When the sun dips down and the scorched earth begins to cool, these boys meet on the pitch for a game of foot ball. It happens once a week on a Saturday. They pull out their hand made ball, wrapped in plastic and rubber and pick their teams. And then they play; with orange dust bellowing into the atmosphere as goals are scored and acrobats performed in celebration.
I gave them a ball once – one made in a factory. The excitement of playing with a new ball was contagious. Within 5 minutes of playing, the first goal was scored. There were cheers, back pats, flick flacks and shirts being tossed up into the air.
The shiny new ball effortlessly flew through the goal posts like it had been kicked by a David Beckham junior, then into a thicket of thorn bushes. It popped.
Sometimes it’s a case of what…
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