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VOLUME 2: AMANI - THE FOOTBALL ACADEMY STUDENT
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Tuesday 11th January 2011
The plane sliced through the clouds, leaving Mombasa's sun-drenched coastline behind. Amani pressed his forehead against the cool window, watching as the familiar landscape dissolved into an endless canvas of blue. Just an hour ago, they had been on solid ground; now they floated above the world, suspended between his past and his future.
This flight to Nairobi was nothing like the grueling two-hour drive from Malindi he'd endured before the trials. That journey had been all dust, sweat, and cramped seats. This was something else entirely: swift, clean, and exhilarating. The rapid transition left him breathless, his heart racing with the thrill of it all.
When they finally touched down at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, Amani stepped into a world he'd only glimpsed through the fuzzy screen of his village television.
The reality was overwhelming. Polished floors stretched endlessly beneath his feet, reflecting the morning sunlight that streamed through towering glass windows.
Travelers from every corner of the globe rushed past businessmen with sleek briefcases, tourists with expensive cameras, and families dragging colorful luggage. Their voices created a symphony of languages that rose and fell around him like music.
Announcements crackled overhead in English, Kiswahili, French, and tongues Amani couldn't even identify. The sheer scale of it all made his village seem impossibly small, a single grain of sand compared to this vast, gleaming beach.
Malik, never one to miss an opportunity for teasing, threw an arm around Amani's shoulder. His grin was wide enough to split his face.
"Look at you!" he laughed, eyes dancing with mischief. "Staring at everything like a villager fresh off the matatu. Be honest, this is your first flight ever out of the country?"
Amani tried to maintain his composure, but the excitement bubbling inside made it impossible. "Okay, fine," he admitted, a smile breaking through his serious expression. "This is my first flight out, and it's my first time even being in a really big airport like this."
Malik snorted, his laughter echoing in the busy terminal. "Relax, bro. It's just a flying matatu. Except this one comes with free food and way better seats."
Amani laughed, though his fingers couldn't stop fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. There was so much happening all at once as bright signs flickering with flight information, massive screens showing destinations like Amsterdam, Dubai, Doha, and Tokyo. Each name felt like a doorway to a different universe, a possibility he'd never dared to imagine.
It struck him suddenly, the weight of this moment pressing against his chest. His football dreams were already carrying him further than he'd ever thought possible.
From the dusty pitches of Malindi to the gleaming terminals of Nairobi, and soon to Europe, places his cleats were never meant to touch.
The customs process moved with surprising efficiency. Kenya Airways staff guided them with professional smiles, stamping passports and checking forms with practiced ease. Before Amani could fully process what was happening, they were walking down a long glass corridor toward their gate.
And then, there it was.
The plane.
Amani froze, his breath catching in his throat. It was bigger than anything he'd imagined, sleek and powerful, its nose pointed like an arrow toward the sky. The Kenya Airways logo gleamed bright red and green against its silver body, the tail painted proudly with the colors of the Kenyan flag.
"Wow," Amani whispered, the word escaping before he could catch it.
Malik followed his gaze and burst out laughing. "Bro, you're staring at that plane like it's Messi himself."
Amani grinned sheepishly, not bothering to hide his wonder. "It's just... it makes everything real, you know? We're actually leaving. This is it."
Malik's smile softened, a rare moment of sincerity breaking through his usual bravado. "Yeah. It's crazy when you think about it. We've been chasing balls on dirt fields in Mbakari for the last three weeks. Now, we're about to cross continents on a scholarship."
Amani nodded, his fingers tightening around the handle of his carry-on bag. "This plane... this flight... this is the first step to everything we've been dreaming about."
"Correction," Malik said, slinging his arm back around Amani's shoulder and squeezing tight. "First step to me becoming the next Samuel Eto'o and you being my personal water boy."
Amani elbowed him playfully, and the two dissolved into laughter that echoed through the terminal. Their footsteps were lighter than air as they approached the boarding gate, each step carrying them closer to a future neither could fully comprehend.
***
The flight itself was a strange mixture of excitement and exhaustion. Malik fell asleep almost instantly, his head lolling against the headrest, mouth slightly open as he snored softly into the aisle. Amani, however, couldn't shut off his mind if he tried.
He stared out the window, mesmerized by the endless fields of white cotton clouds stretching below them.
Every now and then, Mr. Stein would glance back from his seat in the row ahead, offering a rare, approving nod that somehow meant more than words.
Kristen barely acknowledged them, her eyes buried in some official-looking file, her pen making occasional marks in the margins.
Hours blurred together in the humming cocoon of the aircraft until finally, the captain's voice crackled through the cabin.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Schiphol Airport in the Netherlands. Local time is 6:43 PM, and the outside temperature is currently 3 degrees Celsius."
Amani's stomach flipped not from fear, but from something deeper, heavier. A cocktail of nerves and excitement that made his palms sweat despite the cabin's cool air.
The plane dipped lower, breaking through thick clouds into a world painted in muted winter colors.
Snow dusted rooftops like powdered sugar, canals cut through silver fields like dark veins, and rows of bare trees stood like forgotten sentinels against the fading light. It was beautiful in a stark, alien way that made Amani's heart race with both anticipation and uncertainty.
The moment they stepped off the plane, the cold slapped Amani full in the face with brutal honesty.
It wasn't just cold, it was also a sharp, unfamiliar chill that burrowed straight through his jacket and into his bones. His breath emerged in small white puffs that dissipated almost instantly.
Even that simple act felt surreal, like he was breathing out pieces of his soul into this strange new world.
Malik's dramatic shiver broke the silence. "Welcome to Europe, where your fingers freeze before you even unzip your bag."
Amani laughed, his teeth chattering slightly. "Feels like punishment for growing up in the Malindi sunshine and basking on the Mombasa beaches."
Kristen, ever the professional, checked her watch with brisk efficiency. "Let's keep moving. We have transport waiting to take us to Utrecht, and Mr. Stein wants you both rested before tomorrow's medicals."
"Medicals?" Malik groaned, his shoulders slumping. "Can't we skip straight to scoring goals?"
Mr. Stein raised a single eyebrow, his expression a perfect blend of amusement and authority. "Medicals first. You'll get used to it. Professional football is more than just kicking a ball."
His calm, measured voice cut through the cold with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. "Professional football is more than tricks and goals, boys. It's about your body and your ability to keep that body at its peak."
The terminal felt quieter than Nairobi's, more orderly, almost too calm. No hawkers, no shouting, just the soft shuffle of luggage wheels and gentle announcements in Dutch and English.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Amani saw snow piled against the edges of the tarmac, glittering under the airport lights like crushed diamonds. The sight was so foreign, so impossibly beautiful, that for a moment he forgot to breathe.
Outside, a sleek black van idled at the curb. Their driver, a stocky man with a scarf wrapped so high only his nose and eyes were visible, waved them over with a gloved hand.
"Welkom in Nederland!" the man greeted them with a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "First time in my beautiful country?"
"First time anywhere," Malik grinned, hauling his duffel bag into the van with exaggerated effort.
The drive to Utrecht unfolded like a dream sequence in a film Amani had never seen.
Even in the gathering darkness, his eyes devoured every unfamiliar sight narrow brick houses standing shoulder to shoulder like soldiers, their windows glowing warmly against the night; bicycles parked everywhere, lined up in tidy rows despite the snow; and the canals, dark and gleaming, slicing through the city like ribbons of black glass.
As they neared the city center, the Dom Tower loomed into view, its gothic spire cutting into the night sky like a spear thrust toward heaven. Kristen leaned forward slightly, her voice losing its usual businesslike edge for the first time since they'd met her.
"The Dom Tower," she said, a hint of pride coloring her words. "Oldest and tallest church tower in the Netherlands. You'll hear it chime every hour."
Amani pressed his forehead against the window again, struck by how ancient the city felt, like every brick held a story older than his entire village back home. The weight of history pressed against the glass, both intimidating and exhilarating.
Then, as they curved around a bend, Stadion Galgenwaard appeared, its floodlights piercing the winter sky like beacons. Even from a distance, the stadium hummed with presence, its bold red seating visible through the glass facade, waiting like a sleeping giant.
"That's where you'll play one day," Mr. Stein said quietly, almost to himself. "If you work hard enough."
Amani's chest tightened, a complex mixture of fear, hope, and sheer disbelief washing over him. From the stone goalposts of his Malindi village to Mbakari's sandlot and now to this? It felt impossible. Yet the stadium stood there, solid and waiting, as if it had already made space for him in its future.
"Bro," Malik whispered, his usual bravado momentarily stripped away. "That's where they play Eredivisie matches. Actual professionals. Are we really supposed to belong there?"
Amani didn't answer because the question hung heavy in his own chest. Do I belong here? The doubt was a shadow that had followed him across continents, growing longer in this strange, cold place.
The van finally pulled up to a small, cozy hotel tucked between a bakery and a flower shop. Warm yellow light spilled onto the snow-covered sidewalk, promising comfort against the biting cold. Inside, the air smelled of fresh bread and strong coffee, a sharp contrast to the frost outside.
Kristen turned to them once more, her professional mask firmly back in place. "Tomorrow, 9 AM. Warm clothes. Passports. And eat a good breakfast medical tests are serious business."
"Yes, boss," Malik saluted with exaggerated formality, and to everyone's surprise, Kristen actually smiled a brief flash of warmth that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Upstairs, the hotel room was modest but comfortable, with radiators clanking quietly in the corners. Malik dove onto his bed, sighing like he'd just won a championship final.
"So, Amani," he grinned, propping himself up on one elbow. "Now that you're a fancy academy player, you gonna demand sparkling water and a personal chef?"
Amani shook his head, dropping his bag by the door. "I'm still just happy we have a computer connected to WiFi and hot water."
Their laughter faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the heater and the faint sound of snowflakes ticking against the window. But beneath that silence, Amani could feel it the weight of tomorrow pressing down on him like an invisible hand.
Medicals. First impressions. The academy itself.
Everything they had worked for, everything they had dreamed about, rested on what happened next.
"You good?" Malik asked softly from his bed, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
Amani nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on the snow drifting past the window, each flake carrying a piece of his anxiety with it. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"Don't think too much," Malik said, his voice barely above a whisper now. "We made it here. Whatever happens, we've got each other's backs."
Amani smiled, grateful for his friend, the one constant in this wild, spinning journey. "Right."
He lay awake long after Malik's breathing slowed into the deep rhythm of sleep. Outside, snow continued to fall, piling up along the cobbled streets of a city older than anything he'd ever known. Somewhere out there, past the canals, beyond the Dom Tower, stood Stadion Galgenwaard, waiting for two boys from Mbakari to prove they belonged.
Tomorrow, they wouldn't just be boys with dreams anymore. Tomorrow, they'd be academy players in Europe, and the real game would begin.