The leader said, “So, when you make a million dollars in the NBA, you’ll come back here and buy us a beer, right?”
“All the beer you can drink.”
“We’re going to remember that.”
They handed back his gym bag and Samuel returned to his seat. He was four hours from home.
CHAPTER 6
There was no welcoming party at the terminal in Rumbek. Samuel saw no one he knew. The bus was hours late and he was not expecting anyone to wait on him. He flagged a moto-taxi and hopped on the back, clutching his two bags. The driver, a kid of no more than fifteen, handled the bike like all the rest, reckless and daring and determined to terrify his passenger. Samuel hung on for his life and managed to follow the custom of not complaining about the daredevil antics. The walk to Lotta was three miles and would have taken an hour under a blazing sun. The taxi ride was twenty cents, so Samuel splurged and laughed to himself about spending big money now that he was a star.
Beatrice was behind the house watering her vegetables when she heard Angelina squeal with excitement. She ran inside and saw Samuel standing in the kitchen, wearing a South Sudan practice tee shirt, modeling it like he owned the world. “I made the team, Mom!” he yelled as he grabbed his mother and lifted her into the air. Beatrice hugged him back and began crying as Angelina bounced around the house, looking for someone else to tell. Finding no one, she ran into the street with the unbelievable news and within seconds the neighbors knew that their dream had come true. Samuel Sooleymon was going to play basketball in America!
A second celebration materialized within the hour as the village gathered on the street in front of the house. As Ayak came home from school with James and Chol, a loud cheer went up when Samuel ran to greet them. The neighbors brought boiled peanuts, sesame snacks, cinnamon tea, and mandazi, a popular fried pastry.
Samuel proudly showed off his new weapon, a Spalding NBA Street Ball, and explained that it was made of a durable rubber and designed for outdoor play. He tossed it to James who passed to a friend and before long the shiny new ball was crisscrossing through the crowd as the older boys passed it, held it long enough to admire, then zipped it to the next one. A radio began playing music as the day grew long and the shadows crept in.
As the sun set, the most glorious day in Lotta’s history was coming to an end, and there was so much hope for even more excitement. Their native son was on his way.
* * *
·?·?·
The family sat in the dark house until late in the night, talking and laughing and dreaming of what might happen in America. Back on the bus, Samuel had decided not to tell his family about the bandits, the soldiers, the ambush, the smoldering corpses. He would be on the bus again in early July as he headed back to Juba for the trip and he did not want them to worry.
Later in bed, though, he could not shake the image of the young boy being killed for no reason. He was about the same size and age of Chol, who was twelve. Who was he? Where was he from? Did he have family? How did he end up raiding highways with a gang of thieves? Would anyone grieve over his death? Would anyone even know about it?
And though the soldiers had done their duty and probably saved a few lives with their ambush, Samuel was still bothered by the ease with which they killed and the complete lack of remorse over any of it. They had laughed as they watched the fire. They had reboarded the bus as if nothing had happened. Was it possible to kill so many and do it so often that they had become numb to any feelings? But they were young, like Samuel. Their fathers and grandfathers had probably fought the North in civil wars that lasted for fifty years. They had grown up with violence and killing. It didn’t bother them. Now, with yet another civil war raging through South Sudan, the bloodshed and atrocities were only getting worse.
Beatrice had a cousin who’d been murdered in a village slaughter only an hour away. Everyone in South Sudan had a story.
From burning bodies to basketball glories, Samuel’s mind raced back and forth when he should have been sleeping.
He woke up at dawn and felt tired, but life had a new meaning and there were important matters at hand. He dressed, gathered his eggs, swallowed breakfast in three bites, kissed his mother goodbye, and took off down the road, backpack over his shoulder and his new street ball bouncing away. All alone on the dirt court where he had spent half his childhood, Samuel vowed to perfect his jump shot with endless hours of practice. He would see Coach Ecko Lam and his new teammates in just over two months when they reunited in Juba for a week of practice, and he was determined to handle the ball like Steph Curry, shoot like Kobe, and play both ends like LeBron. No one would work harder. No one would spend more time on the courts than Samuel.