CHAPTER 6 — Home Ground
By noon, the narrow streets around Kibera Stadium were alive.
Children chased paper balls between vendors selling roasted maize and mitumba jerseys.
Old men argued about tactics like philosophers.
And on every wall, hand-painted posters screamed:
KIBERA UNITED vs KAWANGWARE CITY — HOME OPENER
"New Coach. New Blood. New Hope."
Inside the changing room, though, hope was thin.
The players sat tense, heads down, the sound of the crowd seeping through cracked windows — a restless heartbeat.
David Muriuki stood at the center, a whiteboard behind him, marker in hand.
"Listen," he began.
"This isn't just another match. This is home. These people out there — they don't have much. But they gave you something most players never get."
He paused, looking around at his players.
"They gave you forgiveness."
Kevin shifted uncomfortably. Samuel swallowed hard.
Even Moses looked down, nodding.
"You give that back with effort," David said. "Every run. Every tackle. Every shout.
We might lose, but no one — no one — will say we didn't fight."
He pointed to the board — arrows, circles, movement patterns.
"Kawangware City plays wide. Their wingers are quick. Moses, stay compact. Samuel, track back. Kevin — pull strings, don't chase ghosts."
He capped the marker and tossed it aside.
"Now go show them we're not the team they used to laugh at."
Kickoff
The roar when Kibera United walked out was unlike anything they'd heard before.
Not thousands — maybe five hundred fans — but loud like ten thousand.
Drums. Whistles. Chants.
"Kibera! Kibera! Kibera!"
David stood on the touchline, arms crossed, heartbeat steady.
He wasn't nervous. He was alive.
The game began at a furious pace.
Kawangware City attacked in waves — sharp passes, fast feet.
Babu made an early save, diving low to his right.
The crowd roared his name. "BA-BU! BA-BU!"
Samuel sprinted down the right, beat his man, crossed.
Kevin met it — volleyed over the bar.
The fans still cheered. The energy was electric.
20th Minute — Trouble
Kawangware broke through on a counter.
Their striker slipped past Moses — 1v1 with Babu.
Shot — GOAL.
Silence.
David didn't flinch. He shouted, "Heads up! Still 70 minutes left!"
The players looked shaken.
Moses punched the turf in frustration.
Kevin threw up his hands.
Samuel bent over, breathing hard.
But then — from the stands — a lone voice started chanting.
A boy's voice, high and stubborn:
"Kibera! Kibera! Kibera!"
Others joined.
Soon, the whole section was pounding drums again.
The sound pushed through their despair like light through fog.
David felt it too. We're not done.
Second Half
Down 1–0, Kibera played like men possessed.
Kevin dictated play, switching sides, drawing defenders.
Samuel kept running — relentless, fearless.
Moses held the backline like a wall.
And Babu — the kid keeper — grew louder with every command.
Then came the moment.
74th minute.
Kevin intercepted a pass, threaded a perfect through ball to Samuel.
Samuel darted between two defenders — the crowd rose with him.
He looked up, saw the keeper charging —
And chipped it.
The ball hung in the air, kissed the crossbar — and dropped in.
GOAL.
The stadium exploded.
Fans climbed fences. Drums thundered.
Samuel sprinted to the corner flag, arms wide, eyes bright with disbelief.
David just smiled — a quiet, proud smile — and whispered, "Good boy."
Final Minutes
The game was balanced, end to end.
Kawangware pressed hard. Babu made a fingertip save that kept them alive.
Moses cleared another shot off the line.
Every Kibera player ran like their lives depended on it.
When the referee finally blew the whistle, the scoreboard still read:
KIBERA UNITED 1 – KAWANGWARE CITY 1
Another draw.
But the crowd didn't care.
They chanted their coach's name — something no one had done in years.
"DA-VID! DA-VID! DA-VID!"
David stood still, eyes glistening, heart pounding.
It wasn't victory. But it was redemption.
Post-Match
In the locker room, the air was different.
Not heavy — electric.
Kevin slapped Samuel on the back. "You crazy kid. You chipped him!"
Samuel grinned. "Coach said stop fearing mistakes, right?"
Even Moses cracked a rare smile. "You'll be trouble, Otieno."
David watched them — laughing, alive, united — and said quietly,
"That's how belief is born. One small miracle at a time."
Outside, the crowd still sang.
For the first time, Kibera Stadium didn't sound like a ghost town.
It sounded like home.
End of Chapter 6