it worked. The swelling went down and before long, Thulani was able to walk and play soccer again.
But now, his family had to pay off the sangoma’s fee. A meeting was held and the extended family chipped in to pay the witch doctor. One of their clan had been chosen to go to the city and become an important man one day. It was worth the expense. The goat for the farewell party had come from his auntie Thulie all the way from the village over the hills. Thulani liked her friendly face.
“Good luck will come to us all.” She had laughed and the others had laughed with her.
Soon after, his father had found a new job in another town up north. Although this was good luck for the family, he wouldn’t be able to come home to see his son off. He said goodbye over the phone at the spaza shop.
“Now you be strong son. You are a man. You will study hard and become famous, you hear me. Do us proud.”
“Yes father, I’ll study hard.”
He had to walk to the train station all by himself. His mother needed to stay with his grandfather, who was too old and sick to be left alone in the house. Alfred wanted to brave the looming punishment if he missed a day of school to walk his brother to the station. But mother had gotten wind of the plan and decided that Alfred must to go to school. He wouldn’t have made it back from the station in time. Jimmy had the flu. So Thulani had said goodbye to his family and bravely left his home before dawn. At least somebody would meet him at the station in the city. The big scary city.
He passed the spaza shop one last time and his heart grew heavy. Only yesterday his mother had sent him to buy bread and peanut butter so that she could make him sandwiches for the trip to the city. Peanut butter, not the usual margarine! He’d made it just in time before closing.
“Ah, our hero. Make us proud, Thulani. Make us proud.” The shopkeeper had said and refused to take money for the bread and the peanut butter. “You’ll remember me when you’re rich and famous one day, won’t you?”
On the way to the station, he drew in the fat smell of the soil, of the fresh herbs and crops so close to harvest. He felt sharp stones even under the soles of his new shoes as he moved his hand along the smooth metal wire of the fence. Thulani had to say goodbye in his own way. The northbound train groaned into the station. Eight passengers climbed aboard and the train carried them away. The old woman was still on the platform.
“Sixteen, seventeen…” He had reached the end of the second line again.
The sharp stab in his stomach returned, when he thought of the look in his mother’s eyes, the sadness and the hope. He would make it. He had to. For everyone in the village. Even for the jealous women down the road, who had stared at him through closed curtains as he’d walked by. They would be proud of him one day. Dad had said so.
The people at the station grew restless. How late would the train be today? The old woman was shuffling past the bench again, trying to get warm. He’d made space for her on the bench, but she wanted to move around and he sat now wedged between a thin man with a snazzy hat and a fat man, who smoked. The woman’s basket was alive with chirping sounds under the tied-on lid. It stood next to his duffle bag, waiting for her to return.
At 6:41 o’clock Thulani heard the screeching and rumbling of the approaching train. His train. He took a deep breath, but his heart beat fast. The train was on time today. For him, for him alone.
###
About the author:
I grew up in Germany and Evadeen Brickwood is my pen name. Friends and family thought a pen name sounded more interesting. I’ve been living in the beautiful country of South Africa for a while and love being part of its new, vibrant society.
Back in Germany, I studied cultural sciences and languages. I also traveled extensively as a teenager and in my twenties. Many of my books were inspired by such travel experiences, which I accomplished on a shoestring budget. It forced me to go out and meet people and improvise. Of course, everybody thought I was reckless - and I wouldn’t exactly recommend it - but I wanted to travel and just didn’t have the money to stay in hotels.
Feeling adventurous and with a new qualification as a translator under my belt, I moved to Africa in 1988. I worked in Gaborone, Botswana as a secretary and language teacher, but it wasn't easy to live alone as a single female and after a while I contemplated returning to Europe. South Africa seemed a better option and I soon settled in Johannesburg.
My South African life began.
I met and married my German husband and we raised 2 daughters. I studied computers and management of training, worked as a corporate software trainer, opened a training college and was active in business committees. But times were tough and I decided to go back to translating professionally.
In 2003, I began to write novels and loved it. Today, we still live in Johannesburg and now my daughters are doing the studying and traveling, while I - still happily married - work at home and write my books (which I don’t really consider work).
About writing this short story:
I don’t normally write short stories, but in 2010, the Soccer World Cup came to South Africa. Everybody was swept up in the excitement. At the time, I was one of the lecturers at WITS University, who taught a number of students Interpretation Skills. They were to use their skills in helping soccer teams, travelers and companies to find their way around everyday situations all over South Africa. I was, of course, teaching the German-speaking group. So it’s not surprising that I felt inspired to write about the sport. There was no time to work on my novels and a short story seemed the ideal way to find an outlet for my creativity. The ‘An African Soccer Story’ has never been published and I decided to make this piece available to my young readers for free. Enjoy reading and let me know what you think.
CHILDREN OF THE MOON
Remember the Future Book 1
THE SPEAKING STONE OF CARADOC
Remember the Future Book 2
Connect with Me Online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/@EvadeenAuthor
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/brickwood1
My blog: https://evadeenbrickwood.wordpress.com
My website: https://birgitbottner.wix.com/evadeenyoungbooks
An African Soccer Story Page 3
