Chapter 06

Chapter 06

The Rise of The Big Black Baller

Kobby woke up the next morning with fire in his bones. The events of last night replayed in his mind like a dream—The Phantom’s presence, the power that had flowed through him, the feeling of the ball becoming an extension of his body. For the first time in months, he didn’t dread stepping out of his room.

He dressed quickly, grabbed his basketball, and walked out into the cool morning air. Campus was quiet—only a few early joggers and cleaners starting their day. The court was empty, just as he hoped.

He stepped onto it, bounced the ball… and within seconds, the power activated.
His heart beat in rhythm with the bounce—thump, thump, thump—until the world sharpened around him.

Kobby felt alive.

He ran drills, did footwork patterns, executed moves he had only seen from NBA stars—euro-steps, crossovers, spin fakes, reverse layups, step-back threes. His body moved as if guided by invisible hands. His mind knew what to do before he consciously decided.

He trained for almost two hours before students began arriving. Some stopped to stare.
Most stared because they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Kobby—the same Kobby they mocked—was moving like a top-tier athlete.

When he finished with a clean swish from beyond the arc, he heard a voice behind him.

“Bro… how? When did you learn to play like that?”

It was Monney from Level 200, a guy who used to laugh the loudest whenever someone called Kobby “roundabout” or “sack of fufu.”

Kobby didn’t respond. He just picked up the ball, walked past him, and left the court.
Monney’s jaw hung open. Others whispered among themselves.

THE NAME THAT STARTED AS AN INSULT

As he was walking out, some students spotted Kobby.
One guy shouted jokingly from the sidelines:

“Chale! Make way o! The Big Black Baller dey come!”

Everyone laughed.
But then—something unexpected happened.
Other students repeated it.
And more.
Until suddenly… it wasn’t a mockery anymore.
It sounded powerful.
Commanding.

Kobby paused.
He smiled slowly.

Big Black Baller.

A name born from ridicule—now transformed into something legendary.

His phone buzzed nonstop—unknown numbers, classmates suddenly friendly, messages filled with “Bro, you’re a beast!” and “Chale, you shocked everybody yesterday!”

But his mind wasn’t on any of that.

It had drifted backward… to where it all began.

Kobby grew up in a modest compound house in Kumasi, where space was tight and voices were loud. From as early as he could remember, his body had always been the first thing people noticed.

“Ei, this boy eats like three people,” neighbors would joke.
“Ah, Kobby, you are growing wide instead of tall ooo,” teachers laughed.

At first, he laughed with them.

Later, he learned to laugh through it.

Primary school was where it truly started. During PE, teachers picked teams quickly, their eyes scanning for speed and agility. Kobby was always last.

“Okay… you go there,” a teacher would say reluctantly, pointing him to a corner.

Sometimes they didn’t bother picking him at all.

The other boys ran. Jumped. Scored goals.
Kobby stood on the sidelines, pretending not to care.

But he did.

He cared deeply.

Break time was worse. Some kids snatched food from his hand, mocking him.

“Why are you eating again?”
“Leave some food for the rest of us!”

One day, after a particularly cruel joke, Kobby ran home early, tears blurring his vision. He locked himself in his room and cried until his chest hurt.

That was the day Auntie Abena found him.

She wasn’t his mother—his mum worked long hours at the market and came home exhausted most days. Auntie Abena was his mother’s younger sister, unmarried, soft-spoken, and always smiling. She sold second-hand clothes and somehow always smelled like shea butter and fabric softener.

She knocked gently. “Kobby… open the door.”

He didn’t respond.

She sat down outside the door anyway. “You know, when I was your age, they called me stick insect,” she said casually. “Too thin. Too awkward. Too quiet.”

Kobby sniffed.

“They said I would never amount to anything because I didn’t ‘look strong.’” She chuckled softly. “Funny world, eh?”

He finally opened the door.

She sat beside him on the bed and wiped his face with the edge of her cloth. “Listen to me carefully,” she said, her voice steady. “Your body is not a curse. It’s just a story people don’t understand yet.”

Kobby frowned. “But they laugh at me.”

“They laugh because they’re afraid of what they don’t understand,” she replied. “And one day, they will clap for the same thing they mocked.”

He didn’t fully believe her then.

But he never forgot those words.

Auntie Abena was the first person who noticed his love for basketball.

She saw him playing barefoot in the compound, dribbling a half-flat ball until the sun went down. She watched him study games on borrowed phones, memorizing moves he couldn’t yet perform.

One evening, she surprised him with a worn-out basketball she had bought from Kejetia Market.

It wasn’t perfect. The leather was peeling, and it barely bounced straight.

But to Kobby, it was treasure.

“I don’t have money for PlayStation,” she said with a grin. “But this one can take you far—if you let it.”

Every evening, she sat outside while he practiced.

“Again,” she would say when he missed.
“Good!” when he made it.
“Head up!” when he lost focus.

When neighbors complained about the noise, she defended him fiercely.

“Leave the boy alone. He’s working.”

When his own relatives told him to “be realistic” and focus on school instead of “sports that won’t go anywhere,” she stood firm.

“Let him dream,” she said. “Dreams need space.”

But life was not kind.

During his final year of SHS, Auntie Abena fell ill. Quietly. Quickly.

By the time they realized how serious it was, it was already too late.

The day she died, Kobby didn’t cry.

He just sat beside her bed, holding her cold hand, remembering every word she ever spoke to him.

At her funeral, someone whispered behind him, “Ei, now who will encourage him and his basketball nonsense?”

Kobby clenched his fists.

That day, he made a promise—to her, to himself.

If I ever succeed… she will be proud.

Back in his university room, Kobby turned on his phone and scrolled through old photos. There it was—a picture of him as a chubby teenager, holding that old basketball, Auntie Abena beside him, smiling proudly.

Tears slid silently down his face.

“Did you see me today?” he whispered into the empty room. “I made the team.”

Somewhere deep inside, he felt warmth. Peace.

He could almost hear her voice:

I told you. They will clap one day.

Kobby wiped his eyes and sat up straighter.

This wasn’t just his victory.

It was hers too.

And coming Monday, he would train harder—not just for himself, but for the woman who saw greatness in him long before anyone else did.