Okello was good at games. He could win at football with his left foot only, and he knew every hiding place worth knowing.
A man who sometimes worked near the school called Okello over one afternoon and said he knew a game too. It was called the Quiet Game. The rules were: you get a sweet, and you don't tell anyone about the game, and you come back tomorrow to play again.
Okello took the sweet. But walking home, he noticed something strange. The sweet was in his pocket, and he liked sweets — yet his belly felt like it did before a storm, tight and wrong.
That's funny, thought Okello. Games are supposed to feel fun. Why does this game feel like a storm?
At school, his teacher had taught them about the belly-feeling. "Your belly is clever," she had said. "When something feels wrong, that feeling is right, even if you can't say why. And a game with 'don't tell' in the rules is not really a game."
Okello knew his three safe adults the way he knew his times tables: his mother, his teacher, and his uncle Otim. His mother was nearest.
"Mama," he said, "a man taught me a game called the Quiet Game, and my belly says it's a storm."
His mother stopped sorting beans. She listened to every word, and she did not get angry at Okello — not one bit. She said, "Your belly is exactly right, and so were you to tell me. You have done nothing wrong. Now the grown-ups will handle it."
And they did. His mother spoke to the school, and the school did what schools are supposed to do, and the man did not work near the school anymore.
The next day Okello played football with his left foot only, and won, and his belly felt like sunshine the whole time.
Remember: a real game never needs to be a secret. If a game, a gift or a person gives you the storm-feeling in your belly, that feeling is right — tell one of your safe adults. And if the first grown-up doesn't help, tell another. 116 is free from any phone, day and night.