Softly Calls the Serengeti (17 page)

‘You will be at Kasarani on Friday night, Otieng,' Koske said in his usually cryptic fashion. It was his way of putting people off-balance.

‘Do you mean Moi International?' Joshua asked, only daring to hope Koske was referring to the football stadium and possibly the trial game he had previously mentioned.

‘Yes.'

Training had ended and the playing field was empty apart from him and Koske.

‘Why is that?' he asked. ‘I mean, what can I do for you there, Mr Koske?'

Koske merely nodded, letting the knot in Joshua's stomach build. Finally he said, ‘You will play in a game against a training squad. The Red Top Buffalos.'

‘Is it the trial game? The one you arranged with the Limuru Leopards?'

In spite of himself, Joshua couldn't keep the excitement from his voice. The Red Top Buffalos were the reigning premiers, owned by Kenya's largest brewery.

‘Yes. It is something they put on for some charity or other.'

Joshua was almost dancing on the spot. ‘I see. Very well.' He had difficulty controlling the excitement in his voice. ‘I'll be there. Of course.'

‘But this time you must play for me,' Koske continued. ‘I have asked that you be a striker in the Leopards' line-up.' Koske raised his hand, silencing Joshua before he could interject. ‘It will be a small game, nothing much. You will play well.' His smile became malevolent. ‘But sadly, your team will not win. I want the Buffalos to win.'

‘But—'

‘It's for some friends, you see. They like to make wagers on football games.' Koske shrugged.

‘But what if someone else scores a goal? Or maybe the Buffalos' goalie is too good?'

‘Do you think you are the only pebble on the beach, my friend? It is not for you to worry about anyone but yourself.'

Koske took a large handkerchief from his trouser pocket and dabbed at his eyes before noisily blowing his nose. ‘I myself…I don't gamble,' he said. ‘But people…friends of mine, do. And they use big money, even on little games like this one on Friday night. So you will help me, and I will help my friends.'

Joshua was stunned, wondering how he could demonstrate his skills as a striker while not scoring a goal. Koske seemed to read his mind.

‘You are thinking how can you display your many talents if you, the striker, cannot shoot a goal,
si ndiyo
?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then you will not think like that. You will do this for me because I am your friend, and as your friend I will take care of you—as I have already promised. There will be other opportunities, but this time you will not play well.'

Joshua's mood had fallen from high to low. He waged an internal battle to control his anger.

‘She is quite pretty,' Koske said.

Joshua followed his eyes to where Mayasa sat waiting for him on the sidelines.

‘Yes, your girlfriend is very cute, Otieng,' Koske said, almost wistfully. ‘You'd better look after her. There is so much violence around these days. It would be terrible if such a pretty one was hurt.'

 

In the late afternoon, with the long shadows of the grandstand falling like huge slabs across the pitch, the Moi International Sports Centre appeared enormous. Joshua had only seen it from the cheap seats during the season proper, but from the middle of the arena, it was huge.

‘It's very big!' he whispered to himself, scanning the whole circumference of the stadium. It held sixty thousand—the biggest capacity in Kenya. He had been allowed onto the pitch two hours before the game commenced to familiarise himself. According to the manager of the Limuru Leopards, this would help reduce first-game nerves.

It didn't.

Joshua had prepared all his life for this moment, but now that it had arrived, he was consumed with doubt and immobilised by gut-wrenching, choking, panic-stricken fear.

The Leopards' manager watched from the sidelines.

‘You're nervous,' he said when Joshua trotted back towards the gate to the locker rooms.

‘No, I'm not!' Joshua responded immediately, then added, ‘Well, only a little. It's very big.'

‘You'll soon forget about the stadium and the people. If you don't, you'll not play well.'

Joshua's stomach tightened further.

‘And you must play well. This might be just a trial game to you, but—' The manager seemed to change the direction of his thoughts and sighed. ‘I owe Mr Koske a favour. That's why you're here. Do you think I don't have a hundred boys like you? You only get one chance with the Limuru Leopards. And this is it.' He smiled to soften the impact of his words. ‘Now go and get ready. I'll bring you on after the start to have a look at you.'

Joshua stood rooted to the spot. He wanted to assure the manager that he had the talent and wanted the position on the squad more than life itself, but he was afraid he might say the wrong thing.

The manager frowned. ‘Go!'

Joshua turned and trotted down the player's race on rubbery legs.

 

Gideon Koske sauntered into the locker rooms, condescendingly nodding to players and officials. He stopped to exchange words with a few, laughing loudly and slapping some on the back. After a while he came to where Joshua sat fidgeting with his laces. He couldn't seem to get them at the right tension.

‘Otieng,' Koske hissed.

Joshua lifted himself from the bench to stand beside him.

‘So…your big chance, ah?'

‘Yes, Mr Koske.'

‘And you remember what we discussed, ah? Don't disappoint me, my friend.' The smile was cold, more like a sneer.

Joshua swallowed and nodded.

‘
Sowa sowa
. Okay. Play well.' Koske's malevolent smile lingered. ‘But not
too
well, ah?'

 

Mayasa had been grateful for Kwazi's company on the journey to Moi International, but now that they were there, seated high in the grandstand awaiting the game, with nothing to discuss that they'd not already discussed during the long
matatu
ride from the city, she felt decidedly uncomfortable.

Kwazi still bore the signs of his beating at the hands of the mob. His face, already distorted from his childhood injury, was blotchy with bruises. A strip of grimy plaster ran along his jaw from his chin to one ear, which remained mottled with dried blood. He had not been openly antagonistic to her as he'd appeared to be during their first meeting, but there was a polite
but cool screen between them that made conversation difficult. She tried a new tactic.

‘Joshua says you have been friends for many years,' she said.

‘We have. Since he was little.'

‘Has he always been interested in football?'

‘Of course. It's all he's ever wanted to do.'

‘Then you must be very happy for him tonight.'

Kwazi remained silent.

She persisted. ‘I mean, here he is, after all this time. I don't understand football, but if this is what he's always wanted, I imagine he will be very keen to play well.'

‘He hasn't told you,' he said.

‘Hasn't told me what?'

He was again silent.

‘Kwazi? What is it?'

‘I'm not here because I enjoy football. I think it's a stupid waste of energy. No, I'm here to see if my friend is foolish enough to play to win.'

‘Of course he's playing to win! As you said, he's waited his whole life for this chance. And I know him well enough to know that he will give everything he has. He wants to win.'

Kwazi shook his head despondently. ‘Yes, you're right. Football
has
been his whole life. But if he plays too well tonight, it might be the end of it. Koske has told him he must lose and Joshua has agreed. But I know him better than Koske does. And I think I know him better than you do. He says he will do what is sensible, but there's something in that head of his that will not let him lose the chance he has been waiting for all his life.'

She leapt to her feet. ‘I must speak to him. He mustn't—'

There was a tumultuous roar from the crowd. Mayasa looked down at the arena. The players were emerging from the race. Near the end of the line of men was Joshua—tall, proud and looking magnificent in his gold and black guernsey.

 

Joshua felt sick. In horror, he imagined vomiting in the middle of the pitch where he stood with his team-mates as the national anthem played through distorted speakers. Somewhere in the grandstands was Mayasa, among forty or fifty thousand fans—die-hards not able to wait for the start of the season proper before seeing their first game of the year.

The pre-game warm-up was a confusion of lights and movement. A football flashed past him, he took an ineffective stab at it, and then a siren sounded and he was on the bench beside the manager, fidgeting and willing one of the Leopards' players to be injured.

This continued until the manager sent Joshua on as a substitute for one of the defensive players. As he ran to take his position, the crowd erupted in response to a goal attempt at the far end of the field. The sound set a flock of small birds fluttering in Joshua's chest cavity. The remainder of the half was a blur, including his only touch of the football as the siren sounded half-time.

At the start of the second half, he was again on the bench, watching play while keeping an eye on the clock. The Leopards' defensive squad was skilful, deflecting every Buffalo charge. On the other hand, the Buffalos' defenders were sloppy, but the Leopards' strikers were failing to take full advantage of that. They passed back and forth before ultimately losing the ball.

In the thirty-ninth minute, with the score nil all, the key striker in the Leopards' attack went down from a brutal tackle in midfield. He was in the hands of the trainers for some time before the manager signalled to Joshua to take the injured player's place on the field.

Joshua ran onto the pitch, unable to feel the ground beneath his feet. Around him the night pulsed with energy. The spectators—a seemingly single organism whose raw emotions electrified the air—roared and hooted. The glaring lights blinded him. How could he possibly see?

And then the ball was in his half. He took a poorly directed
pass on his non-preferred left side, but quickly managed to gather it under his control before he was tackled. He fended off the Buffalo challenge and passed to a midfielder. Joshua broke into an open space that offered a clear path to goal, but the ball didn't return to him, going instead to the other wing where it was lost to the Buffalos.

Another ball came into the attack. Again he received it wide and in good position, but he was bailed up with nowhere to go. He passed to another player, but the ball didn't return and was soon sent downfield again.

Joshua gratefully took the respite, but noted that the game was now into injury time. He moved into the defensive part of the pitch and stole a well-directed Buffalo pass, dribbling it into his attacking zone while defeating a number of spirited challenges.

The Leopards' midfielders offered support. Joshua ignored them, realising that he was not the only player not playing for a win. He was in full flight, charging into the forward half. Thirty metres from goal, a vicious kick from a brutish Buffalo defender caught him on the right ankle, taking him to the ground. He was winded and in pain. The mercury-vapour lights drilled into his brain. The referee hovered above him, yabbering that he had won a direct free kick. A trainer stood over him, yelling at him to let a substitute take it. His team-mates and opposition players crowded around.

He was somehow on his feet. The referee took the ball and placed it in position for the penal foul.

The crowd was whistling and yelling. Joshua could see nothing because of the glare, but his thoughts went to two people in that vast crowd: Mayasa, who would be praying for him to score; and Koske, who would damn him if he did.

Thirty metres. The referee held up his hand and blew full-time. Opposition defenders shuffled into position in the wall, and there was much shifting and changing while they strengthened it with additional men.

Joshua knew he could make the shot if he could use his right foot, but he was barely able to stand on it.

The referee sounded the whistle to signal that the shot could proceed.

Nil all.

Joshua studied the defensive wall. There was no way through, and even a high top-spin shot, if it were able to avoid the goalie, would be unlikely to get under the bar. There was clearly no disgrace in missing such a difficult shot. He could make an honourable attempt, satisfy Koske's orders and hopefully keep his chances alive to join the regular Leopards' squad.

Do you think I don't have a hundred boys like you? You only get one chance with the Limuru Leopards. And this is it.

Joshua started his approach, setting up to take the ball on his left side, but in mid-flight he changed to his right, punching the ball hard and wide. It careened off in a wide, sweeping curve.

A bolt of pain shot up his leg and burst in his brain.

 

Mayasa climbed out of the overcrowded
matatu
. Joshua followed, taking care to keep the weight off his injured ankle. When he offered to hold Kwazi's sticks as he alighted, his friend ignored him and stumbled down with them under his arm.

At the turn-off towards Mayasa's house, Kwazi said goodbye to her, but ignored Joshua. They watched him hobble down the alley with his painful, jerky gait until he was out of sight.

‘Kwazi's annoyed with you,' Mayasa said, feeling sympathetic with at least some of his sentiment.

‘Yes. He's an old woman.'

‘And am I an old woman too?' She had been torn between sharing his elation and fearing the outcome. Now the cold reality of their situation displaced the last of the euphoria. ‘When he told me about Koske, I couldn't believe you would
shoot that goal.' She looked into his eyes. ‘What are we going to do, Joshua?'