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Chapter 23: Exploring Tunis and Team Bonds
The roar of the stadium had faded, replaced by the hum of the bus engine as it carried Ghana's Under-17 squad into the heart of Tunis. The first group stage match was over, and the team had won convincingly, 2–0. But victory didn't mean Kweku could relax — not entirely.
Ephraim nudged him on the bus. "You played well out there. But now? Time to see the city, loosen up, and bond with the team."
Kweku glanced out the window. They'd been in Tunisia for the tournament, but he hadn't taken the time to look around. Tunis stretched before them in a mix of modernity and tradition. Whitewashed buildings climbed hills in the medina, their shutters painted in bright blues and greens. Narrow alleyways twisted between small cafés, souks, and spice shops, spilling scents of cumin, cinnamon, and freshly baked bread into the streets. The call to prayer echoed faintly in the distance, blending with the hum of traffic and the chatter of pedestrians.
He felt a flicker of excitement. This was different from the boarding school fields and the disciplined confines of the national camp — this was a living, breathing city full of culture, history, and new experiences.
As they stepped off the bus, teammates began to chatter and laugh, pointing at the towering modern buildings downtown, the colonial-era architecture, and small shops selling handcrafted pottery and trinkets. Kweku hung back slightly, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings, but Ephraim looped an arm around his shoulder.
"Come on, fisherman. Don't just stand there. Let's see what Tunis has to offer."
"Fisherman?", a stunned Kweku replied
"Yeah, Ephraim replied as if it was common knowledge, "you're from Takoradi, which is by the coast, and you are a student at St. Augustine's, which is right across the sea".
Kweku chuckled in response, slowly allowing himself to relax. They wandered into the medina, where the narrow streets buzzed with activity. Vendors called out from stalls stacked high with colourful spices, olives, leather goods, and hand-woven carpets. The team sampled small pieces of freshly baked brik, their crispy layers filled with egg and tuna, and laughed as the heat from a local chilli sauce made them cough.
"This is… amazing," Kweku admitted, grinning.
The squad moved toward the bustling Place de l'Indépendance, where a fountain gurgled under the afternoon sun. Street performers juggled and danced while tourists and locals meandered past. A stray ball rolled near the fountain, and some of the older players started a spontaneous juggling challenge. Kweku joined in, showing off a few slick footwork tricks he had honed back home.
Benjamin watched approvingly. "See? It's not just about matches. Bonding, learning from each other, enjoying moments — that's part of the team too."
Kweku nodded. These moments off the pitch mattered. Understanding his teammates' personalities, tendencies, and humour would make coordination on the field smoother.
The team continued to wander, crossing the Avenue Habib Bourguiba, lined with cafés and French colonial buildings, and heading toward the scenic coastline. The Mediterranean stretched out in endless blue, waves lapping gently against the shore. Kweku felt a deep sense of awe — a city so alive, full of history, culture, and energy.
Pausing near a small street vendor selling fresh figs and dates, Kweku thought of his mom. She had always emphasised patience, focus, and observation — qualities he now realised applied off the field as much as on it.
"Starboy, check this out!" called Benjamin, holding up a small leather ball from the vendor. They challenged each other to keep it in the air with their feet, thighs, and heads. Kweku managed a streak of ten touches, eliciting cheers from his teammates.
By late afternoon, the team gathered at a café overlooking the Place de la Kasbah. They reviewed moments from the first match, shared observations, and discussed tactics for the next game. Kweku contributed insights, noting defensive gaps and patterns he had noticed while exploring the city earlier.
Yaw clapped him on the back. "Good observations. Even off the field, you're contributing. That's what makes a complete player."
As the sun dipped behind the medina rooftops, Kweku felt a sense of camaraderie. The team was no longer just a collection of players — they were a unit, connected by shared experiences, victories, and new discoveries.
Later that night, lying in his hotel room, Kweku opened his notebook:
Goal: Observe teammates' tendencies on and off the field. Build trust and coordination.
Goal: Maintain focus while enjoying downtime. Balance recovery and observation.
He thought of his mom again. She would have loved to see him navigating Tunis, learning from his teammates, and growing in patience, focus, and teamwork.
Tomorrow, another match awaited — faster, tougher, and more tactical. But tonight, Kweku allowed himself a quiet moment of satisfaction. He was learning, growing, and proving, step by step, that he belonged not just on the pitch, but as part of this team in a foreign city, representing Ghana on the international stage.
The morning sun glinted off the whitewashed buildings of Tunis as the Ghana Under-17 squad headed to the stadium for their second group stage match. The team had returned the night before from their city exploration, exhausted but bonded, and the lessons from wandering the medina and walking along the Mediterranean lingered.
Kweku sat quietly on the bus, stretching his legs and reviewing mental notes. His mom's words from weeks ago replayed in his mind: "Focus on your strengths, but always observe. Your mind will carry you when your legs are tired." He thought of the precise movements she had drilled into him back at the boarding school fields, the long evenings practising passing angles and shooting from different positions.
Ephraim leaned over and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "Ready for more minutes today? They're going to push hard. We need discipline and precision."
Kweku nodded. "I'm ready. I want to help the team however I can."
The coach gathered the team in the locker room. "Today's opponents are fast, aggressive, and organised. Keep possession, watch their wingers, and don't let them exploit spaces between our midfield and defence. Kweku, I want you sharp on the left flank — track their winger closely, and look for counter opportunities."
Kweku's heart raced. This match would be tougher than the first. His role as a substitute in the previous game had given him confidence, but now he would need to contribute more minutes and more decisive plays.
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The stadium buzzed with anticipation. Flags waved in the stands, drums beat, and chants echoed off the surrounding buildings. Ghana walked onto the pitch, boots squeaking on the freshly mowed grass. Kweku felt the familiar tingle of nerves and excitement.
The whistle blew, and the match began.
Ghana immediately focused on ball control, short passes, and structured rotations. Kweku, starting on the bench, watched closely, analysing the Belgium team's formation — a tight 4-2-3-1 that relied on fast wingers and a central striker who constantly shifted to find gaps.
After twenty minutes, the game had settled into a rhythm. Ghana was controlling possession but struggling to penetrate the defence. The opposition pressed high, forcing Ghana's midfield into repeated clearances and long passes.
Suddenly, in the 28th minute, an opportunity arose. Ghana's left winger collided with a defender and fell awkwardly, holding his ankle. The coach glanced at Kweku, signalling him to warm up.
Heart pounding, Kweku ripped off his tracksuit and sprinted onto the field. The roar of the crowd surged in his ears as he adjusted his boots and gripped the ball for the first touch.
The game was faster now — every pass tighter, defenders closing in almost instantly. Kweku positioned himself near midfield, scanning for gaps, communicating with teammates through quick shouts and gestures.
Within minutes, he received the ball along the left flank. A defender approached, but Kweku kept his touch tight, manoeuvring the ball past him. He spotted Yaw making a diagonal run across the box. Timing his pass perfectly, he threaded the ball through the narrow opening. Yaw controlled it and attempted a shot — the goalkeeper blocked, but the rebound stayed in Ghana's possession. Kweku followed up immediately, delivering a crisp cross toward the edge of the penalty area.
The match had intensified, and Kweku realised that every action mattered — even a misstep could lead to a counterattack. But the energy from the crowd, the focus on his mom's lessons, and the trust in his teammates fueled his confidence.
As the first half progressed, Kweku intercepted passes, tracked dangerous runs, and began contributing to Ghana's build-up play. Each touch of the ball was deliberate: one, two, three touches before releasing it to a teammate, always scanning, always anticipating.
By halftime, Ghana had managed to maintain a narrow 0–0 scoreline, frustrating the opposition. Kweku jogged to the sideline, grabbing water, sweat dripping from his brow. Yaw slapped his shoulder. "Good first half. You're reading them well. Keep it tight."
Kweku nodded, breathing heavily. He knew the second half would test his stamina, his focus, and his ability to make decisive plays under pressure. But the opening minutes had already proved something: stepping onto the pitch was more than just physical; it was about vision, timing, and anticipation.
The stadium announcer called for the teams to return, and Kweku took a deep breath. Tomorrow, or even tonight, he reminded himself, he would play for his mom — her guidance, her patience, and her quiet confidence in his ability to shine, no matter the challenge.
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