The Abuja evening softened into a golden haze.
The Moses family compound buzzed with leftover Christmas joy as plates stacked high in the kitchen, music drifting faintly from Sophia’s speaker, children darting in and out with balloons and fireworks.
But Ian’s words still hung in the air like a challenge. "Let’s play football."
At first, everyone thought it was a joke. Sam had laughed, Kayla groaned, Sophia rolled her eyes. But slowly, it turned serious.
"You’re not backing down, are you?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes at Ian.
Ian smirked. "You already know the answer, my legs are ready."
Kayla sighed dramatically, leaning against the doorway. "So this is how you two want to burn off Christmas dinner? Running on dust instead of digesting properly?"
"Exactly," Ian grinned. "Better than indigestion."
Sam leaned back, laughter bubbling, but in his heart, sothing stirred. Dust, street, joy... a smile spread across his lips.
"Alright," he said finally. "Let’s play."
And just like that, Christmas night promised one more mory.
If there was one thing about street football though, you had to convince others to join. And in a neighborhood like Maitama, that was a harder endeavor than Sam expected it to be.
But despite the challenges, the na "Samuel Moses" could move mountains.
The fact that he ca ho for Christmas did not evade the dia as they broadcasted about it. And once Sam made known his intent that he wanted to play street football, it spread like wildfire in harmattan.
Within minutes, word spread through the neighborhood.
"Ball is set at the open ground near the estate!" soone shouted.
"You’re mad!" another laughed. "Even on Christmas?"
But when they heard "Samuel Moses" would play, the Ballon d’Or winner himself, back ho in disguise or not, even the richest kids in the neighborhood pulled out as the whispers grew into a tide.
Boys from the neighborhood, teenagers with dusty boots, and grown n who hadn’t played in years, they all showed up.
So wore slippers, others in boots, and so even ca out barefooted, dragging out old jerseys from closets.
It was street football, and they wanted to look the part. Their only regret at this mont was the fact that none of them had torn jerseys or they would have pulled out on those instead.
By sunset, the dusty five-a-side pitch by the estate gates teed with life.
Sam arrived with Ian, Kayla, Sophia, and a handful of cousins who tagged along. The crowd erupted in cheers, kids chanting "SM10! SM10!" even though he wore a plain T-shirt and shorts.
So of them too starstruck wanted to take pictures and get autographs imdiately, but not today. Sam declined.
Today was Christmas, and he was going to enjoy it fully. He would not let fan service derail him, he just wanted to enjoy himself today.
Maybe after the ga, he would entertain them, but not now.
"Alright," Ian shouted, puffing his chest, "Teams must be fair. I’ll go first," he said with a grin. "I call dibs on Sam!"
The crowd imdiately booed and laughed. "Unfair!"
"I an, co on," Ian protested. "I brought him here, is it not only right that he’s in my team?"
He barely started his argunt when his bestfriend burst his bubble though.
"No chance," Sam shook his head, smirking as he looked him in the eye. "We’re opponents tonight."
Gasps erupted which was quickly followed by laughter.
Ian’s eyes twitched as he looked at Sam, but then quickly recovering, he taunted. "You think you can beat ?"
Sam leaned closer, grin wide. "Already did in the pool yesterday."
"Hah! So that’s what’s giving you confidence," Ian smirked. "Well, I’m about to whoop your ass tonight".
Sam grinned wider. "Oh, please do Ian, I can’t wait".
Kayla folded her arms, smiling as she stared at them. "If you two kill yourselves out there, don’t co crying to ."
And so, the two teams were ford.
Team Sam comprised Sam, two neighborhood boys with raw pace, a cousin with decent touches, and Sophia, who insisted she was better than the lot.
Yes, Sophia didn’t want to miss the fun. She also wanted to play and once she nagged enough, the n had no choice but to relent and let her in.
Team Ian comprised Ian, three local teens who endlessly bragged that they were the Nigerian ssi and could nutg anyone, and one lanky goalkeeper who looked like he had never kept in his life.
Who cares if he’d never kept? That was the joy and beauty of street football in Nigeria; it was joy in chaos.
The pitch was raw earth. The lines were barely chalked, goalposts made of bamboo poles. Since none of the rich here in Maitama really thought of the idea of building a standard street football pitch, this was what they got.
Maybe after this, soone would build it to commorate this particular Christmas but for now, this was what they got.
But to the crowd though, it felt like Wembley.
Dozens of neighbors lined the sidelines, cheering, clapping, and whistling. Mothers carried coolers of zobo and puff-puff, kids waved sparklers, and uncles argued about who’d win as though money was on the line.
Soone even rigged up speakers, blasting Burna Boy between whistles. The atmosphere was in a way electric.
"This is insane," Kayla muttered from the sidelines, marveled at the lengths they went to for just a ga of street football, but her smile betrayed her.
Sam jogged onto the pitch, bouncing the ball once as orange dust in the sunset glow. For a heartbeat, he felt like the barefoot boy from Abraka again.
And he loved it.
The referee? It was a local uncle in sandals with a whistle he probably bought that morning or maybe even five minutes ago.
"Rules are simple!" he barked. "No fighting, no crying, first to five wins!"
Laughter rippled. Ian pumped his fists like it was a Champions League final.
Sam crouched, tying his laces tight. Across from him, Ian grinned, sweat already on his forehead.
"Ready to lose?" Ian teased.
Sam smirked. "Shaless."
The whistle hung in the air and the crowd hushed, anticipation buzzing like static.
Dust, sunset, a ball at their feet.
The five-a-side was about to begin.
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