Dribbling the ball past an opponent’s pass, I kicked it to one of my teammates, who swiftly advanced and passed it to another teammate. By this time, I was sprinting toward the opponent’s goalpost, running and running. One of my teammates delivered the ball to me, which I deftly controlled with my right foot. I continued running, and then, Zinzin! Zinzin! Zinzin! Now, I found myself face to face with the goalkeeper, feigning a shot to the right. He dove to that side, leaving the goalpost unguarded. I unleashed a killer shot, and... g-o-a-l! I had scored the only goal for our team. The entire school park erupted in joy, and the whole school cheered. Although we didn’t win the match, I was selected as one of the top sixteen players to represent our region. It was a bittersweet moment. On one hand, it was a source of pride for me, but on the other hand, my parents wanted me to quit soccer. They believed I was dedicating too much time to it, to the detriment of my academics. Would they allowme to participate in the national competition? Surprisingly, they did, going so far as to buy a new ball, soccer boots, and a new set of soccer gear for the event. When we eventually performed brilliantly at the nationals, my parents were exceedingly proud of me. Village Champion “The second position goes to Moses Kanduri,” announced the teacher. I heaved a sigh of relief, and my father looked at me with pride. The other parents and pupils exchanged surprised glances. Where had this newcomer from the village come from to secure the second position? A wealthy businessman, hoping his child would make it to the top three, even questioned if the teacher had read the results correctly. She assured him she had. After our national soccer competition, my mother informed me that I was changing schools to a private one. I felt deflated, and for days on end, I barely ate. I was scared that I wouldn’t shine in soccer at the new school. However, my parents kept their promise and transferred me to the Methodist Primary School. While the fees were much higher, it was a far more academically competitive school. The main challenge was that there were many affluent kids, so those of us from humble backgrounds stood out. Most children were chauffeured to school in their parents’ luxury cars, but my dad took me to school on his noisy motorbike, which made an unmistakable scraping sound everywhere we went. I often felt inferior to my classmates, making me reluctant to interact with them, which earned their disapproval. “Leave him alone; he’s a village champion,” they would comment, and I would withdraw, feeling insulted by the remark. Eventually, I stopped caring about their opinions. However, on the last day of the first term, when the results were read, my peers began to treat me with respect. Those who had mocked me previously were now waving and wishing me well. This victory marked the beginning of my winning streak, and I excelled to the In my mind, I aspired to be like Brazil’s Pele, Argentina’s Maradona, or Cameroon’s Roger Milla, but my schoolmates thought I was more like Japan’s Zenzin due to my knack for scoring longdistance goals “ 12 The Birthday Journal
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