms,” said Shekhor.
The duration of these community matches and the pitch sizes vary—usually 60–70 minutes, sometimes 80. The fields are typically smaller than standard pitches but larger than futsal courts.
Shekhor, also General Secretary of the Shariatpur District Football Association, revealed, “Most premier league footballers play khep. Only 20–25 percent don’t. The main attractions are the foreign and professional players. Lots of people gather to watch, even in the rain. All spectators are local—they love this game.”
Monsoon football has a special appeal in this tropical country where it rains time to time for nearly six months a year. Whether from a remote village or a bustling city, if it was raining and there was a field nearby, one with a football couldn’t stay home.
“Our parents couldn’t hold us back even in chains as we ran out of the house when it rained to play football. It’s very bustling playing on rainy fields,” Bangladesh’s legendary center-forward Sheikh Mohammad Aslam told Dhaka Tribune. Aslam grew up in Khulna.
The undeniable demand to play football during rains was also evident in the capital Dhaka.
Dhaka-based poet, writer and journalist Pranay Polycarp Rozario, also former secretary of a football club in the capital, recalled, “We took the ball and went out in the rain when it called,” The football enthusiast nodded—it was always a pleasure playing under the rain.
Bangladesh Football Federation (BFF)’s executive member and former national midfielder Satyajit Das Rupu, who is currently the manager of six-time professional league champions Abahani Limited, rekindled, “When we saw the clouds, we went to the field to play football.”
He also added that this trend can still be seen in the countryside regions.
Aslam, at the same time, also reminded that football is a seasonal sport and urged to be more cautious in unfavorable condition like playing on wet ground due to risk of injuries.