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About an hour later, finally sitting on the bus en route to her teammate's place, Qiana thought about how much she looked forward to the rest of her time in Brazil. Her stay with Pam had been plagued with problems. Qiana was glad to be heading to what she hoped to be a more stable and predictable environment. She actually was excited about her latest weekend adventure because she'd really bonded with her teammates after her former host had stopped coming to practices and games. The other girls had gotten to know Qiana, and they welcomed her warmly.
"Castelo das Pedras!" shouted the bus driver as he braked to a stop in front of the popular nightclub.
Qiana grabbed her things and slid out of the seat. When she got to the back of the bus to disembark, she carefully made the leap to the dirt ground below and walked to her left. She glanced up at the unlit marquee of the infamous hot spot that she and her teammates would be going to that night, and smiled. This was going to be good.
At first glance, the area reminded her of an old western village -- one where all of life's basic needs could be bought or attained without ever leaving town. There were cookie-cutter buildings that all looked the same and vendors along the road. Buses traveled along the street, but it didn't look anything like the thriving metropolitan area she'd just left. Some people were ambling around at a slow pace as they went about their business while others were standing around drinking beer. Music bounced and boomed with a bone-shaking buoyancy. Qiana couldn't help thinking that the scene had the vibe of a Sunday afternoon hanging out at the park.
After about 15 minutes, two of her teammates walked up. The trio exchanged quick greetings before taking off. Her guides moved swiftly. Within moments, the girls entered a maze of trash-cluttered streets exploding with activity. Going through alleyways of hundreds of people, Qiana had gone from a moderate laid-back crowd into a thrashing bottleneck of bodies. Everyone was moving frenetically. It seemed that the open-air market was closing down for the day, and people were busy taking down tables and discarding rubbish.
The air was putrid from the smell of scattered and squashed vegetables and trash. Qiana was glad she'd decided against wearing her flip flops. As her teammates weaved, ducked and dodged skillfully through the maze of vendors with a confidence born of familiarity, Qiana was silent and tried to keep up. She noticed that as they moved further from the core of activity, the alleyways narrowed and transitioned from vendor-lined thoroughfares to walkways to homes.
Nothing could have prepared Qiana for favela life. The mountain-side dwellings with steep, rail-less, cement staircases often lacked coverings for entryways and window areas. The alleys -- major thoroughfares for foot traffic -- were packed with hard dirt and intermittent wooden boards covering holes. It was also not uncommon to encounter large standing pools of water along the path.
Arriving at her teammate's home, the girls climbed several steep steps and crossed a small wire partition before reaching the landing at the top. The area was an open-air patio. To the right, sheets, towels and socks hung from a clothesline. On the left, there was a washing machine and a sink. Just beyond them were a bathroom and the lockable door that led to her teammate's bedroom.
Inside, the flat reminded Qiana of a dorm room that just happened to be made with painted brick or block. There was a TV mounted on the wall, a bed and a computer with an Internet connection. Having several hours to kill, the girls turned on the Flamengo soccer game. Qiana watched from a white plastic lawn chair.
After a major knee injury that had kept her on crutches for nearly three months, Qiana was ready to start training again. She'd re-read a book written by a former professional soccer player on Brazilian soccer techniques, and she sent the author an e-mail explaining what she wanted to do. He invited her to train in Florida with his high-performance team for a week, and it went extremely well.
At this point, Qiana had been living in Atlanta for almost two years. She'd chosen the city because of its proximity to her family in Seneca and its access to the Caribbean for training purposes. She also liked that many of the trainers who worked with 1996 Olympians still resided in the area. She'd reluctantly had to re-enter the legal recruiting field to make ends meet; however, she'd set clear goals and time lines. The deal she made with herself was that she would use her wages to fund her training. Qiana understood that, because she hadn't gone through traditional channels by playing for leagues in childhood and college, she had to forge her own path if she were ever to become a paid professional soccer player.