La Digue and the National Footballer

During my time as National Athletics Coach for the Seychelles, I managed—at least partially—to turn around the career of the country’s top sprinter, Joanna Heaureau. Joanna, then 25, was a powerful athlete with a personal best of 7.59 seconds for the 60 metres, which stood as the national record. When I arrived, she was consistently around the 8-second mark.

Part of my role involved coaching the national sprinters and hurdlers, supported by my assistant coach, Joseph Adam, a former 400-metre champion who had represented Seychelles at the Commonwealth Games. Joseph was an excellent coach and a good companion—steady, insightful, and always ready with a wry comment about “how things used to be done.”

At the National Championships, Joanna clocked a new best of 7.50 seconds, and with that we were off to the World Indoor Championships in Birmingham.

It was, quite literally, freezing. We’d just come from tropical paradise, and the cold hit us like a hammer. After a few days of acclimatisation, Joanna ran in a pre-meet and later complained of a tight hamstring. The UK Athletics medical team were helpful, but the combination of cold weather and the lack of regular physiotherapy back home didn’t do her any favours.

When we returned, Joanna decided to return to her club coach. Word came back that my training “wasn’t hard enough.” So be it. Coaching, like politics, is never short on opinions.

With Joanna gone, I decided to visit the island of La Digue, a small and idyllic place with no cars—just bicycles and ox-drawn carts. What drew me there was curiosity: I kept seeing reports that La Digue’s school teams were winning across all sports, despite their tiny population compared to the capital, Victoria.

I’d also heard about Natatcha Bibi, a gifted 19-year-old who had switched from athletics to football after her coach returned to Madagascar. To reach La Digue, you fly to Praslin and then catch a 30-minute ferry across turquoise waters to this tranquil island paradise.

La Digue was everything you might imagine—friendly people, slow pace, conversations that meandered like the island’s sandy paths. Word got around quickly that I was there, and soon Natatcha appeared at a café, all smiles and enthusiasm. She said she’d love to take up sprinting again.

We made a deal: I’d visit every two weeks, bring her a new programme, and she’d train in between with a small group of friends—four willing lads from the local high school who, by all accounts, could run a bit themselves.

“All we want,” they said, “is to see Natatcha a champion again.”

And so we began.

We sprinted up slopes near her village, worked drills on the grass track—the best grass track I’ve ever seen, perfectly flat and beautifully maintained. Everyone on La Digue seemed to know her, and as word spread about our training, excitement built for her showdown with Joanna back in Victoria.

When the day arrived, the event was a 150-metre dash. I thought Natatcha looked superb in her warm-up—focused, relaxed, ready. As the athletes were called to their marks, the stadium fell silent. The gun fired.

Joanna pushed hard on the bend, but Natatcha ran tall and smooth, pulling away down the straight to take the win. She beamed with that unmistakable grin of someone who had just rediscovered her purpose.

Soon after, a business on La Digue offered to sponsor her to compete in the ABSA Grand Prix circuit in South Africa—a massive step up in competition. Off we went again, a coach and his young sprinter on tour.

South Africa was an eye-opener. I’d been there before, delivering coaching clinics in KwaZulu-Natal, assisted by Norrie Williamson from my hometown, Edinburgh, who had moved to South Africa before returning to Scotland as an Athletics Development Officer.

What struck me was the sheer enthusiasm for sport. I remember giving a four-hour coaching clinic in a large stadium in Durban. About thirty minutes in, two young men joined in—fit, eager, throwing themselves into every drill. At the break, they came over and apologised for being late:

“Our car broke down,” one said, “so we ran 20 kilometres to get here.”

That, I thought, was commitment.

During the tour, Natatcha competed in Durban, Cape Town, and Port Elizabeth. Each meet featured top African and European athletes, and she handled herself with distinction—learning, improving, and proving she belonged at that level.

Cape Town, in particular, brought a deeply emotional experience for me—though that’s a story for another chapter. Port Elizabeth, by contrast, felt peaceful and open, a welcome change from the high walls and electric fences common elsewhere.

What I took away from that experience was something my Scottish mentors had always impressed upon me: great athletes come from great people, not great facilities.

La Digue had no synthetic tracks, no high-performance gym—just a dirt oval, a grass track, and a community that believed in its athletes. And that belief, in the end, made all the difference.