Several hours later, they were driving through the city of Bentiu. Once again, Eric was astonished at the city's rapid improvement over the years. It was nothing compared to Juba, but it had better housing, a better market, better streets, and a newly built park near the market. The last time he had come to Bentiu, entire houses and small buildings had been flooded by heavy rainfall over a couple of days. He remembered it vividly: the water's height had exceeded his own, so his father had lifted him up and given him a giant's-eye view of the entire area. Little kids, just like him, had been carried on their parents' backs and shoulders as the adults tried to navigate the new river that had taken over their small town to get to their homes. Some people had tried to drive through the flood, but they soon realized it was a very stupid mistake. Their vehicles stalled, and they couldn't restart the engines. Looking back on it now, Eric felt a flow of nostalgia for those memories. Despite the catastrophe for the town and its people, he had felt an addictive tension in witnessing such a surreal disaster for the first time in his life.
"This country really is improving since the last time we were here," Eric's father said, flabbergasted.
"Yeah, they built a small park. Did you see it?" Eric commented.
"No. Where?"
"Right next to the market."
"Maybe we can go there early tomorrow morning and play some football."
"At what time?" Eric asked excitedly.
"I don't know. Whenever I'm done buying some things for the folks. And we can't play if the old man doesn't have a football."
Eric's father parked in the inn's newly built parking lot.
"Alright, get your stuff. You hungry?"
"I'm starving. I didn't eat anything other than what I ate at the hotel," Eric said, rubbing his stomach.
"I'll see if Keji still sells food. If not, we're going to have to buy some snacks and chips from him for dinner."
"Alright."
Eric gathered his stuff and exited the car, closing the door behind him. The night air immediately stung his skin. He rubbed his exposed arms as they climbed the small renovated stairs that brought them a few feet up to the white doors of the inn. When they entered, they were flabbergasted to find the floor spotless and shiny, as shiny as oil. Most of it was covered by a painting of South Sudan's national flower, the hibiscus. The railings leading up to the upper floors were now adorned with gold and red paint, and the stairs were carpeted with a burgundy mat flecked with brown. After they stopped marveling at the improvements, their eyes landed on Keji, who was sitting behind a soft brown desk with people who seemed to be his employees. Eric was astonished once again. Keji was still old and skinny, with the same thin white beard. His bald head hadn't changed either, though it looked a bit shinier to Eric. Behind him were two gray elevators separated by a red wall. Large pots of plants stood beside them, giving the impression that the inn was an actual five-star hotel. The pots also had hibiscus sprouting from them.
"Keji, what's up, man?" Eric's father said, holding out his arms to embrace his friend.
"Alek, everything's up!" Keji said, embracing him in a warm hug.
They separated.
"Yo, what happened to this city? It looks like someone rebuilt everything."
"Alek, you gave this town your blessing when you left."
Eric's father chuckled at his own undeserved praise.
"It's true. Some months after you left, the government came and sponsored everything. They said if we signed a document promising that we would go to war within ten years, they would help us rebuild everything."
"So it's like a contract? What happens when the contract is up and there is no war?" Eric's father asked, with a troubled look on his face.
"They said we don't have to pay back anything if there is no war."
"You sure that's a good idea, Keji? Is there a way to cancel the contract if you want to?"
"No. They said if there is a war and anybody runs away, they will be labeled a war criminal and sent to prison. If they catch them." He made sure to stress the "if."
Eric's father sighed.
"Keji, you're an old man who can't even walk properly, and you signed yourself up to go to war."
Keji chuckled briefly.
"Do you think I'm a fool? They said the elderly don't have to grab a gun and go to war. They said we can manage the food and do the medical work."
Keji's eyes finally descended to Eric.
"Oh, Eric. You're a big boy now. I didn't even see you. I must be getting blind."
"What's up, old man Keji?" Eric said, waving up at him.
"Everything is good, Eric. Don't you see what the government turned my inn into? It turned it into a palace. From an abandoned court of Bentiu, to a broken-down hotel, to a beautiful palace, with even a room for my guests to eat in. It's because of your father. I swear it's your father. Ever since I first met him, everything good has happened to me in my life."
Eric and his father both chuckled. Even the employees behind the desk were chuckling.
"Okay, old man," Eric said with a smile of amusement.
"How long are you and Eric going to stay here?" Keji asked, turning to face Eric's father.
"I want to get on the road early tomorrow morning. I want to hire someone to take us to my mom. Either that or I'll have to rent a vehicle from someone. Is Adut still here, or is he in the city?"
"He is still here. He has a family now."
"Really?" Eric's father's face lit up with a surprised smile.
"Yes. You can look for him in his new garage in the morning. Samaah will take you to a two-bedroom room. And if you're hungry, I'll have her bring you some fried rice with chicken."
"Thanks. How much?" he asked.
"Don't worry about the money. Everything is free for you."
"No, wait. You sure?"
"Yes, I am sure. After everything you have done for me, Alek, you really think I would charge you?"
Eric's father chuckled.
"I really didn't—"
Keji cut him off.
"Please take these people upstairs, Samaah."
A woman who looked to be nearing thirty came up to them. She was one of the employees behind the desk.
"Follow me, sirs," she said in a soft, polite tone that enhanced her professional persona.
She wore a black, elegant office skirt that passed her knees, black stockings, and black dress shoes. Her black hair was woven into a bun at the back of her head. As she gestured toward the elevator, her face wore a sweet, artfully drawn smile. It made Eric feel welcome, as if he were at a relative's house. They followed her to the elevator, and she pressed a button that took them up to the third floor. When the elevator doors opened, they revealed a hallway filled with white doors, the floor covered with the same burgundy mat from the lobby. Eric's eyes tracked it all the way to the end of the hallway, where a glass window looked out on nearby shops and homes. On either side of the window stood a small pot of white flowers, which Eric imagined were meant to give the hotel a peaceful atmosphere when lit by the evening light.
Samaah stepped out of the elevator first, offering her services as a room navigator. They followed her. As she walked, she kept turning her head, searching for the correct number of the room she wanted to put them in for the night. Eric looked at each door, examining it. He found no stains or dirt tarnishing the paint, and not even a small dent. He looked up and saw built-in lights instead of light bulbs that relied on cheap exposed wires. The hotel was nothing like he remembered. Eric thought back to the time the floor had collapsed and left a gaping hole exposing the floor below. After that, his father had kept an eye on him the whole day until they left.
As his eyes went back and forth, they paused on Samaah. Eric's heart began pumping faster. He was watching how she walked, how her hips went up and down, and it didn't help that she was wearing heels and stockings. Eric looked away. Then she stopped at the third door from the end of the hallway.
"Room 64. It has two bedrooms and a living room with a Roku TV. There are also some snacks in the cupboards. Here's the key," she said, handing the keys to his father.
"Please give me twenty-five minutes to prepare your dinner, sirs. We're experiencing an abnormal number of guests tonight, so we are a bit short-staffed. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."
"No, no, it's fine, and thank you," Alek said, waving an arm.
"Thank you for your understanding."
And with that, she walked away. Alek fiddled with the keys for a bit before finding the correct one. He inserted it into the lock, and they both heard a click, prompting Alek to push the door open and reveal a decent living room. Nothing too fancy, but it was way better than before, Eric thought.
As they carried some of their luggage in, Eric noticed a huge TV mounted on the living room wall.
"Oh, there's a TV," he said, his face lit up with joy.
"We can watch a movie tonight, if you want," his father said.
"Let's watch the football game first. I heard that a Nigerian and a Sudanese team are playing each other tonight."
"Sure. Who are you betting on?"
"The Nigerians, of course. They have really good goalkeepers, and their strikers are the embodiment of speedsters."
Eric's father chuckled at this.
"You sure?" he asked, staring into his eyes, trying to make his faith waver.
"Yes, I am sure," Eric said adamantly.
"Alright. In that case, I got the Sudanese team. So if I win, you have to give me ten push-ups. If you win, I will buy you anything you want when we go to the U.S., with no budget."
Eric hesitated for a second, then responded with silence, staring at his father with disbelief carved on his face.
His father chuckled.
"Eric, I promise you, I will buy you as many novels and mangas as you want. As long as you don't tell the old lady."
Eric's face immediately cracked into a smile.
"Alright then. Go relax for a while, and listen out for the woman."
Eric nodded and turned right to go to his room. Feeling the cold air from the air conditioner, he took off his socks and his shirt and threw them by the door. The cold air relaxed him, and the huge bed, with its fat pillows, seduced him. He collapsed onto it and drew the cover over himself. Eric pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted his cousin.
"You up?"
A few moments later, Jabari responded.
"Yes."
"Any news you want to tell me?" Eric asked out of curiosity and, frankly, because he couldn't come up with anything else to talk about.
"Eric, you would not believe what happened to Lacy today." Jabari replied within seconds.
Eric's eyes widened.
"What? What happened?" he typed, then waited until Jabari finished.
"So we were playing tag, right, then Lacy decided she wanted to play too. We told her no, but she complained to Mum and Grandma. She said something like, 'Grandma, they won't let me play with them.' Swear to God, this woman shouts for us so loud the entire village heard her. And she forced us to let Lacy play. About five minutes into the game she slipped and fell right next to the stove. Part of her forearm got burned, plus she landed in mud. Her clothes and hair had a lot of mud on them too."
"Did she cry?"
Jabari responded with a photo of her bawling her eyes out as their grandmother and her mother comforted her and helped her up.
"Is she alright?"
"The crybaby is fine."
"Okay then. Later. Keep me up to date on the news."
"Alright."
Eric turned off his phone, stared at the dark screen, and let out a long sigh.
A few minutes later, the cold bed and warm blanket were doing their thing on Eric. His eyelids grew heavy as they slowly collapsed. But then a knock on the front door brought him back to life. He sprang up, quickly put on his shirt, and rushed to the door. He opened it and found the same woman from before, holding a tray of food and drinks.
"Thank you, miss."
"You're welcome," she said, walking away immediately.
He closed the door and put the food on the dinner table.
"What's inside?" his father asked.
Eric lifted the cover.
"Fried rice with chicken."
"Oh." His father tapped the remote violently.
"Finally," Alek said, exhaustion dripping from his voice.
Eric sat down on the couch as his father navigated the TV channels until he finally found the soccer match. Almost immediately, the entire room was enveloped in cheers from the crowd as a Sudanese striker scored. Alek laughed, clapping his hands.
"Bring the food over here, and let's watch the match."
Eric responded with dead silence, contrary to his mind, which was filled with the chaotic screams of his frustration and pride.
They sat and ate their food, pausing to watch the match. The room was completely silent except for the hopes and dreams of people screaming through the television's speakers. Eric and Alek both stared at the screen, immersed. Eric watched one striker in particular as he zoomed across the field.
"Go, go, Sean, go!" his family yelled from the stadium. But their voices were no match for the crowd.
Sean noticed his friends and classmates cheering, which gave him a massive boost in morale.
Just about thirty meters ahead. It's almost over, he told himself.
He summoned all the remaining energy from his lungs all the way down to his quads.
He let out a burst of speed, leaving behind the opponent who was guarding him. He dribbled past the defenders with insane speed, and in that moment his ego took the form of a giant grizzly bear. He felt like a soldier rushing past enemy defenses, defeating soldiers one by one as their comrades watched from afar, sweaty faces plastered with a look that said defeat was inevitable.
Sean made his way to his final enemy. The defender's face showed signs of fear and determination: determination not just to bring praise and glory to his school, but not to be defeated and let his comrades down, for he knew all hope of surviving and fighting another day lay in his ability as a defender.
Sean, a berserker striker at this point, had an ego that had reached a heavenly level. His body, heated and charged with his comrades' hopes and cheers, was pumping with adrenaline, his arms and legs covered with pulsing veins that had intimidated the opponents he had already defeated.
Sean rushed toward the defender with such speed that it sent him into a panic. The defender wondered how to stop this wild opponent who was out for blood.
Sean, noticing his opponent in a temporary paralysis, decided to play mind games. He faked shots and went to the right flank of the battlefield. The defender and goalkeeper mistook his mind games for fear and uncertainty, and both began to relax their muscles just a little. The other defenders rushed toward him, hoping to stop him from taking the vital shot. Sean glanced at the timer. Seven seconds left. He had to end it now, or it would be a tie. He looked at the goalkeeper and the defender and analyzed their body positions and facial expressions. They both seemed confident that they were going to save it. But they must have forgotten what type of player he was. He was a striker, a striker who destroyed dreams and hopes. He was a weapon. He was death itself.
He suddenly halted and ran back to the left flank. The defender's and goalkeeper's faces were both painted with shock and fear.
Sean, with his weapon gliding across the grass, closed the distance to the heart of his opponents. In their shock and fear, the goalkeeper's and defender's reaction times were delayed by about a second, but that was all Sean needed.
Seeing victory in sight, Sean kicked the ball. The impact sounded like the sonic boom of a fighter jet. The ball took half a second to collide with the left corner of the goal. As soon as it did, the audience watching the absolutely magnificent battle went wild with screams and cheers.
"No!"
"Yes!" Eric and Alek yelled at the same time.
He looked at the clock and realized he had scored just before the timer showed all zeros. His teammates rushed toward him with screams of victory and surrounded him, screaming their heads off, losing themselves in the satisfying taste of victory. He looked over at the enemy team's faces. Sweat dripped down them, and they showed disappointment and defeat. A smirk appeared on his face, a devilish one, a smile full of arrogance and superiority. Sean looked over to his side of the great coliseum, where his faction sat. There he found his two stepsiblings, seated all the way at the top, screaming as if he had done something monumental. He lowered his gaze, and the smirk that had been one of power and dominance was replaced by nothing but happiness and pride.
Eric laughed with joy.
"Dad, remember your promise," Eric said, smiling mockingly.
"How?" his father said, shocked.
"I told you Nigeria has some of Africa's best strikers."
"It looks like I'm going to have to start watching more football," Alek said.
Eric began walking toward his room, but Alek stopped him.
"Wait. You don't want to watch the movie?"
"No, I'm tired."
"Alright then. Make sure you wake up by eight tomorrow. I'm planning on getting something arranged so we can leave early."
"Alright," Eric said, walking into his room.
He closed the door and lay on his bed, covering himself with a blanket from his feet to his neck. As he was dozing off, he remembered the dream he had when he fell asleep in the car, the dream about the ruined city and the albino girl. But could he really call it a dream? If anything, it was more like a very strange nightmare, he thought. As he tried to recall the faces in the dream, they all came back blurry, the same as the surroundings. He couldn't tell where the dream had taken place because of the unrecognizable state of the city, but he did know he had been significantly older, maybe twice his current age. He tried to dig deeper and remember what he had been feeling inside the dream, but he couldn't. No matter how many times he replayed the memory, he still couldn't summon himself from that other world. To Eric, that was all the proof he needed to conclude that maybe his dream had really been just a dream. His eyelids grew weaker until they collapsed. As he slept, he smiled, relieved.