FUTBOL

From James:

Why did I choose to wear shoes? I thought it would protect my ankle which had been smashed by Jason last week forming a superficial blood clot leaving my left inner ankle and foot swollen and different shades of purple and green.

Now as I send the ball skimming back across the grass, in the general direction of where I want it to go, I feel some burning pains on the sides of both small toes.

As Bond, Gabriel, Klevin and Stephan continue to play with some of the neighbor hood kids I step behind the two broken bricks marking the goal posts and take off my shoes. Sure enough, blisters have already burst leaving raw flesh where the side of the toes should be. I jump back up from the ground and join back in the game. As I look up past the other goal defended so well by Bond things sort of go into movie mode as four well muscled, lean teenage Chadians stroll up slowly from past the end of the fence. I almost feel like things should go in slow motion with sinister music from some gang flick plays in the background. The brief moment is burst, however, as they flash large smiles and I recognize Koumakoy and Frederick's "little" brother along with some of the normal neighborhood soccer thugs.

We quickly divide into "us" versus "them" as they are intent on preserving the national Chadian football honor on this warm, Friday afternoon. In fact, warm is an understatement as the humidity from last nights downpour hangs like a suffocating blanket over the ratty field as a cloudless sky lets a merciless African sun slowly broil us alive.

Needless to say, a few minutes into the match and my scrub bottoms are already soaking with sweat from the waist down and the top has long since been discarded. Along with our great Brazilian hope, Klevin, we are the only barefoot ones on our team. Stephan is our version of a gangbanger with his recently shaved-head-except-for-monstrous-sideburns look intimidating the opposition almost as much as his bare bear chest and cleats. Gabriel and Bond also are wearing scrubs and tennis shoes. Our opposition is lean and mean wearing only shirts and the occasional t-shirt along with bare feet and/or flip flops of various sorts.

We score first, a beautiful pass from Klevin after some footwork only a Brazilian could imagine setting up Stephan for a nifty tap in. Second blood is a breakdown in passing on my part setting up an easily intercepted ball across the middle and an easy angle shot off the bricks. From there on out it's back-and-forth with the Chadians controlling the ball the majority of the time before losing it through too much dribbling and not enough passing. We on the other hand make the most of our few opportunities and are soon up 3 to 1.

A loud thunder from the East makes me look up to see angry clouds forming quickly casting a slight shadow over the millet jungle that Bere has become and sending a cool breeze across our sweaty bodies. A perfect rainbow encircles the encroaching storm and as brilliant footwork and sometimes stellar passes continue beneath the now menacing sky, small pellets of water began to drop into the dry dust of the road making up the Western part of our playing field.

I quickly run over and put my Bible and songbook into the open doors of the church just to the Southeast, then grab my shoes and barely get them in before the downpour starts. We have not yet begun to play.

The game goes on.

We are drenched within minutes and passes start to get sloppy and slow down as the earth turns boggy. The rainbow has dissappeared but there is still clear sky to the West where the sun is almost changing color into sunset. The rain is coming down almost parallel to the ground drilling into our welcoming flesh from the East.

The western part of the field (formerly the road) is now almost unplayable as any pass hazarding into its slimy clutches is instantly stopped in a puddle of water and muddy sand. The chadians with flip flops are starting to slip and slide dangerously while the barefooted ones continue with no loss of traction. A huge grin splays across my face as Bond looks on from the eaves of the church having retreated there with the first of the downpour.

I haven't had this much fun in a long time.

Eventually, the Chadians say they are done. Down now 5 to 1 I don't blame them. They rub their tummies and give mournful looks as they say they haven't eaten since the morning...no strength. I mock them comparing our sagging bodies to their chiseled frames but they just laugh and insist. We finally agree to meet again sunday, slap hands all around and I head back over to the church as the torrent continues.

The noise inside the tin-roofed church is deafening. The only people who've made it for Friday evening prayer meeting are Lazare and a few kids who come around me as I sit in front of Lazare and say we should sing or something.

Shouting out loudly as we belt out songs in Nangjere I can tell that the kids are loving it, especially one-armed-boy. Finally after a few rounds of "Ka Ama Kouma Kwani Teri" and "Kela ka dane ma ei kera...dul kang ddi, Jesus, Jesus-Christi". I tell them the story of David and Goliath using Lazare to translate from French into Nangjere.

I end with teaching them "Only a Boy Named David" in Nangjere (Kware kusi ne David) by holding the songbook up to the last rays of light coming in the slit that serves as a window on the church. Then, one of the boys prays, Lazare locks up and I walk back slowly home through the mud and the mist.