Travelling

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VOLUME 2: AMANI - THE FOOTBALL ACADEMY STUDENT

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Tuesday 11th January 2011

They boarded a flight from Mombasa to Nairobi — a journey that took a mere hour, a striking contrast to the two-hour drive Amani had once endured from Malindi before the trials. As the plane ascended, the familiar coastal panorama dissolved into an endless expanse of blue, and Amani marveled at how swiftly the world could change from the sun-soaked shores of Mombasa to the bustling heart of Nairobi. The rapid transition was exhilarating — a burst of modernity and speed that left him breathless and ready for the next chapter of his journey.

The first stop was The Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi — a place Amani had only seen in blurry TV broadcasts and travel documentaries. Now, standing right inside its vast terminal, he felt like he'd stepped into another world.

Polished floors stretched endlessly beneath his feet, reflecting the early morning sun streaming through towering glass windows. Travelers of every shade, size, and language rushed past — suitcases wheeling, voices overlapping, announcements crackling overhead in English, Kiswahili, French, and tongues Amani couldn't even place.

Malik, naturally, couldn't resist. He threw an arm around Amani's shoulder, grinning ear to ear.

"Look at you! Staring at everything like a villager fresh off the matatu. Be honest — this your first flight ever out of the country?" Malik teased, eyes dancing with mischief.

Amani tried to remain calm, but the excitement bubbling inside him made this impossible. "Okay, fine. This is my first flight out, and it's my first time even being in a really big airport like this."

Malik snorted. "Relax, bro. It's just a flying matatu. Except this one comes with free food and way better seats."

Amani laughed, though his hands fidgeted with the strap of his backpack. There was so much happening all at once — bright signs flickering with flight information, massive screens showing destinations like Amsterdam, Dubai, Doha, and Tokyo. Every name felt like a doorway to a different world.

It struck him, suddenly and deeply, just how far his football dreams were already taking him. From Mombasa to Nairobi, and soon to Europe — places he never imagined his cleats would touch.

The customs process was quicker than expected. Kenya Airways staff guided them with professional smiles, stamping passports and checking forms like it was the easiest thing in the world. Before Amani could fully wrap his head around it, they were walking down the long glass corridor toward their gate.

And then — there it was.

The plane.

Amani froze, his breath catching slightly in his throat. It was bigger than anything he'd imagined — sleek, silver, and powerful, its nose pointed like an arrow at the sky. The Kenya Airways logo gleamed bright red and green on its side, the tail painted with the proud colors of the Kenyan flag.

"Wow," Amani whispered.

Malik followed his gaze and burst out laughing. "Bro, you're staring at that plane like it's Messi himself."

Amani grinned sheepishly. "It's just… it makes everything real, you know? We're actually leaving. This is it."

Malik's smile softened. "Yeah. It's crazy when you think about it. We have 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. "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. Their footsteps were lighter than ever as they stepped closer to the future — and the sky carried them toward destiny.

***

The flight was a strange mixture of excitement and exhaustion. Malik fell asleep almost instantly, mouth open, snoring softly into the aisle. Amani, however, couldn't shut off his mind.

He stared out the window, watching clouds stretch like endless fields of white cotton below them. Every now and then, Mr. Stein would glance back at them from his seat, offering a rare, approving nod. Kristen barely spoke — her eyes buried in some official-looking file.

Hours blurred together, until finally, the captain's voice crackled overhead.

"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. It wasn't fear — it was something deeper, heavier, a mix of nerves and excitement.

The plane dipped lower, breaking through thick clouds into a world painted in muted winter colors — snow dusting rooftops, canals cutting through silver fields, rows of trees standing bare like forgotten sentinels.

The moment they stepped off the plane, the cold slapped Amani full in the face. It was a sharp, unfamiliar chill, burrowing straight through his jacket. His breath emerged in small white puffs — even that felt surreal.

Malik's dramatic shiver broke the silence. "Welcome to Europe — where your fingers freeze before you even unzip your bag."

Amani laughed, teeth chattering slightly. "Feels like punishment for growing up in the Malindi sunshine and basking in the Mombasa beaches."

Kristen, ever the professional, checked her watch. "Let's keep moving. We have transport waiting for us to Utrecht, and Mr. Stein wants you both rested before tomorrow's medicals."

"Medicals?" Malik groaned. "Can't we skip straight to scoring goals?"

Mr. Stein raised an eyebrow. "Medicals first. You'll get used to it. Professional football is more than just kicking a ball."

Mr. Stein's calm, measured voice cut through the cold. "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.

Outside, a sleek black van idled at the curb. Their driver, a stocky man with a scarf wrapped so high only his nose was visible, waved them over.

"Welkom in Nederland!" the man greeted with a wide smile. "First time in my beautiful country?"

"First time anywhere," Malik grinned, hauling his duffel bag into the van.

The drive to Utrecht unfolded like flipping through the pages of a postcard collection. Even in the gathering dark, Amani's eyes soaked up 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 polished glass.

As they neared the city center, the Dom Tower loomed into view, its gothic spire cutting into the sky like a spear. Kristen leaned forward slightly, her voice losing its usual businesslike edge.

"The Dom Tower," she said. "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.

Then, as they curved around a bend, Stadion Galgenwaard appeared — its floodlights piercing the winter sky like a beacon. Even from a distance, the stadium hummed with presence, its bold red seating visible through the glass facade.

"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 mix of fear, hope, and sheer disbelief. From the stone goalposts of his Malindi village to Mbakari's sandlot and now to this? It felt impossible. But the stadium stood there, solid and waiting as it had already made space for him.

"Bro," Malik whispered. "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 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. Inside, the air smelled of fresh bread and strong coffee — a sharp contrast to the frost outside.

Kristen turned to them once more. "Tomorrow, 9 AM. Warm clothes. Passports. And eat a good breakfast — medical tests are serious business."

"Yes, boss," Malik saluted, and to everyone's surprise, Kristen actually smiled.

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 penalty shootout.

"So, Amani," he grinned, "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.

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.

Amani nodded, though his gaze stayed fixed on the snow drifting past the window. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"Don't think too much," Malik said, voice soft 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 sleep. Outside, snow piled up along the cobbled streets of a city older than anything he'd ever known. And 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.

~~~

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