The morning dew had melted away, and the sky was replaced with streaks of shifting shades of white and grey.
Where once the heavens had dazzled in brilliant blue, now an unbroken canopy of clouds stretched overhead, brilliant where the sun broke through, dark where it lingered in shadow.
"It may rain in a few hours," Amani remarked softly, his eyes still fixed on the brooding sky as he tracked the movement of the clouds.
Malik, standing beside him at the center of the pitch, offered a confident smile that seemed to defy the weather itself. "Don't worry, man. We'll be done with the trials by then. The scouts only stick around a few hours anyway."
It was 10 AM, and the field buzzed with the nervous energy of the 26 players who had passed the previous day's physical fitness test.
Each athlete was already clad in their football attire, their faces a complex mixture of anticipation and quiet determination as they waited for Coach Juma and his staff to arrive and kick off the official trials.
Amani wasn't bored; he was buoyed by the camaraderie of his new friend Malik, whose optimism seemed as infectious as it was unshakeable.
Glancing around the nearly half-empty stadium, Amani furrowed his brows. "Are you sure the scouts will be coming today?" he asked, his voice edged with uncertainty.
With no coaches or scouts in sight, he began to question if he'd even heard the schedule correctly, or if this was all an elaborate exercise in futility.
"Relax," Malik reassured him with a chuckle that carried across the quiet field. "They'll be here, trust me. I've got reliable sources." The confidence in his voice was absolute, as if he had personally confirmed with each scout.
Amani's curiosity got the better of him. "By the way, did you move out of the hotel like I told you yesterday?" he inquired, locking eyes with Malik, searching for any hint of evasion.
"Of course, man," Malik replied with a proud pat on his chest. "I'm already staying at the Bamburi Beach Hotel." His grin widened, clearly pleased with himself.
Amani's eyes widened in disbelief. "What the f**k! What's the difference between Bamburi Beach and Tamarind Village?" he blurted out, drawing a few amused glances from nearby players who pretended not to eavesdrop.
"Bamburi Beach is way cheaper," Malik explained, counting on his fingers for emphasis as if presenting an irrefutable argument.
"For Christ's sake," Amani huffed, stepping closer to keep their conversation private. "How many four-star hotels are there in Mombasa? Your father could just check the ones charging over $100 a night and find you. Seriously?" The exasperation in his voice was palpable, tinged with genuine concern.
Malik's smile faltered for a moment, reality finally penetrating his carefree attitude. "Yeah, you're right. I'll change hotels after the matches today," he promised, his tone more subdued.
Amani shook his head with a resigned sigh. "Forget it, man. I'll help you pick a new place after the trials. I just can't stand the thought of a talent like you rotting away, getting hurt, or worse." The words carried more weight than Malik could possibly understand, laden with knowledge from a future Amani was determined to prevent.
Malik's laughter bubbled up, and he leaned in conspiratorially, his mood instantly brightening. "From the moment I saw you, I knew you were an honorable guy. What can I do to repay you? Maybe link you up with my sister? She's pretty cute." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"If she's as short as you, forget it," Amani retorted with a playful harrumph, grateful for the lightened mood.
Their banter was cut short by a sudden chorus of excited shouts that rippled across the field. "The coaches are here! The coaches are here!" The voices, high and exuberant, echoed across the pitch like children spotting an ice cream truck on a sweltering day.
Amani glanced toward the stadium's entrance and saw Coach Juma leading a group of about fifty people toward the stands, their purposeful stride indicating the seriousness of the occasion.
Among the crowd, Amani noticed roughly twenty foreign faces sporting sunglasses and large hats, presumably shielding themselves from the weak sunlight that occasionally broke through the clouds.
An elderly man and a young girl, barely older than Amani himself, mingled among them, standing out from the rest.
The remainder appeared to be local scouts, possibly representing teams from the Kenya Premier League, with a few faces recognizable from AFC Leopards and Gor Mahia. At last, the scouts had arrived, and Amani's mood lifted noticeably, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"I told you they'd be here, didn't I?" Malik called from behind, his voice laced with satisfaction and a hint of smugness.
Looking at the group curiously, "Are they all from AFTA?" Amani asked, trying to identify which scouts might hold the key to his future.
"Not at all," Malik explained, his knowledge seemingly endless. "These are scouts from the organizations sponsoring AFTA, some are even from notable academies in France and England."
"Then you better perform your best today," Malik warned, his tone suddenly serious. "I don't think they'll come back after today."
Amani's brows knitted. "And where did you get all this info?" he pressed, increasingly suspicious of Malik's seemingly omniscient knowledge.
"Trust me, from reliable sources," Malik replied, flashing an assured smile that revealed nothing. "My info is completely legit."
"Alright," Amani said, excitement creeping into his tone as he recalled the hearty meal from yesterday and the boost it had given him. His body felt ready, his mind sharp. "Be sharp out there," Malik whispered as they prepared to move, a final encouragement before the real test began.
***
Coach Juma led the group of scouts into the stands and then jogged back to the pitch with his fellow coaches, his movements energetic despite his stocky build.
The scouts were already seated near the running tracks, some unpacking video cameras with practiced efficiency, others peering through binoculars or scribbling in notebooks with intense concentration.
A few simply sat with arms crossed, their stern faces hinting at no-nonsense attitudes that had likely seen thousands of hopefuls come and go.
At the very bottom of the stands, a young blonde girl with an oversized Canon camera chatted animatedly with an elderly scout, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to the serious atmosphere.
"Grandpa," she began, her voice carrying in the quiet stadium, "Why did we come here? The weather is nice, and the beaches are cute, but aren't there better places to scout world-class talents; places like Nigeria, Cameroon, or even Egypt? They've been winning the African Cup of Nations or even making it to the finals. I feel like we're wasting our time here."
"Kristen," the old man smiled warmly, his weathered face crinkling with affection, "if you want to be a good scout, never overlook any place. Real gems are often hidden in the most unexpected spots. We just need to unearth them." His voice carried the wisdom of decades spent discovering talent where others saw nothing.
"Will we really find someone talented here?" Kristin asked skeptically, her doubt evident. "Because if not, the other shareholders might kick you out."
The old scout handed her two files with a patient smile. "Here's some information on a few promising players. While you were off touring game parks and sunbathing on the beach, I was doing my job."
Kristin flipped through the files, her expression dubious. "Steven Nondi, Amani Hamadi, and Malik Njoroge?" she murmured, barely comprehending the names. "There's almost nothing here!"
The old man spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. "Welcome to Africa. Information on young players is scarce, but that's why we'll see exactly how good they are on the field." His confidence was absolute, born of years of experience and an eye that could spot greatness in its rawest form.
***
During this discussion, the coaches gathered the twenty-six selected players for a light warm-up.
Stretching, jogging short distances, and performing dynamic exercises, the players prepared their bodies for the day ahead, muscles loosening and minds focusing on the challenge to come.
Once the warm-up concluded, they returned to the center of the field, where Coach Juma greeted them with a warm, confident smile that belied the pressure of the moment.
"A good morning to you all!" he boomed, his voice carrying across the field.
"Good morning, Coach Juma!" came the collective reply, enthusiastic and unified, a chorus of young voices filled with hope and determination.
"I see you're all on time. Keep up that spirit of sportsmanship," Juma encouraged, his eyes scanning the eager faces before him. "We'll soon begin a trial match. You've been split into two teams, and the match will last sixty minutes, so you've got less than forty minutes to really impress the scouts, substitutions aside. Do your best."
The coaches had already arranged the players into two teams, and Coach Mande unveiled the team formation charts on the running track. Amani squeezed through the crowd to catch a glimpse of the lineup, his heart racing as he searched for his name.
GREEN TEAM (4-4-2, Diamond Formation):
Goalkeeper: No. 1, Jackson Lunga
Right-Back: No. 2, Yannick Bangala
Left-Back: No. 3, Daniel Kindiki
Center-Backs: No. 4, Tobias Knost; No. 5, Samba Farouk
Defensive Midfielder: No. 6, Wagaluka Francis
Attacking Midfielder: No. 8, Joseph Ochieng
Left Winger: No. 11, Vincent Wanjala
Right Winger: No. 7 Edo Musyoka
Forwards: No. 9, Steven Nondi; No. 10, Ben Mlango
*Subs: Leonard Usiibwe, Dan Lusaka
RED TEAM (4-4-2, Diamond Formation):
Goalkeeper: No. 1, Baraka Samuel
Right-Back: No. 2, Bonde Kasongo
Left-Back: No. 3, Patrick Mziwa
Center-Backs: No. 4, George Vyner; No. 5, Frederic Luamba
Defensive Midfielder: No. 6, Chrisy Nwema
Attacking Midfielder: No. 8, Amani Hamadi
Left Winger: No. 11, Tony Majembe
Right Winger: No. 7, Malik Njoroge
Forwards: No. 9, Beni Mikate; No. 10, Emmanuel Obuya
*Subs: Mpoyi Mohamed, Nathan Mkamba
Amani sighed in relief at the sight of the charts. The coaches had clearly based their selections on historical data and performance.
He found himself on the Red Team alongside Malik Njoroge, Chrisy Nwema, and even his former schoolmates Tony and Patrick.
Meanwhile, many of the would-be superstars from his previous life Vincent Wanjala, Tobias Knost, Steven Nondi, and others had been placed on the Green Team, creating a formidable opposition.
Amani had been assigned the number eight position on the Red Team, a role perfectly suited for his vision of orchestrating plays and delivering lethal assists.
His newly acquired Visionary Pass skill would be invaluable in that position, allowing him to see opportunities others might miss. Malik Njoroge was stationed on the right wing, while Chrisy Nwema took on the defensive midfielder role as the number six.
Tony was set to attack from the left wing, with Patrick anchoring the left-back position. The remaining players in green bibs were mostly unfamiliar to Amani, their faces blurred in the flurry of pre-match preparations and nervous energy.
Despite what the lineup might suggest on paper, Amani refused to let any obstacle stand between him and his dream of a football academy recruitment.
With resolute determination, he readied himself for the match ahead, mentally rehearsing plays and visualizing success with each breath.
"Come collect your bibs and head to the pitch!" Coach Mande's voice rang out from the sidelines, cutting through the nervous chatter. "Subs, you too, there'll be chances for you to play later."
With that, the players hurried to pick up their bibs and made their way to the pitch, lining up in the prescribed 4-4-2 diamond formation.
Discipline was as important as talent, and every player positioned themselves with precision, awaiting the whistle that would signal the start of the trial match.
The stage was set, scouts in the stands with pens poised, coaches on the sidelines with expectations high, and 26 young hopefuls ready to etch their names into the next chapter of their lives.
Amani's heart raced with anticipation, his determination steeled by every sacrifice that had brought him this far.
Today, on this sun-dappled pitch under an uncertain sky, he would leave everything on the field his past, his present, and his future converging in ninety minutes of beautiful, brutal football.