CHAPTER 32

Early Friday morning, December 18, the team once again loaded onto a charter bus for the four-hour ride to Washington, D. C. The mood was light; exams were over, the Christmas break was just around the corner. One more game and they would be off for a few days and all the players, except Samuel, would go home to their families. Inside the Beltway, he replayed his last trip to the capital, back in August when he had spent two days with his South Sudanese teammates as they licked their wounds from the showcase tournament in Orlando.

Those had been painful days for him, the shock still fresh from the news from home. Four months later, his life had changed dramatically, but not a minute passed when he didn’t think of his late father and the indescribable fate of his beloved sister. His teammates were excited as their bus inched through central D. C., and, subdued as he was, Samuel tried his best to smile and go along.

The team checked into the Hyatt near Capital One Arena, had a quick lunch, then reboarded the bus for a few hours of sightseeing. At six, they changed into practice gear and drove to the campus of Howard University for a one-hour shootaround. At eight, they walked four blocks to a restaurant and were greeted by Maria Manabol from the embassy of the Republic of South Sudan. She had met Samuel and Coach Britt, along with Ecko, in August at the embassy and confirmed Ayak’s death. She had also handled the paperwork to facilitate Samuel’s student visa, and since then she had monitored his immigration file. She had called him every other week to make sure he was acclimating to college life. She and her husband, Paul, an American from Pittsburgh, were gracious hosts and welcomed the team to a private dining room where they feasted on prime rib with all the trimmings. After dinner, she spoke briefly about her country and its challenges. She did not mention the plight of the Sooleymon family, though everyone in the room knew their story.

The team was in bed by eleven, with strict instructions to sleep as late as possible Saturday morning. Brunch was at 10: 30.

· · ·

In spite of its usual role of being the early-season patsy for bigger programs, Howard had lost only two games and had won 10, including a double-overtime upset across town at Maryland. Preseason, the Bison had been lowballed by the experts, who ranked them near the bottom of the Mid-Eastern Athletic Conference. Central was predicted higher, but Vegas thought otherwise and put the Eagles on the board as a four-point underdog.

Two hours before the 3 p. m. tip-off at Burr Gymnasium, Maria and Paul sat in the stands with Samuel and talked about life in general, life on campus, basketball, and, most important, life in the refugee camps. The embassy received many requests from South Sudanese living in the States to find and try to help displaced relatives back home. Maria had been thrilled when Samuel called with the news that Beatrice and his brothers had been located at Rhino Camp in Uganda. That was no small miracle. Getting them out would take a more significant one.

With diplomatic skill, she repeated the warnings Samuel already knew. Immigration was strictly controlled and few from their country made it. And, there were many, many applicants ahead of them. His family had no U. S. sponsor, except for Samuel, and his citizenship was still in doubt.

When it was time to get dressed, he thanked her and Paul, gave them big hugs, and promised to keep in touch. Leaving, he said, “When we come back next season I’ll be on the court. ”

“We can’t wait, ” she said.

· · ·

As Lonnie and the coaches feared, the one-week layoff proved disastrous. That, plus the trip to the big city, and the Eagles were completely out of sync. Howard was not. The Bison hit their first five shots and Central couldn’t buy a basket. With 12 minutes to go in the second half, and up by 24, Howard began subbing freely, and the guys from the bench proved just as hot as the starters. Lonnie cleared his bench too and everyone played but Samuel. To make matters worse, with 3 minutes to go Harry Greenwood, a backup forward, limped off the court with what he thought was a twisted knee. X-rays would later reveal torn ligaments that would require surgery.

Losing the first conference game by 31 was not exactly the blazing start Coach Britt had in mind. He and the other coaches huddled in the front of the bus, and for four hours sulked and whispered and shook their heads. It was another quiet ride home, another retreat after an embarrassing loss.

In the locker room at The Nest, Coach Britt wished them all a Merry Christmas, sent them home for the holidays, and made them promise to return in a week with a renewed commitment. A new season would begin and he claimed to be optimistic.

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