THE GOLDEN BALL

WELCOME COMITTEE

"Wow, this place needs massive work done."

Roland tried to maintain a neutral face, but the smell within the house made him nauseous. Zaïre's sixth sense told him to step outside to talk with his friend, but the footballer wasn't reassured about staying in the house by himself.

"I thought I could clear up myself, but the place needs professionals. I might check into the Novatel hotel while the place gets fixed," Zaïre said before looking at the house.

Roland followed his gaze. The place resembled the haunted buildings he saw in movies. He didn't see his football star friend spending a night there. At the same time, Roland didn't think staying in a hotel was a good idea either. "Are you sure you want to do that? Hotels are easy locations for the paparazzi to find. Stay at mine. I invited you."

"Nah, I heard pregnant women are moody. I don't want Cynthia to throw me and you out on the same occasion. Don't insist; I won't come. Perhaps I'll stay here after all," Zaire hurried to say.

"Are you sure, Zaïre?"

The man nodded and smiled.

"So, how does it feel to be back here?" Rolland pursued.

"It's tranquil."

"Yeah, it isn't the capital, but it's home, right?"

Zaïre didn't know what it was like to live in a dangerous city where one wasn't advised to walk alone late at night. He and Roland didn't know more about gangs and drugs than the next person watching urban fiction on Netflix. Some would say they were exceptions or privileged, but the black men could not tag their hometown as the cradle of crime and racism.

The football player had to wait to move to the capital to experience the first prejudice of his life.

"Yes, it's home."

"Did you see your aunt?" Rolland asked.

Zaïre zipped his jacket. The cold finally got the best of him. " Yes, the shop has changed. She even has employees."

Zaïre remembered how his aunt used to run the store independently and how school kids would ask her for something she had to fetch at the back so they could steal sweets.

Roland smiled as memories of their youth paraded before his eyes. " Yeah, her store is still going strong. Many have gone out of business since the shopping center opened, but your aunt has her customers' loyalty."

Zaïre nodded. Suddenly, he saw her cashier, and before he could acknowledge Roland's words, he frowned.

"What's wrong?" Roland asked.

The man smiled, "Nothing."

Roland nudged him, "Come on, what is it?"

"Her cashier said I was Dim-witted."

Roland slid his head back, and his lips became crooked as he said, "And you're happy about it?"

"Nah, it's just no one speaks to me like that."

No, no one spoke to Zaïre casually. He was a celebrity, fans usually knelt, and women, well, they came as self-proclaimed offerings. What shocked Zaïre was not what the cashier said but the total absence of information she had concerning him.

Roland crossed his arms and nodded, "I knew you were the submissive type."

"You're so sick. Do you know her?" Zaïre said with a huge grin.

"Who? Do you mean the store's cashier? Eh, I think her brother is a teacher or something," Roland answered before following up with, "How's your girlfriend?"