Bahía de Caráquez, Manabí, Ecuador

“Beep, beep, beep.” I rolled over to snooze my alarm in hopes of salvaging just a precious minute or two more of sleep. I could barely make out the numbers on my phone. 3:30 AM, it read. That, less the 1:30 AM timestamp from when I fell asleep, made for a whopping two hours of shut-eye. I rolled to the side of the bed, my feet making contact with the tile floor. At that moment, an incredible pain ran up my back. I guess I was a little bit more sore from last night than I expected, I told myself.

The night before, the team members from GOAL Ecuador had spent hours loading relief supplies into a dump truck and various other vehicles for our journey the following morning. Fed only by a pot of popcorn in the kitchen and each others’ energy, we loaded hundreds of children’s kits, shoes, mattresses, soccer balls, and water jugs until the early hours of the morning. We could only hope that the donations we were carrying would be enough.

It’s 4 AM now, I shuddered at the thought that our long day was just getting started. The drive from Guayaquil to Bahiá de Caráquez would usually take about three and a half hours, but with the dump truck setting the pace for our convoy, the journey would instead take about five hours today. After a few bathroom breaks, a pit stop to grab some pan de yuka, and a rendezvous with our police escort, the trip was done in a little over five and a half hours.

As we drew nearer and nearer to Bahiá, the evidence of the earthquake’s destruction became more and more evident. Walls caved in, cracks down the sides of buildings, and piles of rubble where there once lay a sturdy foundation would line the streets. Finally, the convoy reached our destination – a skatepark along the beach, complete with its own playground as well as a large open space just perfect in size for a soccer field. Some of the GOAL team had already arrived. Jorge and Jose had begun a game with some of the schoolkids, using two rocks to resemble a goal at one end and two backpacks on the other. Seeing my services were needed, I sprung out of the truck and quickly set up my pop-up nets. We distributed some pennies and got to playing…a stopwatch was set at three minutes a game to ensure that everyone got a chance on the court.

To tell you the truth, we were barely even an hour into the program and I was already beginning to feel overwhelmed by it all. There was just so much going on all at once. Between juggling crafts and activities with the kids, a soccer workshop that was less than ideally organized to put it lightly, liquidation of supplies from the convoy, and distribution of said supplies – it almost felt like we were drowning. However, this didn’t last incredibly long and eventually the dust settled. It took a while, but I finally felt like I was in my element. And honestly, we had an interesting group of people to thank for that…two clowns, to be precise. The clowns had graciously agreed to perform an hour long show for the children of Bahiá without receiving any compensation in return, besides a small charge just for travel expenses. The clown show gave us the opportunity to recollect ourselves and prepare for the next portion of the program, a saving grace that I think we were all thankful for.

Unfortunately, things were going to get a whole lot more hectic yet again, as the next part was scheduled to be the distribution of kits (snack, toy, and clothing item) for the children, as well as gallons of water for each family. I retreated to one of the pickup trucks, where Roberto sat alongside a generator and an air compressor, inflating hundreds of soccer balls. A company had graciously made a donation of 900 soccer balls to GOAL’s cause to insure that each child left with their own ball, something we were extremely proud to be able to offer. At the end of the day, people joked that Bahiá was now the city with the most soccer balls in all of Ecuador. As Roberto worked hard over the compressor, inflating a ball about every ten seconds, I organized the equipment I had brought to distribute to the kids: a mixture of dri-fit and cotton tee-shirts and hats donated by SoccerPlus Camps in the United States. With about 160 total pieces, I was confident that each kid would have their choice of either a hat or a shirt to complement their newly acquired soccer balls.

Despite the noticeable excitement on their faces, the kids remained calm and patiently waited in line to receive their gifts. I suppose the military and police presence certainly helped contribute to that, but that’s merely a speculation. With city people looting buildings and others robbing trucks full of relief supplies on public highways, our safety and security were of the essence – hence the inclusion of the (unarmed) forces. “Quieres una gora o un camisetta?” I would ask each kid, while simultaneously handing over a brand new ball into their arms. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, but nothing quite compares to the feeling I get when I hand over a soccer ball and am greeted with a massive smile in return…I honestly don’t think I could ever tire of it.

Now that each kid was adequately equipped with the basic necessities needed to play soccer, and everyone was full from a lunch of pasta with tuna provided by another visiting relief group – it was time to put those tools into use. “Hermano, la pelota por favor” I beckoned to one of the older boys. I began to juggle it and show off some tricks. Eventually, my one person audience began to grown slowly into more of a crowd. I was still wearing one of the SoccerPlus hats, so the kids were awestruck when I balanced the ball on my forehead, but then took my cap and placed it on top of the ball – a trick that garnered more laughter than I had expected.

Though all the kids seemed to be dialed in, I noticed that one boy – the one who had originally let me borrow his ball – was a bit more intrigued than the others. As I wrapped things up, he stayed behind and I immediately knew his intention was to learn. First, it was various flick-ups, ranging in difficulty levels. Then, it was a break for some light keepy-ups, some alternating headers back and forth between us. I was trying my best to gauge what level this boy was at, and had almost finally gotten a read on him. I would catch the ball on my neck, then two tries later, he would master the same technique. I mean this kid was absolutely incredible…anything I showed him, he would flawlessly imitate it within just three attempts. At one point, I handed him the ball, beckoning him to instead teach me because clearly there was nothing more for me to show him – a moment we both shared a laugh and a smile about.

Throughout our time, I only really saw him visibly struggle with one single move – the head stall. No matter how many attempts, he couldn’t manage to balance the ball for longer than three or four seconds. I motioned for the ball and grinned, saying to him, “Me mira esto…un beso jaja” (watch me do this…a kiss haha). I balanced the ball on my forehead, then let it roll down my nose as I puckered my lips, cocking my head in a backward motion. I caught the ball in my hands and immediately wiped my tongue and lips with the palm of my hand, making a noise and face signifying disgust. “No me gusta,” I joked to the boy, as he smiled yet again. Though it was time to pack up and get going, I found myself drawn back to the boy, who was still practicing my moves despite my absence. I swear, he was so close to perfecting the head stall just moments before I left. When it was finally time to go, I wasn’t shy to tell him how talented of a player he was. I encouraged him to keep practicing, urging that he aimed to have those moves perfected for the next time I returned. A photo, a laugh, a handshake, and a few smiles later, it was back in the truck to head back to Guayaquil.

As we left, the city looked the same, but I couldn’t help but feel as if it wasn’t. The streets were still lined with families living out of tents, the buildings still lay in piles of rubble, but there was this overlying sense of hope that seemed to fill the air. As we navigated the streets, I would spot families walking back to their makeshift homes; the parents carrying a gallon or two of water under each arm, the child outfitted in his or her new gear, happily bouncing a soccer ball ahead. All things considered, there was something strangely comforting about it. To have been a part of a relief effort of this magnitude is something that I’ll forever cherish. I’ve truly never met more resilient people in my entire life, and that’s why I know Ecuador will endure and once again thrive, despite this tragedy. We stand with you, Ecuador.