DAR ES SALAAM: THERE is an old English saying: "Let sleeping dogs lie." In normal life, this is sound advice.

If the dog is asleep, you do not poke it, lecture it, or ask whether it has completed the stadium inspection report. You let it enjoy its nap. But AFCON 2027 is not normal life.

At 2,500/- each, that is 450m/- moving from fans to vendors before anyone even argues about offside.

It is football, television, tourism, traffic, grilled meat, hotel bookings, national pride and one very nervous auntie asking whether visitors will understand Swahili jokes.

I mean, this time around, East Africa must do the opposite. Wake every sleeping dog. Wake the dog called unfinished stadiums. Wake the dog called airport congestion.

Wake the dog called traffic jams. Wake the dog called customer service, which sometimes behaves as if smiling requires Cabinet approval. Wake cleanliness, signage, public transport, security and internet bundles.

Because if we wait until June 2027, those dogs will not merely bark; they will bite us live on television, in high definition, with slow-motion replay.

The World Cup has already shown us what modern football has become. It is no longer just twenty-two players chasing a ball while one man with a whistle ruin everybody's afternoon. It is tourism. It is commerce. It is logistics. It is branding.

It is a temporary economy wearing football boots. That is the audience Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania will inherit, come next year. It will not come politely carrying only scarves and good manners.

It will come with phones, cameras, opinions, currency, hunger, complaints, songs, flags and the ability to post one bad airport queue to the whole world before lunch. Now picture Dar es Salaam on match day.

By 11:00am, every hotel receptionist is smiling as the room rate has just discovered oil.

By midday, every taxi is occupied. By 2:00pm, every restaurant is grilling at full speed.

By sunset, the smoke from mishkaki stands hangs over the city like an official tourism campaign: "Visit Tanzania, leave smelling delicious."

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Suppose 60,000 football visitors are in the city. If each eats only three mishkaki, Dar will consume 180,000 sticks in one evening.

At 2,500/- each, that is 450m/- moving from fans to vendors before anyone even argues about offside.

Suddenly the butcher is an international trade expert, the onion seller is chairing a supply chain summit and the chilli vendor is asking, "Do you accept contactless?" Accommodation will also become comedy with bedsheets.

Every hotel room will be gold. Guest houses will become "boutique residences."

Apartments will become "executive suites."

Someone's spare room in Mikocheni, previously used for old exercise equipment and Christmas decorations, will suddenly be advertised as "stadiumadjacent luxury with authentic coastal breeze."

The stadium is 45 minutes away, but in Dar traffic, all geography is flexible. Transport will need reinforcements. Dar cannot simply wake up on match day and say, "Let us see how it goes."

We already know how it goes. A journey that should take 20 minutes becomes a spiritual retreat. Bajaj drivers become philosophers. Bodaboda riders develop the confidence of fighter pilots.

A visitor asks, "How far is the stadium?" and five people answer at once: "Near," "far," "depends," "traffic" and "wewe panda tu." This is why preparations must go beyond stadium construction.

Airports, shuttles, signs, fan zones, toilets, security, medical services, mobile money, volunteers and honest fares are not small details.

They are the tournament. A beautiful stadium surrounded by confusion is like wearing a sharp suit with slippers. People will notice the slippers. Of course, we know our beloved Dar.

Some people will spend the remaining few months saying, "Ah, Bado tuna muda bhana."

That is, we still got time…. Then, two weeks before kick-off, a committee will be formed to establish another committee whose urgent task is to recommend whether the first committee should meet on Tuesday or Thursday.

Someone will suddenly discover that directional signs point tourists to Kariakoo when they were looking for Kigamboni.

A guest asking for the stadium may receive three different directions, all delivered with patriotic confidence.

One taxi driver, seeing a supporter in a Senegal jersey, will announce, "Special AFCON fare, my friend, only 120,000/-."

The supporter will open a ride-hailing app, find the same trip for 23,000/- and the driver will spend the afternoon blaming technology, youth and possibly satellites.

Meanwhile, a roadside food vendor will unveil a handwritten sign: "Official CAF Approved Mishkaki."

CAF has never heard of him. But his queue will be the longest in the neighbourhood, because football fans respect two things: goals and smoke rising from grilled meat.

And let us not forget the official merchandise economy, which will arrive wearing sunglasses and carrying a black plastic bag.

Before the first ball is kicked, someone will be selling "original" jerseys so original that three different teams appear on one shirt.

A supporter from Ghana may buy a Tanzania jersey with "Messi 10" on the back and still be told, "Brother, this one is limited edition." Caps will appear. Vuvuzelas will appear. Flags will appear.

Phone covers will appear. Somewhere in the city, a man who has never watched football will print "AFCON 2027" on keyholders, mugs, umbrellas, baby bibs and possibly goats if the paint dries quickly.

Even families will not be spared. Relatives abroad will suddenly remember they have cousins in Dar.

"My brother, I am coming for only three weeks," they will say, meaning six people, eight suitcases, two children and one uncle who snores like a ferry engine.

The host will smile bravely while secretly calculating rice, cooking gas and whether the living room can be converted into a diplomatic guest wing. This, too, is AFCON preparation.

The lesson is simple. AFCON 2027 must be prepared like a national examination, not like a wedding where the chairs arrive while guests are already eating pilau.

Success will be measured before the first whistle: by airports that welcome, roads that move, streets that shine, internet that works, volunteers who know the city, hotels that solve problems, and citizens who understand that every visitor is a walking broadcast station.

So no, East Africa, do not let sleeping dogs lie. Wake them now. Feed them. Train them. Put reflective collars on them. Teach them customer care. Give them Wi-Fi passwords.

Because when Africa and the world arrive in June 2027, the only thing that should be asleep is the opposition's defence.