Chapter 20: Life In The Camp
The first week at the Under-18 national camp was relentless. From sunrise to sunset, Kweku moved between rigorous training sessions, tactical drills, and fitness tests designed to push players to their limits.
The mornings were spent on speed and agility — cones arranged like jagged teeth across the field, coaches shouting instructions in bursts of high-energy commands. Kweku learned to anticipate passes before they were made, to read defenders' movements, and to react instinctively rather than thinking.
Afternoons were tactical sessions. Coaches dissected plays from professional matches, showing how tiny decisions — a step to the left, a delayed pass — could change the outcome. Kweku took meticulous notes, his hand cramping by the third day, but he scribbled feverishly.
Evenings were the hardest. While his peers returned to their dorms to rest or review video footage, Kweku often had schoolwork to complete. As a boarding student, he couldn't ignore his lessons. Mathematics, English, and history waited, relentless. The notebook and pens he carried were as vital as his boots and shin guards.
Ama and Yaw's absence weighed heavily.
Kweku felt the distance keenly, but Ama's encouragement from before his departure lingered in his heart, pushing him forward.
The first month was brutal. There were moments when Kweku doubted himself — when a defender at camp moved faster than he could anticipate, when a scrimmage didn't go as planned, when his body ached from endless drills.
Yet he learned to adapt. Yaw's words echoed in his mind: "Don't let it scare you. Let it push you."
By the fourth week, Kweku could see subtle changes in himself. His first touch was sharper, his passes more precise, his stamina more reliable. Coaches noticed, teammates respected him more, and even some of the older players gave approving nods when he intercepted plays or created scoring chances.
One evening, after a long day, Kweku sat on the field under the dim glow of floodlights, jotting notes in his notebook. He wrote:
Goal: Keep improving touch and anticipation.
Goal: Finish school assignments on time despite camp.
Though Ama remained distant, Kweku clung to her letter in his pocket, a quiet reminder that someone believed in him.
---
By the sixth week, the camp had shifted focus from basic drills to preparing for the U-17 World Cup qualifiers. Sessions were faster, more strategic, and every mistake was magnified. Video analysis showed Kweku his positioning errors, timing missteps, and moments when he had hesitated.
"Focus, Mensah," Coach Ofori said one afternoon during scrimmage. "Decisions must be instinctive. Hesitation can cost goals at the World Cup."
Kweku pushed himself harder than ever. Pre-dawn runs became routine, and by the eighth week, he was consistently among the top performers in endurance and ball control drills. But improvement came at a cost. Schoolwork suffered; late nights hunched over books left him exhausted for morning sessions, then there was the loneliness and emotions
One Saturday, after an exhausting scrimmage at the camp, he returned to his dorm, notebook in hand. He wrote:
Goal: Maintain focus despite personal distractions.
Goal: Learn from the best players here
Even with the emotional tension, Kweku began forming bonds at the camp. A few players from other regions, noticing his dedication, shared tips on positioning, set-piece timing, and shooting under pressure. He learned to celebrate small victories — a clean interception, a well-placed pass, a successful run past two defenders.
By the end of the two months, Kweku was stronger, faster, and sharper. He had survived the reality check, endured the long hours, and begun to stand out among players who had been training at national standards for years.
He'd also been able to come out of his shell and gotten closer to some players, though it was mostly just him following Ephraim, the extroverted defender. Maybe he just had fate with defenders.
That night, under the same floodlights where he had jotted notes months before, Kweku wrote:
Goal: Be ready for the World Cup qualifiers.
Goal: Keep growing, on and off the field.
The journey was far from over. Mom was distant, the camp relentless, and the World Cup looming. But Kweku felt a new strength — a combination of skill, endurance, and the quiet determination that came from overcoming both personal and professional challenges.
He tucked his notebook away and leaned back, staring at the stars above the pitch. For the first time, he understood that greatness wasn't given — it was earned, one exhausting, disciplined day at a time.
The week before departure to the U-18 World Cup qualifiers, Kweku sat in the national camp's dormitory, staring at his packed bag. The scouts and coaches had finalised the roster, and while he had made the team, he wasn't a starter. Not yet.
Ephraim had clapped him on the shoulder earlier that morning. "Mensah, you've earned this. But remember — even on the bench, you're part of the game. Learn, observe, and be ready, imagine getting subbed on only to have a stinker."
Kweku nodded, though a flicker of disappointment gnawed at him. For months, he had pushed, trained, and fought to stand out. And yet here he was, chosen only as a substitute.
The camp's mood was electric. Players were reviewing plays, adjusting kits, and preparing mentally for the week-long travel abroad. Coaches stressed discipline, hydration, and focus. Kweku joined in, but a part of his mind kept wandering to home, to Ama, Yaw and the other boys, and to the life he was leaving behind for the first time.
---
Kweku had finally called Ama that evening in the dorm. All the boys huddled around to soak up the romance.
"Kweku…" she said softly, hesitant, pretending to be asleep in her room. Her father, Mr Nyarko, was in the living room grading papers, thankfully unaware.
Kweku's heart leapt. "Ama?" He'd borrowed Ephraim's phone to call her but didn't actually expect a response.
She cleared her throat nervously before continuing. "I… I just wanted to say… I'm proud of you. You've worked so hard, and… even though father is always watching me, I wanted to tell you before you leave."
Kweku felt warmth spread through his chest. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I… I wish I could see you more while I'm away."
She nodded, her eyes shimmering. "I know. I… I'll be cheering for you from here. And… please, don't feel bad. You're amazing, Kweku. Even as a substitute, you belong there. You'll get your moment."
For a brief moment, the tension, the distance, the months apart — it all eased. Kweku smiled. "I'll try to make it count. For you… and for everyone who believes in me."
They lingered in silence, a mix of unspoken words and shy glances, before the lights went off signalling the boy's bedtime but that wasn't enough to stop the teasing
"Who knew the robot liked girls".
"At this rate, we might have to get her a room here so he doesn't get lovesick".
Kweku smiled to himself, pretending not to hear them.
---
The next morning, the team boarded the flight abroad. Kweku settled into his seat, feeling the weight of his backpack, his boots, and the expectations resting on his shoulders. It was his first time flying but he was too focused on the upcoming tournament to actually register what was happening. As the plane lifted off, he looked down at the receding landscape of Ghana — the Kotoka International Airport, the dusty fields, the tiny houses — and felt both excitement and homesickness.
Being a substitute meant long hours of observation during matches, studying opponents, and learning team strategies from the sidelines. But Kweku reminded himself of his mom's words: "Opportunities come to those who wait."
During the first practice abroad, he watched the starters move with speed and precision, noting patterns, timing runs, and adjusting positioning. Every mistake he made during drills was met with instant correction, every small success with quiet nods from the coaching staff.
That evening, after dinner, Kweku pulled out his notebook. He scribbled:
Goal: Learn from observation. Be ready to seize my chance.
Goal: Keep Ama's words close. Use them as motivation, not a distraction
He closed it, staring out at the unfamiliar city lights beyond the hotel window. Despite being a substitute, despite the pressure, he felt determination swelling inside.
Tomorrow, the qualifiers would begin. And whether he started or not, Kweku knew one truth: he had earned this journey. He had grown stronger, faster, smarter, and now, he had a chance to show the world — and Ama — exactly what he could do.
As sleep claimed him, he whispered into the darkness, "I'll make it count. I'll make you proud."