Sunny pulled away from Orlu and, without a word, pushed some chairs aside. “What are you doing?” he asked.
She jumped into the arena and ran as fast as she could. She passed the group of scholars surrounding Sayé. They were humming and something was swooping about. She focused on Miknikstic’s wife. She was a lot taller up close. She wore a long dress made of the same yellow material as Miknikstic’s outfit, her long dreadlocks tied with a matching cloth. Sunny stepped up to her. She could smell the woman’s scented oil, like jasmine flowers. “Excuse me, Mrs.—”
“I am not ‘Mrs.’ anymore,” she said, her back to Sunny.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s what he’d always known he would become. He’s dreamed about it since he was a baby. But he didn’t know it would be so soon.”
Sunny began to feel as if she was imposing on the woman’s grief.
“I—I met your husband just before the match,” she ventured. “I’m a free agent and I just found out a few months ago and here I am now. I was upset because I was overwhelmed.” She paused. “He saw me and he . . . he talked to me and made me feel better. He gave me this.” She held up the yellow handkerchief. Miknikstic’s wife still didn’t turn around. “I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am to him.”
Silence. Sunny turned to leave.
“Wait,” Kadiatou said, turning to Sunny. She had a wide nose, round eyes, and two dark squiggles tattooed on each cheek. She wore a thick metal bracelet around each wrist. “Thank you,” she said. “My husband was a good person, but he picked and chose who he spoke to.” She clicked her bracelets together and they produced a large blue spark. “You have my blessing, too.” She tilted her head back to the sky.
Sunny hurried over to Orlu, who stood a few feet away.
“You met him?” he asked.
“Yeah, when I went to the bathroom.”
They walked past where Sayé still lay. He was groaning and his wife was sobbing, “It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, my love! Be still.”
“He’ll be fine,” Anatov said, walking over to them.
“Now I know why my parents never brought me to watch,” Orlu said.
“This one was especially . . . eventful.”
“Why didn’t they stop it?” Sasha asked.
“Because life doesn’t work that way,” Anatov said. “When things get bad, they don’t stop until you stop the badness—or die.” He paused. “That’s an important lesson for all of you. This is why I brought you here. This is why you’re staying in that hotel. Look around, listen and learn. This is not a holiday. In a month, you will all be facing something as ugly as what these two men faced this afternoon.”
14
The Football Cup
After Anatov left for his meeting, they were free until eleven P.M. There were things to buy, the possibility of a soccer match, and a social for the students. But they had just witnessed death. And then something beyond death. They returned to the same booth where they’d bought lunch and ordered glasses of very weak sweet palm wine. It was the only type the vendors would sell to anyone underage. The four of them sat in brooding silence and sipped their drinks.
“Let’s cheer up some,” Chichi said suddenly. “Come on. We’re in Abuja with no parents. It’s barely two o’clock!” She pinched Sunny’s thigh, and after a moment, Sunny smiled. “Okay, okay,” she said, pushing Chichi’s hand away.
“Man, this place is wild,” Sasha said, looking around. Someone stood on a box, belting out a song in Arabic. A man walked by on shiny red metal stilts, trying to make children laugh. A group of old women and men was at a table arguing as they threw down cards. “I’ll bet there’s a lot we could get into if we just look around. Where’s that art fair?”
“Somewhere that way,” Orlu said, pointing toward the man on stilts. “And we’re not going to ‘get into’ anything while we’re here.”
“Yo, you need to relax,” Sasha said, annoyed.
A boy of about nine walked up to their table. “Either of you want to join the football match?” He spoke only to Orlu and Sasha.
“Yeah,” Sasha said. “Put me on the list. Name’s Sasha.” He pointed to Sunny. “Put her on, too.”
The boy frowned. “I don’t think—”
“You don’t think what?” Sasha asked, leaning menacingly toward the boy.
The boy looked adequately scared. “Well . . . she’s a girl.”
“So?”
“What about him?” the boy said, pointing at Orlu. “He can play instead.”
“Nah, man,” Sasha said. “Put her name down. If they ask you, just say she’s a dude. My name’s girly, and I’m a guy. So same with ‘Sunny,’ you hear? We’ll deal with the consequences when the time comes, not you.”
“O-okay,” the boy said, writing her name on the list.
“When’s the game?” Sasha asked.
“In an hour,” he said. He reached into his satchel. “Here are your uniforms. You’ll be on the green team.”
“Woohoo!” Sunny yelped when the boy had left. “I can’t wait!”
They both went to the public restrooms to change. She was glad to get out of her dressy clothes and take off her earrings. Thankfully, she’d worn sandals; if she’d worn dress shoes, she’d have had to play barefoot. She ran out to Orlu and Chichi and kicked her leg up as if she were scoring the biggest goal ever. “Gooooooooooal!” she shouted. “I hope they let me play.”
“Sasha will scare them into it,” Chichi said confidently.
“Maybe not,” Orlu said. “The guys you’ll be playing will be older. I’ve seen the football match. They’re impromptu, but brutal.”
“What do you mean, brutal?” Sunny asked, frowning.
“Not like wrestling,” Orlu quickly said. “Brutal like a good football match.”
She relaxed some and shrugged. “I’m playing. I don’t care.”
“You sure are,” Sasha said, throwing his rolled-up clothes on the bench and sitting down.
“Well, I can’t wait,” Chichi said. “I’ve never seen you play.”
“I’ve never really played,” she said, smiling. “I mean, I’ve played with my brothers, but only after dusk. I’ve been itching to play for years. I don’t care if it’s against boys or if they stick me in defense. I want to be out there.”
“Oh, you’re not gonna be our defense,” Sasha said. “We’ve kicked the ball around some. You’ve got killer footwork and aim. You’re playing center forward.”
“Center forward?” she exclaimed. She laughed. “Please. They’ll never—”
“Let me handle it,” Sasha said. “You just prove me right.”
Sunny and Sasha decided to go for a warm-up jog and see if they could meet up with the other players.
“We’re going to check out some of the shops,” Chichi said. “We’ll see you on the pitch.” Orlu slapped and grasped Sunny’s hand, then did the same to Sasha. “Be cool.”
The game was in the same field as the wrestling match. Sunny didn’t like the idea of playing soccer where someone had just died. Still, when they got there, everything from the match was already cleared away; it looked as if nothing had happened. A boy was walking around the goals inspecting the bright, crisp white lines.
“Wow,” she said, looking over the field. “The lines look so perfect.”
“They have a little machine to help,” Sasha said. “Let’s jog.”
After the first lap, she realized the field was really uneven. There were rocks sticking out and small holes probably made by snakes or rodents. This was going to be a challenge for everyone, not just her.
“Who’s your favorite soccer player?” Sasha asked as they jogged.
“Pele,” she said. “You know, during the Biafran War—that’s the Nigerian civil war back in the sixties—the Nigerian and Biafra sides stopped fighting for two days to watch him play.”
“Really?”
“Yep. As one man, he stopped all the killing. He was that good.”
r /> “So you like playing forward, like he did?”
“Well, as far as I know,” she said. “I haven’t had much real experience.”
“I wish we had a ball to kick around,” he said.
“You know, I think I saw a tungwa floating around over there,” she said. They both laughed so hard they had to slow down.
More boys joined them as they ran. Nobody spoke, but those in white uniforms congregated at one side of the field, those wearing green at the other. An audience slowly gathered, too. Most of them were teenagers.
“Green team over here!” a tall guy said. He looked about seventeen, and wore a green uniform and nice soccer shoes, one of which he rested on a beat-up ball.
“Hey,” Sunny said to Sasha as they walked over. “He was on our funky train.”
Sasha raised his eyebrows.
“I hit him in the head by accident with my bag when we were getting on. He’s Igbo.” And gorgeous, she added to herself.
He had a clipboard. The boy who had taken their names stood behind him. He made eye contact with Sunny and quickly looked away.
“My name is Godwin,” the older boy said in English. “I’m team captain this year.” He paused. “Do you all understand me? Who understands English?”
Everyone raised a hand except for three boys.
“No English?” Godwin asked them.
“Français,” one of the boys said.
The boy next to him nodded and said, “Oui, je parle Français, aussi.”
“Moi aussi,” the third boy said.
She wondered where they were from. They didn’t seem to know each other, so most likely they were from three different French-speaking African countries.
“I speak French,” a stocky boy of about fifteen spoke up.
“Good,” Godwin said. “What’s your name?”
“Tony.”
Godwin nodded. “Translate. I’m going to call off names— tell me where you’re from and your age.” As Tony translated, Godwin looked at his clipboard. “Mossa?”
One of the French speakers stepped forward.
“My name is Mossa and I’m from Mali,” Tony translated. “I’m twelve years old.”
Godwin looked the boy over. He kicked the ball to Mossa.
“Dribble it and then kick it into the goal as hard as you can. Aim it into the left side,” Godwin said.
Tony translated. Mossa jumped into action. When he dribbled the ball, he almost tripped over it. He kicked it with all his might and it flew over the right side of the goal, along with his shoe.
Sunny pinched Sasha’s arm as they both tried not to laugh. A few of the taller boys held nothing back and bellowed with laughter. Mossa looked embarrassed and quickly ran to get the ball and his shoe.
“Kouty?” Godwin said.
“I’m from Nigeria,” he said. “I’m fourteen years old.”
“Good to see you again.” Godwin looked him over. “I know how you play. What do you want to play this year?”
“Goalkeeper.”
Godwin laughed and shook his head. “Position’s filled. What else?”
“Center-back.”
Godwin nodded. “That’s what I had in mind.” He looked at his clipboard. “Sasha?”
Sasha pushed through his teammates and stood before Godwin with a smirk on his face. “I’m from the United States of America. I’m fourteen.”
Godwin looked him over. “What are you doing in Nigeria?”
“Parents sent me to live with family friends—to keep me out of trouble.”
“This one is going to get us slapped with penalties,” Godwin said to the rest of the team.
Everyone laughed, including Sasha. “Do what I asked Mossa to do.”
Sasha took the ball, dribbled, and then kicked it as hard as he could into the goal. It went in, but through the center instead of the left side.
“Not bad,” Godwin said, writing something down. “Agaja.”
The tallest, brawniest boy stepped forward. Sunny imagined the ground shaking with his every move. He had a shiny bald head and the most muscular legs she had ever seen. “I’m from Benin,” Agaja said in a deep voice. One of his front teeth was chipped. “I’m eighteen.”
“Dribble and kick it into the goal, right side,” Godwin said.
Agaja’s feet were lightning fast, whirling and juggling the ball, making it obey his every whim, and then POW!—he blasted it dead into the right side of the goal. They all clapped.
“That’s encouraging,” Godwin said with a grin. He looked at his clipboard and paused. “Sunny?”
She moved past the staring boys. She felt like she was in slow motion.
“Uh-uh,” Godwin said, shaking his head. “No girls.”
“Do you want to win?” Sasha cut in. “Because I’ve been watching that other team. Most of them are over sixteen. Look at them.”
They all did. Those in white were all not only older, but a lot bigger. Whoever had gone around searching for players had taken it more seriously than the boy from the green team.
“Dammit,” Godwin said. “Shouldn’t have left it to my little brother.” He gave the boy a dirty look. Godwin sucked his teeth and said, “Even less reason for a girl.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Because you’re a girl,” Agaja said in his monster voice. “It’s simple.” Several of the others agreed.
“So?”
“Give her the test,” Sasha said. “It’s stupid to judge without knowing what you’re judging.”
Godwin threw the soccer ball hard at Sunny. She caught it and glared at him. Then she turned and glared at all of them. Idiots, she thought. “What do you want me to do?” she asked Godwin.
“Agaja,” Godwin said, “go stand in front of the goal. No, better yet, I will.” He handed his clipboard to his brother. “Agaja, you play defender.”
She watched Godwin walk to the goal and Agaja position himself in front of him. Her palms were sweaty. Godwin bent into a ready position. “Okay, Sunny,” he said. “Get the ball past us.”
She dropped the ball, placed her foot on it, and glanced at Sasha. He looked nervous, but nodded his head in encouragement. She began dribbling. The motion warmed and soothed her body. It felt so good to kick a soccer ball out in the open, under the sun. She dribbled, weaving left and right as she worked to avoid Agaja and move the ball toward Godwin—her feet flew faster, forward, back a half step, forward, diagonally, in a circle around the ball, faking to the right. She got the ball past Agaja and he grunted in frustration. She danced with the ball the way she danced over the tree bridge to Leopard Knocks. She felt her spirit face stir just behind her physical face. But she had her in control and kept her there.
She brought her foot back and fired the kick. The ball flew to the far right. Godwin jumped, his eyes wide, his mouth open. It was almost in. Almost. Then Godwin managed to tip it away just in time. He fell onto his side.
She slowed down, putting her hands on her hips. She looked down, ashamed that she hadn’t made the goal.
“Wow!” she heard one of the team members say, impressed.
She looked up.
“Man!” another cried. “Ah-ah, you see that?”
One of the French speakers excitedly said something in French.
Agaja patted her on the shoulder. “Not bad.”
Godwin rose. He walked up to Sunny and just stared.
“See?” Sasha said, grinning.
“Yeah,” he said, taking the clipboard from his brother. “Okay.”
Sunny was all smiles. “I’m almost thirteen,” she said. “And I’m—I was born in America, but both my parents are Nigerian and I’ve lived in Nigeria since I was nine. . ..”
“So you’re Nigerian?” Godwin said, frowning, unsure what to write down.
“No,” Sasha said. “American.”
“Whatever you want to put,” she said. She was just glad to play.
There were eleven of them in all. Godwin was goalkeeper. Sasha
was assigned center half. Sunny was center forward. Her accomplices, the left and right wings, were the two other best and oldest and biggest boys on the team, Ousman and Agaja. As they stretched, she looked up and was surprised at the size of the audience that had gathered. It was huge— almost the size of the one for the wrestling match.
“Hey, Godwin. You ready?” the other team captain asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Give us two minutes.”
They huddled. “Everyone here?” Godwin asked.
They all said, “Yes.”
“The other team looks like they’re all seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds who ate steroids with their fufu,” Godwin said. Those of them who could understand laughed. Tony translated for the French speakers and then they laughed, too.
“Doesn’t matter,” Godwin said. “Just looking at our center will distract the hell out of them. No offense, Sunny.”
“None taken,” she said. A thought crossed her mind. Are they going to use juju in the match? And if not, what of natural abilities? Her natural abilities would be useless. How could she kick a soccer ball while invisible?
“They’re going to play dirty,” Godwin said. “So if you have to, do the same. We’ll use an attack formation, so threethree-four. Sasha, you’re going to be up there with Sunny, Agaja, and Ousman when you need to be.” He paused. “For those of you who are new to this, you can’t use juju in the Zuma Football Cup. If you do, we’ll all get disqualified. And you can’t use your natural mystical abilities. This is football, Lamb style.”
A few team members groaned, the French speakers groaning seconds after Tony translated. Sunny had never been so relieved.
“Stop moaning!” Godwin snapped. “Buck up. This is real.”
“We’re ready,” Agaja said. He hadn’t groaned at all.
“I’m definitely ready,” Sasha said.
Sunny slapped hands with Ousman. Godwin held a hand out and they all took it.
“For the Zuma Football Cup!” he shouted.
“For the Zuma Football Cup!” they shouted back.
The referee stood in the middle of the field with a pad of paper and stick of chalk. He was drawing a series of loopy symbols that apparently meant: I will not use juju or my Leopard abilities. Both teams faced each other.