UNCLE BEN.
1189 Words
CHAPTER 2: "UNCLE BEN"
The road was hot. Tar melted in patches and stuck to Reuben's shoes. He walked with his phone pressed to his ear, dodging okadas and market women balancing trays of oranges on their heads.
His chest still felt heavy because of Julie. Different schools. Different futures. But he couldn't think about that now. He had to focus.
He dialed the number. It rang three times.
"Hello?" A deep voice answered.
Reuben straightened up immediately. "Hello uncle! Good afternoon sir. How is the family sir?"
"Reuben? Na you be this?" Uncle Ben sounded surprised. In the background Reuben could hear the television and Auntie Ngozi shouting from the kitchen about soup.
"Yes sir. Please uncle, I just want to tell you that I got admission into the university to study law."
The line went quiet for a second.
Then—
"Law? My own pikin? God is good o!"
Reuben smiled for the first time all day.
"Thank you sir. Please uncle, you know you are the only family I have since I lost my parents. Please uncle, I will be needing your help to see me through the university."
He hated asking. Hated how small his voice sounded. But what choice did he have? His parents' savings were gone. School fees for law wasn't twenty thousand naira.
Uncle Ben sighed.
"Reuben... you know things are tight. But you are my brother's son. I won't abandon you. Come to the house on Saturday so we can discuss more."
Relief flooded through him.
"Thank you uncle. Oh! Yes, I will come over so we can discuss more. God bless you sir."
"God bless you too. And Reuben... congratulations. Your father would have been proud."
The call ended.
Reuben stood in the middle of the road for a moment, letting the words settle inside him.
Your father would have been proud.
He swallowed hard, blinked twice and wiped his eyes before anyone noticed. The busy street kept moving as though nothing had happened. Horns blared. Traders shouted prices. A bus conductor hung halfway out of a yellow bus, yelling for passengers.
Life never paused for anybody.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and continued walking home.
Their compound was unusually quiet that afternoon. His roommates were either asleep or away. Reuben fetched water from the drum, splashed his face, changed into an old football jersey and sat at the small wooden table beside his bed.
His admission letter lay neatly folded in front of him.
He unfolded it again.
Bachelor of Laws (LL.B.)
He traced the words with his finger.
Since secondary school, he had imagined himself wearing a black suit, standing before a judge, defending innocent people. Whenever people cheated widows or poor families in his neighbourhood, something inside him burned. He wanted to know the law. He wanted to speak for people who had no voice.
But dreams were expensive.
He reached for one of his old Government textbooks and tried reading. The words danced before his eyes. Every paragraph ended with the same question.
Who will pay my fees?
After almost an hour, he shut the book and sighed.
He needed fresh air.
Outside, loud cheers echoed from the dusty field at the end of the street.
"Goal!"
Children and young men surrounded two makeshift goalposts built with old slippers and broken blocks.
Reuben smiled.
It had been months since he kicked a football.
"Reuben!" one of the boys shouted as soon as he saw him. "Come na! We don lose one player."
"I no fit," Reuben replied, laughing.
"Abeg! Just one match."
Another boy ran over and dragged him by the arm.
"Stop forming. We know say you sabi ball."
The others joined in until he finally gave up.
"Okay. Just one match."
They divided into two teams.
The afternoon sun was unforgiving, but nobody cared.
The game started at once.
At first, Reuben looked rusty. His first pass went straight to the other team. The boys laughed.
"Wetin happen? University don make you forget football?"
He laughed too.
A few minutes later, his confidence returned.
He intercepted a loose ball near the centre circle, dribbled past one defender, then another. The goalkeeper rushed forward.
Without thinking, Reuben chipped the ball over him.
The ball bounced once before settling inside the net.
"Goooooaaaal!"
The field erupted.
His teammates lifted him briefly while children screamed his name.
Even Reuben couldn't stop smiling.
Unknown to him, a middle-aged man standing beneath a mango tree had watched everything.
The man wore a navy-blue tracksuit and held a whistle around his neck.
When the match ended, he walked towards Reuben.
"You are the boy that scored that goal?"
"Yes sir."
"You play for any academy?"
"No sir."
The man nodded slowly.
"My name is Coach Daniel."
He stretched out his hand.
Reuben shook it respectfully.
"You have talent. Raw talent. With proper training, you can go far."
Reuben smiled politely.
Coach Daniel continued.
"I work with a football academy. We are looking for young players. If you are interested, I can register you. Who knows? One day you may play abroad."
The words hung in the air.
Play abroad.
Many of the boys nearby looked at Reuben with envy.
Some whispered.
"This one don hammer."
"Na opportunity be this."
Coach Daniel reached into his pocket and handed Reuben a small complimentary card.
"Think about it. Come to the address on Monday morning if you're serious."
"Thank you very much, sir."
The coach smiled.
"Don't waste your gift."
As the man walked away, Reuben remained where he stood, staring at the card in his hand.
Football.
People dreamed of opportunities like this.
International footballers earned millions.
They built houses.
They bought cars.
They changed their families' lives forever.
Yet, strangely, his heart remained quiet.
He respected football.
He enjoyed playing it.
But he had never loved it.
His dream had always been the courtroom.
He wanted books, not boots.
He wanted law reports, not league tables.
He wanted justice, not trophies.
As he walked home, the coach's words competed with Uncle Ben's promise inside his head.
One offered fame.
The other offered hope.
By the time he entered his room, evening had begun to settle over the neighbourhood.
He lay on his narrow bed, staring at the ceiling.
The conversation at the football field replayed again and again.
He turned the complimentary card over in his hand.
Maybe other people would have accepted immediately.
Not him.
Footballers didn't play forever. Injuries could end a career overnight. Even the lucky ones eventually retired while they were still relatively young.
But a lawyer...
A lawyer could still stand in court at sixty years old.
A lawyer's knowledge only grew with age.
He smiled faintly.
His decision had already been made.
All he needed was someone willing to sponsor him through law school.
Nothing more.
He reached for his phone.
Julie.
He wanted to tell her everything—about Uncle Ben, the football match, the coach's offer and the strange battle between opportunity and purpose.
His thumb hovered over her name.
Then he lowered the phone.
Tomorrow.
He would tell her tomorrow.
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