Siya Kolisi E-Book

Jeremy Daniel

• Herausgeber: Jonathan Ball
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Serie: Road to Glory
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 111

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

This is a moving story of the rise to fame from humble beginnings of one of South Africa's most popular rugby stars, written specifically for young readers. Early on in his life, Siya discovered that rugby could be his route out of the grinding poverty in which he had grown up in the Eastern Cape. He worked hard, made sure he was noticed and managed to secure a scholarship to the prestigious Grey High School. But he had to adapt quickly to a world he had never encountered, while keeping his roots in the community that he knew and loved. His hard work and natural ability saw him moving to Cape Town to join the Stormers, trying to break into the Springbok team, and learning to adjust to life at the top of the game that is a national obsession. Siya Kolisi is part of the 'Road to Glory' series, which covers some of South Africa's sporting legends as they set out on their journeys to becoming national and international stars.

Leseprobe

Jeremy Daniel

Jonathan Ball Publishers

Cape Town & Johannesburg

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Starting for the boks

Chapter 2 The first spark

Chapter 3 The African bombers

Chapter 4 Ready to go

Chapter 5 Emsengeni primary

Chapter 6 Time of need

Chapter 7 Getting noticed

Chapter 8 A Better place

Chapter 9 A different life

Chapter 10 In at the deep end

Chapter 11 Meeting nick

Chapter 12 Bombers first team

Chapter 13 A phone call

Chapter 14 Big choices

Chapter 15 Western Province rugby

Chapter 16 Heavy weights

Chapter 17 Baby boks

Chapter 18 Silent shadows

Chapter 19 Becoming a man

Chapter 20 Springbok squad

Chapter 21 Man of the match

Chapter 22 A leader and a family man

Sources

Classroom activities

Written activities

Author’s note

About the Book

Also available in the Road to Glory series

Imprint Page

CHAPTER 1

STARTING FOR THE BOKS

The muffled roar of over forty thousand fans flowed towards the players as they left the chang­ing rooms and clattered down the passage towards the field. It was June 2016. The players in the Springbok and Irish rugby teams walked slowly, tense expressions on their faces.

Siya Kolisi was fourth in line, wearing the num­ber six jersey. He was breathing deeply, try­ing to stay calm. He wanted to remember this moment forever. Although he had already played for South Africa in 12 internationals, each time he had come onto the field late in the second half, either as a replacement for an injured player or as a fresh pair of legs, to give the team new energy.

But today was different. He was in the starting line-up, part of the action from the very first whistle.

Captain Adriaan Strauss walked up and down the Springbok team line, patting each player on the shoulder, looking him in the eyes and encour­aging him. He paused in front of Siya and gave him a meaningful look and a little nod, but no words were needed. They both knew what this moment meant for Siya.

Then a whistle blew, and an official signalled to the teams to make their way out onto the turf.

Another deep breath, a quickening of the step, and the teams broke into a run as the players emerged onto the grass to the deafening roars of a packed Newlands Rugby Stadium. Although 2016 hadn’t been a good year for the Boks so far, the fans never gave up on them, and never stayed away.

Siya listened nervously to the Irish national anthem, and then closed his eyes and waited to hear the familiar notes of the South African national anthem, Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika. A hush fell over the stadium, and it felt like time stood still.

By the end, he was belting out the words of the anthem with gusto.

As the stirring melody began and the crowd picked up the lyrics, a wave of emotion swept over Siya. He tried to sing, but the words caught in his throat. He had imagined this moment over and over, since he was a little boy. Finally, at the age of 26, he had made it.

He felt an arm around his neck and Francois Louw gave him a wink and a smile. Siya nodded, gripped Louw’s arm tightly and found his voice. By the end, he was belting out the words of the anthem with gusto. Then it was time to shake hands with the other team and the officials, listen to a few words from the referee and line up, facing the Irish players.

At the sound of the whistle, all Siya’s thoughts about how long he had waited for this moment vanished. The ball was hanging in the air, the op­po­sition was charging towards him, and the only thing that mattered was the next eighty minutes of his life.

CHAPTER 2

THE FIRST SPARK

Five-year-old Siya woke up feeling cold and damp. A drop of rain that had sneaked through the gap between the tin roof and the rusty door fell onto his cheek. He was sleeping in his usual spot on a pile of cushions on the floor in his grandmother’s house. The rain sounded heavy, which meant that soon it would be coming in under the door, and everyone would be up and looking for a dry spot.

Siya brushed the raindrop off his cheek and shivered under the thin blanket. Hopefully, the rain would stop before he had to begin the long walk to school. There was nothing worse than being wet for the whole day at school; and staying at home was not an option.

Siya’s mother had been 16 years old when he was born. She was still at school and unable to look after a baby. So, when he was a few months old, he went to live with his grand­mother in Zwide township, near Port Elizabeth. He knew every nook and cranny of the place, every sound that it made, and what to hold down when the wind blew too hard. This was home.

The hunger deep in his belly would not let Siya go back to sleep. He sighed as heavily as an old man, and decided to get moving.

Noiselessly, he found an empty glass near the sink. He held it out into the rain and waited while the runoff from the roof quickly filled it. He drank the glass of rainwater down, then another and another. It was clean and refreshing and helped to fill the hole in his stomach.

Outside, a gloomy light appeared on the hori­zon as the day began to break. The muddy streets were empty. Siya could hear people arguing some­where nearby. He was about to turn back inside, when he saw something happening in the distance …was that a group of people running to­wards the house? Shouting, or were they chanting?

He knew that a group of running men could spell trouble, so he hid in the dark shadows of the doorway to watch.

Dressed in green and yellow tracksuits, the men were running slowly in a straight line, passing an oval ball from one to the other. They sang as they took turns to catch and throw. They were in their own world, as if the rain, cold, mud and shacks all around them were not there. Siya was mesmerised, watching them.

When the team reached the end of the road, an area of veld opened up in front of them and the man holding the rugby ball dropped it onto his foot and booted it high up into the sky. The others whooped and chased after it, laughing.

The sight of the rugby players cheered Siya’s heart. Times were tough, and many of the people he knew were miserable most of the time. When his mother came to visit, she was always depressed and stressed about something. But those rugby players were doing something they loved. Siya wanted to be a part of it.

CHAPTER 3

THE AFRICAN BOMBERS

Siya sat at his cramped, wooden school desk, waiting impatiently for one of the older boys to ‘ring the bell’, which actually meant running up and down the corridor, banging a metal fork on a rusty old can.

Finally, the clanging sound came that they had all been waiting for, and the kids jumped up, gathered their possessions and sprinted for the door of the Grade 3 classroom. No-one even noticed that the teacher was still trying to finish his sentence.

Siya was first out the door today. He had a destination in mind and he was excited. He saw a few other guys who lived in the same street as him, and quickly fell into step next to them.

‘Siya, what’s up?’ asked the oldest boy.

‘I’m going to watch a game today,’ Siya replied. ‘I don’t want to miss a second of it.’

‘Are Kaizer Chiefs on TV? Or Champions League football? Who’s playing?’

‘No, not soccer, and not TV. Rugby. I’m going to watch African Bombers practise.’

There was a few moments silence. Then the other boys burst out laughing.

‘You’re so weird, Siya. Why would you want to watch that … that … chaos?’

Siya didn’t know how to answer. It didn’t feel like chaos to him. Everyday life was chaos. When he saw a team out on a rugby field, it looked organised. Everyone knew exactly what they had to do, where they were supposed to be … it all made sense.

He smiled and shrugged and walked on, while the others spoke about soccer. Then he took a fork in the road, towards where he thought the local rugby team, the African Bombers, practised. He walked for a long time down Mbane Street, passing low-slung concrete houses and the occasional lonely tree, until he reached wide, dusty Koyana Street.

In the distance, Siya could just make out the roof of a grandstand, but it was almost hidden behind a long wall of grey, concrete bricks adver­tising things like ‘Quick Loans’ and ‘Funeral Services’. He didn’t know how he was going to get into the stadium.

Then he heard the sound of kids playing and shouting to his right so he instinctively moved that way. Getting closer, Siya saw that it was a high school and a large group of children were gathered in a circle, shouting and cheering. As he got closer, he saw a boy in the centre of the circle throw a punch then a kick towards a boy who was trying to defend himself.

It was a fight in the playground, not a rugby match.

Suddenly, a teacher burst out of a building and rushed over towards the fight. All the learners scattered, and, in a matter of seconds, the brown, stony courtyard was empty. It was then that Siya saw a gap in the wall between the school and the stadium. This was his chance to get in.

He grinned, started walking faster towards the school gate, and slipped through the chain-link fence without anyone noticing. Then he dashed across the school field to the gap and he was in.

Siya saw a beautiful field of green grass, with crisp white rugby goal posts at each end and lines criss-crossing the field. A group of players was practising hard. The coach held tightly onto a large bag of sand as players took it in turn to speed forward and slam into the bag. Each time a player hit, he pushed the coach back several metres before letting go and running back to the start.

Walking slowly up the ridge of hard, brown dirt, Siya noticed that someone had laid out white stones to form the words ‘Dan Qeqe Stadium’. He walked around the field slowly, taking it all in.

A player was lining up balls and kicking towards the posts as Siya passed. The ball flew off the man’s boots and to the posts, narrowly missing before rolling to a stop close to Siya. Siya picked it up and ran over to the kicker.

‘Thanks, kid.’

Siya nodded.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Siya Kolisi.’

‘OK. Are you part of the juniors?’ the man asked and Siya shook his head.

‘I just came to watch.’

‘Great. You can be my assistant if you want. Fetch the ball after every kick, and then bring it back.’

Siya was delighted and ran into position behind the posts. After about twenty kicks, many of which were spot on, the player sat down and stretched his legs.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Siya.

‘You don’t have to call me sir. I’m just Thando.’

‘Thanks, um, how many points for a kick over?’ asked Siya.

‘Wow, you really don’t know rugby at all, do you?’ said Thando. ‘It’s two points for a conversion after a try and three points for a penalty.’

‘What’s a conversion?’

Thando grinned and got up. ‘I think maybe you should stay and watch us play a game later. You’ll get the idea.’

Siya spent the rest of the afternoon and the early evening with the team. They let him share their oranges and energy drinks when they had finished. Even when the sun started setting, the team showed no signs of quitting.

Siya remained sitting on a hard wooden bench, trying to learn the rules. Suddenly, he saw a man walking towards him. He was tall and strong, but Siya could see that he had fallen on hard times.

As the man got closer, Siya got a shock. It was his father, Fezakele. He hadn’t seen his father for months. Siya barely knew him at all, but from time to time he would run into the man in various places around the township. His father was always nice to Siya, but he never seemed to want to get involved in his life. Now he was coming straight to him.

‘Hello Siya, can I sit here?’ he asked and Siya moved up a little. ‘Don’t be so surprised to see me,’ he continued. ‘Rugby is my game and African Bombers is my team.’

‘Oh. I didn’t know that,’ said Siya.

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

‘That’s not my fault,’ replied Siya and his father laughed.

‘I guess that’s true.’

They sat in silence for a while, until finally his father spoke up.

‘I played lock for the Bombers for three seasons. Those were the best years of my life.’

Siya wondered if maybe he would also be a lock.

‘Can you teach me the rules of the game?’ he asked, suddenly.

A grin shot across the man’s face.