Outcasts United: Part Three

Kacanik’s time came three days after the bombing began, on March 27, when Milošević’s forces ransacked the town’s commercial district, stealing food and valuables from residents and cleaning off the shelves of grocery stores, including those owned by the Bushis.

The Bushis were grateful when they learned they had been granted asylum by the United States, but the news was bittersweet.

The Fugees were groggy. The game was at nine a.m. Luma had called her players the night before to remind them of the early start.

For a moment, as the Blue Springs defenders converged, Bien looked as though he would pass it back to Qendrim, who was now unmarked.

A day later, on Sunday, it was the Under Fifteens’ turn for a big away game, against a Roswell Soccer Club team called the Santos, from an affluent suburb north of Atlanta.

After their big win in their first game back after Luma’s enforced hiatus, the Fifteens had lost 4-1 to a middle-of-the-pack team.

Tito’s shooting, the canceled practices that followed, and the change of practice venues had prevented the new team from getting into anything like a groove.

The idea of leaving one’s family at home and driving an hour to work at a factory to get paid by the hour struck Generose as a weird quirk of American society.

The hot dogs had melted into a black goo in the skillet, which was now billowing a foul-smelling smoke.

Alex grabbed the wet rag he used to clean the kitchen, took the scalding skillet by the handle, and hurried to the sliding door at the back of the kitchen.

The move to Milam Park had invigorated the Fugees, and having a proper field allowed Luma to work on her teams’ weaknesses.

They were quiet, shy, and seemingly unassertive.

But the Islamist regime that came to power in Sudan in a 1989 coup wanted access to the vital soil of the Nuba valleys.

During a dry season in 1991 and 1992, the government in Khartoum decided to drive the indigenous groups out.

The government harassed civilians until they fled the fertile valleys—land the government began distributing to its cronies.

Convoys of government troops terrorized locals with random killings...intended to move the villagers to so-called peace camps.

A 1998 report by the U.S. Committee for Refugees estimated that approximately two hundred thousand people, or slightly less than a fifth of the total population of the Nuba region, were killed in what it called the Nuba genocide.

The family built a hut in a small makeshift village with other Moro, avoiding the “peace camps” and farming the surrounding hillsides to produce enough food to survive.

Refugees were not allowed to work, and they were not eligible for subsidized housing.

Sudanese in Egypt also faced racial discrimination—they were disparaged as “chocolata” or “honga bonga” by some hostile Egyptians, who were growing weary of their uninvited guests.

Shamsoun Dikori came to lying prone on the ground beside the wreck.

Several had seen or heard of family members getting carted off—or worse—by police for the pettiest of offenses.

Her wallet and sweatshirt were taken from her—the bailiff told Luma she couldn’t wear the sweatshirt in the jail because it might be contaminated with lice.

Bail was set at $759.50, and Luma was escorted into a holding cell with a group of women who looked no happier to be there than she was.

By now, Dave Anderson had learned that the Fugees’ coach had been held up en route to the game, and he was curious to see how the team would fare without help from the sideline.

The boys divvied up their positions and took the field.

Anderson could tell something was amiss; he knew from what he’d seen in the warm-ups that the Fugees could play, and yet on the field they looked lost.

She coaxed him out eventually with the sweet rolls.

The Balegamires’ father was still locked up in Makala, the notorious central prison in Kinshasa.

The boys went through the neighborhood, venturing deep into culs-de-sac and up dark sidewalks to houses that many other kids avoided.

“What position do you think I play?” the girl said sassily.

Instead, they were fighting for their pride and against the threat of getting demoted to a lower division for next season.

At the half, the Fugees trailed 1-0, and Luma was livid.

Idwar extended his leg and the ball ricocheted off his instep and into the back of the net.

A single loss, she assumed, would knock the Fugees out of contention for the cup.

The team came from one of the Atlanta area’s most expensive soccer academies, the Concorde Football Club, in the upscale suburb of Alpharetta.

In the second half, the Fugees let loose with another fusillade of shots—and misses.

It was as if there were some sort of force field in front of the Fire’s goal, deflecting the Fugees’ shots.

We sincerely hope that the time allotted for the teams [sic] practice was useful and productive for the coaching staff and the players alike.

The field behind Indian Creek Elementary leaped off the screen—a glowing white bowl of chalk that from above looked like some sort of quarry.