Work without play makes Tom a dull kid so they say.
Already, waking up on the wrong side of the bed is one thing, so I quickly jumped up, hearing the roaring sound that I could audibly hear from outside the building. The sound that boomed showcases that the ground is set and the party is on. Getting outside putting on a jersey that was halfway around my neck.
“ You go play for our set oo” a familiar voice echoed from the crowd and I nodded in agreement knowing I had come late and it was a luck I had to be in a set.
The weather was warm and the morning sun shone in its usual delight. The street was wide enough for guys to run up and down. Although the ground was uneven, the goalposts were made from brick blocks, and every kick raised little clouds of dust.
As I hailed everyone and sat at a corner side of the road with marvel, the supposed to be player of my team, a little girl walked closer and sat beside me. She was quiet and watched the three-sided street soccer match carefully.
As it was getting interesting, she stood up and went to the edge of the street. She was nine to ten years old from my perspective and looked beautiful and fragile. She wasn't playing and couldn't play with the giants instead, she watched the game with wide excitement. Each time the ball rolled out of the field, the only thing I knew she was glad to do was run after the ball, pick it up carefully, and toss it back with a bright smile.
Sometimes I was familiar with her aura but her face was so strange that I could vouch that I had never seen her before. She clapped when someone scored and she laughed when someone slipped and whenever a player looked tired, she encouraged them with the innocent confidence only a child could have. There was something about her kindness that stopped me in my tracks which was not because it was unusual but because it was familiar. The way she smiled at strangers and celebrated people's joy was another and I don't expect a child of such to be intrigued by such soccer with gross physicality. I thought I was the only one she was entertaining running up and down sweating profusely because of the job she gave herself, “ the ball boy or girl” whatsoever.
“ You don't know her,” Marvel asked looking at how surprised I was.
I nodded my head in disagreement and continued playing the ball as the game was getting intense.
“ That is Tankwa’s child,” he said with a smile.
“ Which Tankwa” I asked to confirm if it was what I was thinking about.
“ Adriano Tankwa,” he replied.
A cold breeze blew me and my legs trembled all of a sudden. I managed to finish the game for the day but one thing kept crawling into my mind.
“ Time edits memory”
Adriano Tankwa is the nickname of a childhood friend whose real name was Dennis. A boy who grew to love life although death took the life he loved away from him. He died almost ten years ago and I barely remember him apart from his picture which will never blur in my imagery.
“ No wonder, it was exactly how Dennis used to be,” I ruminated.
He had been the kind of person who made ordinary moments feel alive. He loved Street football more than anything, not just playing it but also the life around it. The dusty field, the children shouting, the laughing spectators, and the small kindnesses that passed unnoticed by most people. He believed joy was something you created for others.
He would call himself “Ororo” the oily man who is difficult to catch.
Time, as it does, folded the memory into a quiet corner of my mind. It felt though Dennis had never truly disappeared because some people do not only leave memories but they leave pieces of themselves living in the hearts of others.
That day, I realized something, although powerful, time may silence a voice but kindness has a way of finding new life and sometimes the spirit of a friend returns not in the same face but in the same beautiful way of loving the world.
“ A man of such light”, Adriano Tankwa is significant with a timeless memory, the one who plays and replays time.
