Francis Khamis and his family fled Sudan in 1997 and eventually made their way to Las Vegas. He wants to make money soon, for his mother’s sake.
Wednesday, Jan. 9, 2008 | 11:09 p.m.
Francis Khamis slouches, stares at the ground and slinks off the soccer pitch by McCarran International Airport.
He hopes his 10-year-old friend, Jesse, did not see his first red card, and automatic ejection, in six years.
A cold wind whips his Latin United No. 14 jersey.
Over the past year, Khamis (rhymes with lease) has shown Jesse dribbles and moves and tricks he acquired in Sudan, Egypt, Maine, Kentucky and Las Vegas.
He used those considerable skills in the fall to help Yavapai College in Prescott, Ariz., win its sixth NJCAA Division I soccer title.
A potential pairing with fellow striker Danny Cruz at UNLV next fall makes Rebels coach Mario Sanchez drool.
On Sunday, however, Khamis feels more like a chump than a champ. He prays that Jesse didn’t see the sharp shoulder he aimed at a foe. Jesse didn’t.
Seconds later, though, Jesse did see the yellow card, then the red. Jesse shrugs. He says the referee is a jerk.
That doesn’t console 21-year-old Khamis.
“I’m disappointed,” he says. “How we are with kids tells a lot about who we are. Most kids don’t know wrong from right, and they need to know that.
“They are our future.”
Recalling his own childhood in a Buya tribal village an hour outside of Khartoum, the capital of Sudan, Khamis remembers eating only once a day.
Bread was a luxury. Death was common.
Civil war has dominated life in Sudan since 1955 and claimed the husband and a brother of Anyes Waila. In 1997, she fled to Cairo with her daughters, Rose and Julia, and son, Francis Khamis, before the army could draft him.
“We had to escape the government of Sudan or I would not be here talking with you,” he says. “I’d be dead.”
With friends he made in Cairo, he became an altar boy and continued kicking a soccer ball on fields as hard as concrete.
Today, Khamis requires special supports to protect heels that took a pounding on those surfaces.
In 1999, the family of Sudanese refugees landed in Atlanta and settled in Portland, Maine.
Khamis scored with abandon in high school and at Bridgton Academy in Maine. He redshirted at Lindsey Wilson College in Kentucky when the Blue Raiders won an NAIA national title in 2005.
He and his mother moved to Las Vegas, where sister Rose had found employment in hotel security, in October 2006.
At Yavapai, Khamis and Justin Meram were a dynamic duo. Over the holiday break, Khamis couldn’t wait to receive his championship ring.
“It’s the first time I won something major.”
He has major talent. In Latin United’s match against Tyneside United, a longtime elite Las Vegas club team, Khamis looks like the fastest player on the pitch.
He’s clever, deft, slippery, smart and tough. He’s also too unselfish. Teammates don’t feed Khamis as often as he gets the ball to them, and he takes that frustration out on foes.
He kicks at an opponent. Yellow. A stiff shoulder flies at another foe. Another yellow. The red. Quick exit.
He exchanges small talk in Arabic with three friends off the touchline as he changes shoes.
“I’m disappointed,” says Khamis, finally making eye contact with Jesse. They hug, and Khamis trudges out to the parking lot.
Later, he slowly nibbles on small pieces of a pepperoni and sausage pizza that he has cut with a knife and fork.
After the spring semester, he’ll take three classes at the College of Southern Nevada to finish requirements for his two-year degree.
Other four-year college programs have shown an interest in Khamis, who says he feels some loyalty to Sanchez and UNLV, but he wants to turn professional and make money as soon as possible.
His mother is his priority.
Anyes Waila suffers from diabetes and has vision and foot problems. Medical help she receives from the government isn’t sufficient.
He cries often in the small apartment they share in a Maryland Parkway complex that is filled with refugees from Cameroon, Ethiopia and Sudan.
He wants to give her more than the simple warm-up jacket he surprised her with when she turned 53 on New Year’s Day.
“She took me from a life-and-death situation, and I want to give her a better life,” Khamis says. “Tomorrow is not promised and there are no guarantees. I know that.
“But it would be my way of thanking her.”
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