The sun sagged low in the Abraka sky, casting warm orange streaks over the Delta State University campus.
The rough concrete pitch glowed faintly under the fading light, dust swirling like tiny spirits as the boys huddled near the center circle.
Sam adjusted the scuffed boots on his feet, tugging at the worn jersey they'd given him. It smelled of sweat, sun, and hard-fought matches; the kind of smell no multi-million dollar locker room could replicate.
One boy, about sixteen with tightly coiled hair and a mischievous grin, squinted at Sam. "You any good?"
Sam smirked, lowering his voice. "A little rusty," he said. "It's been over a week since I played any football".
The boys laughed, a few slapping their thighs.
One called out. "Fine, you're with us. Don't embarrass yourself, uncle".
"Uncle?" Kayla shouted from the sidelines, bursting into laughter. Sam shook his head, grinning.
"This is going to be fun," he muttered to himself.
Kickoff.
The teams lined up, five per side. The ball, faded and peeling, sat in the center, waiting for magic.
And then, it started.
From the first touch, Sam felt alive.
Away from the overly official and set-ups of professional games, Sam felt free. Heck, he didn't even hear a whistle commanding him to start like a robot.
This was free, expressive football.
'Ahh… this is it!' He thought.
His opening move was simple; a soft drag with his sole, pulling two defenders toward him before flicking the ball through their legs with a deft back heel.
The crowd of boys and passing students howled, voices echoing across campus.
"What was that?!" One of them yelled, wide-eyed.
Sam just smiled, tapping his temple. "Think faster," he grinned.
And from there on, pure street football blossomed.
The match turned feral and beautiful all at once, leaving most conventions of a regular professional game behind.
The pitch was tiny, leaving no room to hide, leaving only skill to excel.
Every move was a gamble; every touch had to count. And for Sam… it didn't just count, every touch sang.
BZZZ!
He danced across the concrete like gravity didn't apply to him, like he was some weightless immortal or a ballet dancer.
A defender lunged; Sam flicked the ball up with his heel, let it roll over his back, and volleyed a no-look pass to a teammate.
"Lekabo!" A boy among the spectators could not help himself, exclaiming at the silky display of skill.
Gasps filled the air.
Moments later, after that display of skill, making the opponents look at him on a new light, threw boys swarmed him.
But Sam showed no trepidation in front of them.
Rather than fear, his feet danced.
He feinted left, darted right, rolled the ball through all three of them in one fluid spin, then chipped it softly over the goalkeeper's head.
The ball kissed the net.
"JESUS!" Another boy exclaimed among the spectators.
"You see that dribble?!" A boy shouted in pidgin.
"Omor, this guy na dead!" Another exclaimed.
Attracted by the commotion, more spectators approached the 5-a-side pitch, spectating and paying attention to the game.
Kayla clapped from the sidelines, unable to contain her laughter. "Rusty, huh?!" She shouted.
Sam winked but didn't stop.
For the first time in months, he wasn't thinking about tactics, formations, or press conferences. He wasn't a brand or an icon.
He was just a kid from Abraka again, dust clinging to his ankles, heart hammering with pure joy.
By the midway point, even his own teammates just stood there, watching in awe. By now, they could all tell; compared to them, this guy was an extraterrestrial player.
One boy passed Sam the ball; Sam juggled it mid-stride, did a spinning rainbow flick over a defender, then volleyed it off the wall to himself before scoring.
"OH MY GOD!" A girl shrieked among the spectators.
"What the f*ck!" Another boy exclaimed.
Another time, he nutmegged two players in a single dribble, sending the spectators cheering crazily.
The ball almost went out of play but he slid to keep it in play, and whipped a no-angle shot that curled in like it was guided by a higher power.
He even played goalkeeper briefly, casually saving a shot with a no-look flick of his heel, launching into a counterattack that ended with him bicycle-kicking a pass to his teammate for another goal.
"Bro," one of the boys whispered to another. "This guy na demon, shuooo! He plays like he's from another planet".
"No," the other replied, shaking his head slowly, "he plays like Sam Moses".
They laughed it off, convinced it couldn't possibly be him.
To keep the energy high, Sam called out. "Let's make this interesting. 500 thousand naira to the other team if you beat us!"
The pitch erupted in disbelief.
The opposition, now fueled by visions of new boots and phones, charged like lions. Sam loved it. He threw himself into the chaos, sliding, tackling, diving for loose balls.
He celebrated each goal with wild chest-bumps and exaggerated knee slides on the nearby grass, the boys laughing and copying him.
With every touch, every roar of excitement, he felt something powerful; not fame, not glory, but belonging.
In the final minute, the score sat locked at 7-7 with seconds left.
The boys on the opposition side had played their hearts out to maintain this score line.
They pushed hard, their star boy dribbling past two defenders, only to meet Sam one on one.
"Move, uncle!" the boy shouted, trying a step-over.
Sam just grinned. Then, with one swift motion, he stole the ball clean, spun out of pressure, and sprinted up field.
His teammates shouted, running alongside him.
Sam glanced once at Kayla, who smiled knowingly. Then, with his left foot, he curved a perfect rabona pass that split two defenders.
His teammate tapped it in at the buzzer.
8-7. Game over.
The boys collapsed in laughter and exhaustion.
Sam helped each one up, clapping them on the back. Then, true to his word, he handed the opposing team a thick envelope with the full 500k though they didn't win the game. He also gave his teammates 100k cash each.
"You fought like champions," he said, grinning. "Spend it well".
One boy stared at him, speechless. "Who are you?"
Sam chuckled, adjusting his mask. "Just a guy who loves football".
As Sam and Kayla walked away into the golden Abraka evening, the pitch still buzzing behind them, Sam felt lighter than he had in years.
For one fleeting afternoon, he wasn't the Football God, global icon, or savior of African football.
He was simply Sam, the barefoot boy from Abraka who never stopped chasing a ball.