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It was a hot Sunday. I was on the Kigali playground playing football with my team members, Leon, Joshua, Fariji, Gideon, Siyawezi and Isaac.

 

I saw a tall man in black trousers and a yellow T-shirt in the distance. He was sitting on a branch of a short mango tree, watching us as we played. I wondered who he was and wanted to talk to him. When we took a break from our game, I approached him. After our initial greetings, I asked the man, ‘where are you from and what is your name?’

 

John replied, looking down at me from his perch on the mango tree branch. ‘I’m John, from the New Hope village,’ he said.

 

‘Why are you here?’ ‘What are you doing under the mango tree?’ ‘How old are you?’ I continued to question him.

 

He was here to watch football and get fresh air, he told me, and he was just nineteen years old. We started talking about the match and how the footballers were playing. I became so absorbed in our conversation that I abandoned the rest of the game to continue talking with John.

 

Once I realised I had missed the second round of our game, I asked John to come back tomorrow and join us. I even asked him to become the trainer of our team as we did not have one and John seemed to know a lot about the game. John said he would like that, and that the reason he came here was to watch, and if possible, to play football, as it is his favourite game.

 

We agreed he would arrive at seven am the next day, in order for us to finish our game by nine am, in time for us to attend church service. Before he left, I introduced him to the other team members and told them that John wished to play with us and possibly become our coach.

 

The next morning, I arrived at the playground at seven am to find John already there. He was running the outer circle of the playground while waiting for the other players to arrive. We greeted each other and I began to run with him silently.

 

When the others arrived, we appointed John to plan the number of players. He did, and then we had a training match for one and half hours. The players appreciated him for his tactical guidance and drill design. We concluded with a short team meeting, deciding on our training days. Then we shared a handshake, a sign of unity as the Wolf Team.

 

When John said he wanted to go home, I told him, ‘let us go together’. I escorted him while we shared more words. This time, we talked about our training and how enjoyable it was for both of us. When we reached John’s home in New Hope village, I saw a tall avocado tree at the gate and a banana plantation in the left-back corner of the compound, close to the latrine. I saw one young woman washing utensils, another washing clothes, and a young boy reading books. John told me these people were his siblings. Excited to meet them, I greeted them one by one. They were open and welcoming with great broad smiles on their faces, for I was their first visitor on a Sunday morning .

 

After saying goodbye and walking back home through Kigali road in New Hope village, talking about the heat and sunshine of the day, I felt in my heart a confusion. I never saw a parent at John’s home.

 

As we got closer to my home in Sudan village, we stood under an avocado tree before parting ways. I asked John, ‘why didn’t I see any parents at your home? This is the time when parents always prepare themselves for church services?’

 

At that moment, John, my new coach and now my friend, started crying. I knew something was deeply wrong. John said it was a long story. He said he didn’t want to share it with me because it would make him remember his past life. He said it would cause him to cry and feel distressed.

 

But then after ten minutes of silence he shared with me his story. I was his friend now. He didn’t see the need to hide things from me.

Three years ago, John’s parents had to travel for work in Mbarara city, in Uganda. At five am, shortly after they set out on their journey, they got into a terrible accident. Their driver lost control and the car knocked a rock as they drove through the pouring rain. John’s parents, along with eight other people, lost their lives. John received the message that his parents died two days later.

 

After the death of his parents, when he was just sixteen years old, John’s siblings began to consider him like a father and mother to them. John had no job or means to support a family. All he had was the land left by his father. He decided to make bricks from clay soil around his home,  and he made a chimney to burn them. He then sold the burned bricks to people in Nakivale who used them to build different infrastructure, and people outside of Nakivale who ordered them for the same purpose. This made him enough money to cater to the basic needs of his siblings. As John continued with his story, he moved me to tears. I felt as though I myself was the one going through his situation. We were both crying in deep tears. As we sat under the tree to prevent ourselves from direct sunlight, I put my hand on John’s back, offering him some comfort. I wiped his tears using my white t-shirt and took him back to his home.

 

The following morning, I went to John’s home and found him preparing the soil by digging and pouring water on it to make it wet. I realised what he was doing and asked John to teach me how to make the bricks. Once I had learned, we began to work together and earn money, making burnt bricks and selling them to people around our community.

 

We continued playing football and making burnt bricks from that point on. Together, we won more games as the Wolf team. John became my friend, but he was more than a friend. He was a gift from God. Together we learned that even in the hardest of times, friendship can help us create a better life and overcome obstacles. The more time I spent with John, the more I realised how hardworking he was.

 

John’s story taught me that being in need makes you do extraordinary things. Despite the life we live, we are capable of doing something and making changes when we have a good friend by our side. I am so grateful to John for being that person to me.