The dim sun was finally able to peer through the thick gray rain clouds that had covered the village for weeks.Parents examined the flooded fields with sorrowful eyes but children emerged from their homes eagerly, ready to escape the confines of the tiny huts. Wren dug through his possesions for the battered soccer ball he had been given three years ago by a foreigner visiting the village.

"I'll be home for supper." he called to his mother, who was too busy caring for his screaming sister to notice what he was up to.

He ran through the water sodden yard, gathering as many children perched outside of their homes as he could. They all slipped beneath the rundown wooden fence that enclosed an empty grassy field. It now resembled a small lake. Wren and his best friend, Tauti, divided the enthusiastic group into two teams.

"What are we playing exactly?" One boy asked.

Wren held up the ball. "Water ball?" He replied, "Does that sound like a suitable name?"

The children all gasped in admiration at the rarity before them.

"A ball!" They exclaimed. "A real ball!"

Wren beamed. "Yes. A real ball."

"So the object of the game is to keep the ball away from the other team and reach that post over there to score a point." He then sent the round object flying upward into the air. They all scrabbled over each other in order to grab the toy with their grimy hands.