CHAPTER 3 — Voices on the Pitch
Morning heat already shimmered off the cracked turf at Kibera United's training ground.
The city hummed beyond the gates — boda-bodas buzzing, vendors calling, the scent of roasted maize drifting over the fence.
David Muriuki stood at the halfway line, whistle in hand, eyes sharp but quiet.
The drill had fallen apart — again.
Kevin Oduor was arguing with the captain, Moses Wekesa.
Samuel Otieno stood frozen on the right wing, unsure whom to follow.
Babu, the young keeper, shouted something no one understood and punted the ball into the sky.
David blew the whistle once — a single, cutting sound. Everything stopped.
"Freeze!" he said. "Everyone, hold where you are."
Dust hung in the air like smoke.
He walked toward Kevin first. "Kevin. Why are you yelling?"
Kevin crossed his arms. "Because no one moves when I call for the ball. I'm the only one trying to create something."
David tilted his head. "Create what? Chaos?"
Kevin's jaw tightened. "Coach, I'm not the problem here."
"No," David said evenly. "You're the mirror. And what I see in it right now — is a man playing for himself."
Kevin looked away, muttering under his breath. David didn't raise his voice.
He just stepped closer, voice calm but heavy.
"Let me tell you something, Kevin. Talent is like fire. Warm when it's controlled. Burns everything when it's not."
He pointed at Samuel. "You see him? He runs for you every time. You just don't pass early enough."
Kevin's eyes flicked to Samuel — a hint of guilt behind the pride. "He's a kid. He'll lose the ball."
"Then teach him not to," David said. "That's what real players do. They lift others."
David turned to Samuel, who was still clutching his knees, catching his breath.
"You, Otieno. You hesitate too much."
Samuel looked up, startled. "Coach, I didn't want to mess up."
David's tone softened slightly.
"You'll mess up anyway. Everyone does. But the moment you start fearing mistakes — that's when you stop learning.
Ball ni kama maisha, kijana. Unaanguka, unasimama tena."
(Football's like life, son. You fall, you stand again.)
Samuel nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, coach."
Next came Moses. The captain's face was a storm of frustration.
"Boss, this is a joke," Moses said. "Half of them don't even understand positioning. How are we supposed to play like this?"
David studied him quietly. "And whose job is it to make them understand?"
Moses frowned. "Mine?"
"Exactly," said David. "You want to lead? Then lead with patience, not noise.
You're the only one who's worn this shirt long enough to remember what it used to mean. Show them."
For a moment, the old fire flickered behind Moses's eyes.
Finally, David faced the keeper, Babu — still standing by the post, gloves hanging loose.
"Babu," David said, walking toward him. "Why did you kick the ball into the sky?"
Babu grinned nervously. "I was… angry, coach."
"Good," said David. "Anger's fine. But next time, kick the problem — not the ball."
Laughter rippled through the players. Even Kevin cracked a small smile.
David looked around, hands on his hips.
"Listen up," he said, voice rising just enough to carry.
"I don't care where you come from, how poor your boots are, or who used to call this club dead.
Out here, you speak one language — teamwork.
No English, no Swahili, no Sheng. Just football.
The ball doesn't lie — it only listens. So make it listen."
He tossed the ball back to Samuel.
"Restart the drill.
And this time," he said, "talk with your feet."
The whistle blew again.
Movement restarted — slower, but purposeful.
Kevin dropped deeper, passed earlier.
Samuel made the run and didn't hesitate.
Moses guided from the back.
Babu shouted commands with new confidence.
David watched, arms folded, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth.
Maybe, he thought, this team wasn't as broken as everyone believed.
End of Chapter 3