#25 – July 15th 2007

Footballer…

Today I played. And played, and played. Oh boy, did I play. I played until you could barely determine where the red dirt ended and I began. As I mentioned before, I had never watched a football (soccer in Canada) match, and that lack of experience extended to my ability to play. It had been decided that I would learn to play on Sunday, when the boys were free from band functions, allowing them to dedicate hours (and hours and hours) to teaching me the skills of their preferred sport. I donned shorts and sneakers and headed out to the field kitty-corner to the boys’ house, usually their band practice field, converted for football games on weekends. The next hour and a half was dedicated to the delicate art of kicking, receiving, and “piggy-in-the-middle” type games. These boys were mini-Manchester-U players in the making, dancing with the ball like professionals. Little David Beckhams with a tan. A small break and it was time for the big game. Apparently I was deemed ready. Several missed passes, one painful cleat-toe collision, and many streams of sweat later, I was a dirty and determined footballer, albeit on the verge of exhaustive collapse.

There was a noted difference between playing football with the African Heart boys and guys in Canada. I’ve played a lot of basketball with guys back home and always felt like I was completely invisible. Granted, I’ve never been up to their skill level, but I also wasn’t ever given a chance to show what I had to offer. My confidence level dwindled as it became obvious they had zero confidence in me. Playing yesterday was a different experience. Although the boys were quite resolute in their desire to win, they didn’t hesitate to pass to me, to include me in the game. They complimented each other on good passes or moves, and although it didn’t happen very often, I was included in that as well. At times it turned playful, with guys picking me up to move me away from the ball, but all-in-all I felt like I was as much a part of the game as them. They never made me feel stupid or inadequate. I had an absolute blast. Granted, I fell twice and scrapped up my hands, I have a hole in my sneaker from a cleat, and my legs were plastered in red dirt I have yet to be able to scrub out, but my grin was ear to ear.

After four hours of playing the sinking sun forced us to pack up. The game was called a draw. Robert and I ran to buy some fruit juice and muffins for the boys. Back at home we all plopped down exhausted on the bunk beds and divided the refreshments. I’d gotten enough for the players but hadn’t planned for ten other boys to be home. I was once again surprised (although by now I should be used to it) to see twenty-five boys share food and drinks for ten without a complaint, ensuring everyone had an equal share, so polite, so appreciative. I spent the rest of the evening in satiated reverie, feet kicked up, head against David’s shoulder, tapping my fingers against the floor to the beat of Bash’s guitar, reminiscing about the game, chitchatting and joking with the boys.

~Nicole