South African writer Williams (The Genuine Half-Moon Kid) delves deeply into the oppression, poverty, and xenophobia that plague so many nations in Africa in this gut-wrenching story of an outcast, soccer-loving teen from Zimbabwe. When 14-year-old Deo's village is ravaged by soldiers, he must flee with his older brother, Innocent, who suffered brain damage at birth, which has left him childlike and sometimes unmanageable. The obstacles the boys must overcome—traveling with no shoes and little money, confronting a hungry lion in a wild game reserve, and repeatedly withstanding prejudice and mistreatment as unwanted refugees—move the story along briskly, while its genuine and relatable characters keep it grounded. There is plenty of material to captivate readers: fast-paced soccer matches every bit as tough as the players; the determination of Deo and his fellow refugees to survive unthinkably harsh conditions; and raw depictions of violence ("The fear eats at us, burns us.... Nobody knows where the men with sticks and axes will be"). But it's the tender relationship between Deo and Innocent, along with some heartbreaking twists of fate, that will endure in readers' minds. Ages 12–up. (July)
Now Is the Time for Running
Narrated by Sanmi Oguntunde
Michael WilliamsUnabridged — 5 hours, 28 minutes
Now Is the Time for Running
Narrated by Sanmi Oguntunde
Michael WilliamsUnabridged — 5 hours, 28 minutes
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Overview
Just down the road from their families, Deo and his friends play soccer in the dusty fields of Zimbabwe, cheered on by Deo's older brother, Innocent. It is a day like any other ..until the soldiers arrive and Deo and Innocent are forced to run for their lives, fleeing the wreckage of their village for the distant promise of safe haven. Along the way, they face the prejudice and poverty that await refugees everywhere, and must rely on the kindness of people they meet to make it through.
Relevant, timely, and accessibly written, Now Is the Time For Running is a staggering story of survival that follows Deo and his mentally handicapped older brother on a transformative journey that will stick with readers long after the last page.
Editorial Reviews
A Kirkus Reviews Best Book of the Year (2011)
An ALA Best Fiction Book for Young Adults (2012)
Winner of the UKLA Award for ages 12-16 (2014)
"A harrowing tale of modern Zimbabwe... gripping, suspenseful and deeply compassionate."—Kirkus (starred review)
"There is plenty of material to captivate readers: fast-paced soccer matches every bit as tough as the players; the determination of Deo and his fellow refugees to survive unthinkably harsh conditions; and raw depictions of violence... But it's the tender relationship between Deo and Innocent, along with some heartbreaking twists of fate, that will endure in readers' minds."—PW (starred review)
"Williams tells his story simply and unflinchingly with depictions of tremendous violence, hard-fought soccer matches, and the loving bond between the brothers. Deo's narration provides an immediacy that is only compounded by the tale's fast pacing and suspense. The author gives readers complicated and compelling characters for whom they will cheer, cry with, and love."
—SLJ (starred review)
"Williams skillfully draws the plight of these refugee brothers with both suspense and sympathy, and readers cannot help but root for them in their quest to rebuild their broken lives... Williams joins Beverly Naidoo and Allan Stratton with this incisive portrait of sub-Saharan Africa, a compelling mix of suspense, sports, and social injustice."—Horn Book
"The story is fast-paced, gripping, heartbreaking, and hopeful."
—LMC
"A stunner... This book should be required reading for humanity."—Chris Crutcher, author of Deadline, Whale Talk, and Staying Fat for Sarah Byrnes
"Now Is the Time For Running is as riveting as it is important, as heartbreaking as it is uplifting, and as sobering as it is thrilling. Michael Williams astounds us with the moral dilemmas facing southern Africa; he also buoys us with a realistic sense of hope and triumph. A must read." —Matthew Quick, author of Sorta Like a Rock Star and The Silver Linings Playbook
"We run with [Deo], our hearts in our mouths, to the very end... How lucky we are to get such a read!"—Donna Jo Napoli, author of The Wager and The Magic Circle
"A gripping page-turning, a tribute to the unifying power of sport, and a heart-stirring window into the life of a teen refugee in South Africa."—Mitali Perkins, author of Bamboo People and Secret Keeper
"A thrilling, beautifully told tale of survival, brotherly love, and the redemptive power of sport. Deo is a hero for the real world."—Jewell Parker Rhodes, author of Ninth Ward
"Michael Williams has crafted a gripping novel that celebrates the lure of soccer, the power of brotherhood, and the human spirit's ability to overcome incredible odds."—Andrea Davis Pinkney, author of Bird in a Box
"Gut-wrenching and moving... an eye-opening book that cries out to be read."—Carl Deuker, author of Heart of a Champion and On the Devil's Court
"Williams skillfully draws the plight of these refugee brothers with both suspense and sympathy, and readers cannot help but root for them in their quest to rebuild their broken lives... Williams joins Beverly Naidoo and Allan Stratton with this incisive portrait of sub-Saharan Africa, a compelling mix of suspense, sports, and social injustice."
"Gut-wrenching and moving... an eye-opening book that cries out to be read."
"Michael Williams has crafted a gripping novel that celebrates the lure of soccer, the power of brotherhood, and the human spirit's ability to overcome incredible odds."
"A thrilling, beautifully told tale of survival, brotherly love, and the redemptive power of sport. Deo is a hero for the real world."
"A gripping page-turning, a tribute to the unifying power of sport, and a heart-stirring window into the life of a teen refugee in South Africa."
"We run with [Deo], our hearts in our mouths, to the very end... How lucky we are to get such a read!"
"Now Is the Time For Running is as riveting as it is important, as heartbreaking as it is uplifting, and as sobering as it is thrilling. Michael Williams astounds us with the moral dilemmas facing southern Africa; he also buoys us with a realistic sense of hope and triumph. A
must read."
"A stunner... This book should be required reading for humanity."
"The story is fast-paced, gripping, heartbreaking, and hopeful."
Praise for Now Is the Time For Running:
"There is plenty of material to captivate readers: fast-paced soccer matches every bit as tough as the players; the determination of Deo and his fellow refugees to survive unthinkably harsh conditions; and raw depictions of violence... But it's the tender relationship between Deo and Innocent, along with some heartbreaking twists of fate, that will endure in readers' minds."
"Williams tells his story simply and unflinchingly with depictions of tremendous violence, hard-fought soccer matches, and the loving bond between the brothers. Deo's narration provides an immediacy that is only compounded by the tale's fast pacing and suspense. The author gives readers complicated and compelling characters for whom they will cheer, cry with, and love."
Gr 7 Up—In Zimbabwe, 14-year-old Deo's life is hard but filled with family, love, and soccer. Then soldiers attack his village and send Deo and his mentally disabled brother, Innocent, running toward South Africa. Their way is complicated by a dangerous river crossing, a game preserve filled with lions, and xenophobia. Everywhere these brothers go there are unending waves of hatred and fear. It is this hatred that threatens to break Deo when violence claims Innocent's life. However, he is able to resurrect and reclaim his own life and hope through soccer. Williams tells his story simply and unflinchingly with depictions of tremendous violence, hard-fought soccer matches, and the loving bond between the brothers. Deo's narration provides an immediacy that is only compounded by the tale's fast pacing and suspense. The author gives readers complicated and compelling characters for whom they will cheer, cry with, and love.—Naphtali L. Faris, Youth Services Consultant, Missouri State Library, Jefferson City, MO
A harrowing tale of modern Zimbabwe.
Soccer and his loving family got Deo, 15, through lean times in Zimbabwe. Now that Mugabe's soldiers have destroyed his village and killed most residents, the only family Deo has left is Innocent, the older, mentally disabled brother he's always looked after. When they join others fleeing to safety, Innocent's unpredictable behavior proves dangerous, yet also saves their lives. After a terrifying crossing of the Limpopo River and run through a lion-infested game preserve, they're rescued by a farmer and given paid work, food and shelter. South Africa is no safe haven for the refugees, however; local residents resent them. Leaving the farm only brings new dangers. Deo struggles to protect Innocent from a rising tide of xenophobia in which the newcomers are demonized by desperately poor South Africans who see them as a threat. Drugs offer an escape from the brutalities of violent crime and hatred, but there's another option: street soccer and a chance to compete in its international world cup. Originally published in South Africa, this 2009 novel is gripping, suspenseful and deeply compassionate.
Williams, a renowned dramatist, gives readers compelling characters and, in simple language, delivers a complicated story rooted—sadly and upliftingly—in very real events. (author's note, glossary) (Fiction. 12 & up)
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940176927627 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Hachette Audio |
| Publication date: | 07/11/2023 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
Now Is the Time for Running
By Williams, Michael
Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Copyright © 2011 Williams, MichaelAll right reserved.
ISBN: 9780316077903
PART 1
LEAVING MASVINGO
1
GOOOAAAL IN GUTU
The game is 2-2 when the soldiers come in their jeeps down the path to Gutu.
Javu shouts at me. “Kick, Deo, kick!”
I catch the ball between my foot and the earth and point. “The soldiers are coming,” I say. The boys stop playing. They turn to look at where I’m pointing.
The president must have sent them. Perhaps he has heard how hungry we are? Grandpa Longdrop said that when there was no more sadza, no more cassava, and when the people cried with hunger, then the soldiers would come. He says our president will never let us go hungry. Grandpa Longdrop is never wrong, but I have never seen soldiers bringing food.
“We can still win before they get here,” shouts Shadrack. “Kick, Deo. I’m open.”
I turn back to the game. Javu is out right, running wide. He has his hand up in the air, calling for the ball. If I pass to him, he will be blocked by Pelo the Buster. Javu could never get around heavy Pelo, the best defender in Masvingo Province. Better to make some Deo magic myself.
I scoop the ball up with my foot, flick it up in the air, and head it past Bhuku, who is the plodder of the group. Shadrack runs into the space to my left. This is going to be so easy.
The old one-two-three move. First touch to Shadrack, pushing the ball through the legs of Pelo, and then Shadrack sending it back onto my right foot. A quick glance up at Lola in goal, crouching now, ready to save my cannon shot—or so she thinks!
I move to kick the ball with my right foot but don’t. The reason? Pelo the Buster is sliding toward me in a slow-moving heap of knobby knees, thick shins, and big feet to collect the ball and to upend me. I toe the ball into the air, jump over his legs, and kick with my left foot as hard as I can. The ball sails past Lola’s open arms.
“It was too high!” she shouts. “Too high!”
“She’s right, Deo. That’s too high.” Bhuku points at the imaginary bar my ball supposedly sailed over.
Innocent goes mad on the sidelines. He runs up and down, with his arms outstretched like the wings of an airplane, screaming, “Goooaaal!”
“Innocent said it’s a goal,” I point out. “And he can see from where he’s standing.”
It is always like this. When Lola misses, then the shot is always too high. I’m not sure why we let a girl play with us, but nobody else wants to be goalie, so she’s useful. I like Lola and I don’t like her. She can be friendly one moment and moody the next. Innocent says that’s why he stays well away from girls—he can’t make up his mind whether he likes them or not.
“He’s your brother. Of course he thinks it’s a goal.” This is Bhuku again, all hands on hips, head cocked back as if he has been robbed in broad daylight.
“No use asking that one. He’s crazy,” says Pelo, tapping his temple with his finger. “What does he know about—”
Pelo the Buster does not have the chance to finish what he’s saying because he has to deal with my fist in his mouth. Nobody talks about Innocent in front of me. Pelo should know better.
Shadrack wraps his arms around me and pulls me away. Pelo is looking to give me some of my own medicine. I glare at him, daring him to come at me, but he looks past me. Pelo the Buster can beat me any day of the week, but right now something else is more important to him than busting my brains.
The jeeps carrying the soldiers.
I hear their engines. They are closer now.
The jeeps bump and rattle down the path where only cattle and villagers coming from Mlagisa Town and Embandeni Kraal have walked. There are five, maybe six, soldiers in each jeep. Some of them are in full battle fatigues; others just wear army waistcoats and belts with ammunition. They all carry guns, porcupine quills pointing at the sky. They hold their guns as if the weapons weigh nothing. As if they are not dangerous. But I know the terrible noise they can make, and I have seen a cow cut in half from a burst of one of those guns. The soldiers look at us but don’t see us.
These men have been all over Zimbabwe. They went to Zaka when the people cried with hunger, but now the people cry no more. They went to Chipinge when the people were angry from hunger, so angry that some of them were killed. Auntie Aurelia told us that her niece was one of those who were hungry. She did not say how she bled to death. Auntie Aurelia cried for seven days and then spoke about her niece no more.
The soldiers have been to faraway Kamativi, but no one speaks about what they have done there. And now they are here—in Gutu, my home.
The president said the people should not be angry. He said we were hungry because the white man was blocking the food from coming into our country. He is right about the problem of our food. We eat only enough to keep us hungry. I have heard my amai talk to Grandpa Longdrop about food that is supposed to come from America, but it has not come yet. My amai is a teacher in Gutu. She has been writing to a church in America and telling them about how we have no food here.
The truckers no longer come from South Africa. They no longer bring stuff to fill the shelves of Mr. Singh’s shop in Bikita. Grandpa Longdrop said that the road from the south is quieter than he can ever remember. Amai grows quiet, too, when he speaks of the road and its trucks. She has long since stopped going to the gas station, hoping that one special trucker might come back.
I have stopped thinking about him too. Amai doesn’t talk about him anymore, and it’s hard to ask questions about him. She cries or gets angry when I mention my father.
The soldiers drive past us. In the front jeep, a soldier sits with his boot up on the dashboard. He wears a red beret and sunglasses. He raises his hand, and the jeep stops with an angry spurt of dust. The soldiers standing behind him grip the crash bar. One nearly topples to the ground. The other jeeps pull up behind. Red Beret climbs out and walks toward us. His face is a mask. I notice his black belt, his revolver in a leather holster, his heavy boots, and his shiny sunglasses. I do not see his eyes but see myself twice in his glasses. I look small and bent out of shape, just a scrappy kid in blue shorts wearing a no-longer-white school shirt and standing in the dust.
“You’ve got a good left foot. Bring me the ball.” He speaks, but I do not move. I am watching both of my scared reflections in his glasses. My mouth is open. I close it and swallow.
Pelo runs over and hands him the ball. It is no proper soccer ball. It is a pouch of cow-leather patches sewn together with twine, stuffed with tightly rolled plastic.
Red Beret throws my ball into the air and kicks it. The ball folds into itself. The men in the jeep laugh. He turns toward them, and they shut up. This man has broken my ball.
I am only half scared now. The other half of me is angry. He didn’t need to break the soccer ball Grandpa Longdrop made for me.
“I hear there are dissidents in this village. Is that true?” His words are soft. I cannot trust them. In his question I can feel the metal teeth of a leopard trap.
I look blankly at him. If I say no, then he will know that I know what a dissident is, and then he will want to know what I know about dissidents. If I say yes, then there will be more trouble than I can even imagine.
“Who does your father vote for?”
This is a question I can answer easily. “My father does not live here. He lives on the road.”
“And your father?” He looks at Pelo.
“The president,” says Pelo the Buster.
The man snorts as if this was the wrong answer.
“Your game is finished.”
He steps on the ball, which lets out a long fart. No one thinks it’s very funny.
“I will speak to the people of Gutu and find out if what you tell me is true.” The soldier is talking to all of us now. I see us in his glasses. We all look the same: small, scared children in the red dust. He turns around and walks back to the jeep.
I look around for Innocent. He is no longer standing beside the pitch. He is scared of soldiers and must have slipped away when the jeeps arrived. I should go and look for him, but I cannot take my eyes off Red Beret.
He jumps back into the front jeep. We are forgotten now. He lifts his hand and makes a cutting gesture in the direction of our village. The driver puts his foot down, and the jeep jumps forward, causing the men at the back to grab hold of the crossbar.
As soon as the jeeps are gone, we scatter.
I throw away the rolled plastic from my dead soccer ball. The leather pouch is all I need to make a new one.
I must find Innocent. Soldiers make him nervous. And when he’s nervous, he talks too much, and then there could be trouble. Blood trouble.
Continues...
Excerpted from Now Is the Time for Running by Williams, Michael Copyright © 2011 by Williams, Michael. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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