Saturday morning came faster than Khali expected. He woke before dawn, his heart pounding with both excitement and fear. The cool morning breeze carried the scent of rain and dust. Somewhere outside, a rooster crowed, and his mother's soft voice drifted from the kitchen.
"Khali, are you awake already?"
"Yes, Mama," he said, tying the laces of his worn-out sneakers. They were old and slightly torn, but to Khali, they were his boots of glory.
His mother smiled as she handed him a small plate of yam and egg. "Eat something first. You'll need strength for your trials."
Khali ate quickly, barely tasting the food. His father stepped out of the workshop, wiping grease from his hands. "Remember, my boy," he said firmly, "dreams are not built in a day. You must fight for them."
"I will, Baba," Khali replied, clutching his football.
The Zangola Community Field was already crowded when Khali arrived. Over forty boys stood in line—some taller, some stronger, most older. They wore clean jerseys and shiny boots. Khali swallowed hard, suddenly aware of his torn shorts and fading T-shirt.
Coach Danjuma stood at the center of the field, whistle in hand, clipboard ready. His sharp eyes scanned the boys like an eagle watching its prey.
"All right, everyone!" the coach shouted. "Welcome to the Zangola Juniors team trials. Today, I want to see speed, teamwork, and discipline. Not just who can kick the hardest. Understand?"
"Yes, Coach!" the boys shouted.
Khali's voice came out quieter, but full of determination: "Yes, Coach."
The warm-up began. They jogged around the field, then practiced passing and dribbling. Khali ran with all his heart, sweat dripping down his face. Some boys laughed at his worn shoes, but he ignored them.
When it was time for the practice match, Coach Danjuma divided them into two teams. Khali was placed as a midfielder. The ball rolled, and the match began.
At first, Khali barely touched the ball. The older boys pushed him aside, shouting for passes that never came his way. His heart sank—but then he remembered his father's words: "You must fight for your dreams."
So he fought.
When the ball finally rolled toward him, Khali sprang to life. One touch, two touches—he dribbled past the first opponent, then another. The crowd murmured in surprise. He sprinted down the wing, crossed the ball perfectly, and his teammate scored.
"Goal!" the spectators shouted.
Coach Danjuma's whistle blew. He looked impressed but said nothing.
As the game continued, Khali's confidence grew. He intercepted passes, made quick runs, and even blocked a strong shot from one of the older players. But near the end of the match, disaster struck.
An older boy named Bello, tall and muscular, glared at Khali after losing the ball to him. "You think you're better than me, small boy?" he snarled.
Before Khali could answer, Bello charged at him roughly, knocking him to the ground. The crowd gasped. Dust rose around them as Khali lay clutching his knee.
"Hey!" Coach Danjuma shouted. "That's enough, Bello! Out of the field!"
Bello frowned but obeyed. The coach knelt beside Khali. "You okay, son?"
Khali winced but nodded. "Yes, Coach. I can still play."
Coach Danjuma's eyes softened. "That's the spirit."
When the match ended, the boys gathered around as the coach began to announce the names of those who made it.
He read slowly, one by one."Aliyu. Musa. Idris…"
Khali's heart pounded harder with each name.
Then came the pause.Coach Danjuma looked at him and smiled slightly. "And finally—Khali."
Khali froze for a moment, unable to speak. "Me? I made it?"
Coach Danjuma nodded. "Yes, you did. Welcome to the Zangola Juniors."
The other boys clapped, some genuinely, others reluctantly. Khali could barely breathe. He looked toward the sky, whispering, "Thank you, God."
That evening, he ran home with his football tucked under his arm and the biggest smile of his life.
"Mama! Baba! I made it! I'm in the team!"
His mother hugged him tightly. His father smiled with pride. "I told you, Khali," he said. "Dreams belong to those who never give up."
As the stars lit up the night sky, Khali sat outside, holding his football close.He could already imagine the crowd chanting his name someday: Khali! Khali! Khali!
He wasn't just a boy with a ball anymore.He was a rising star.