Burkina Faso (Part 2)
If you remember, when I first spoke with Denis from AMPO, we had planned four programs with teams representing each of their centers. MIA/ALMA was their all-girls center, and the venue for our second Burkina Faso-based program. Denis told me he wouldn’t be there the day of the session, but that I would be in the more than capable hands of AMPO’s trusty driver, and needed only to arrive at AMPO’s restaurant midday to meet him and head towards the center.
Additionally, it was an exciting day because AMPO’s founder, Katrin Rohde, an absolute rockstar might I add, was in town and wanted to meet with me during the nighttime following the close of the day’s program. Leevaid dropped me off at the restaurant and I exchanged greetings with AMPO’s driver, Hubert.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Stephen,” I said.
“Pleasure, my name is Hubert,” he responded, with a smile.
Digging back into my six years of language learning, I tried to make a funny.
“Ohhh… like Ouvert la porte?” I joked playfully in French, which resulted in a chuckle and widened smile on Hubert’s face.
Still smiling, he grabbed my bags and transferred them to the bed of a pickup truck before we moved to the cabin. As always, I was a little behind on the inflation process, so I brought five or six with me in the cab to inflate while we drove.
We chatted for the entirety of the 30 minute drive outside the main city area, though French was far from a comfortable language for me. Luckily, the language of sport is universal and as it turns out, Hubert, loves soccer (no surprise there!) and is a Real Madrid fan. We talked about their rivalry with Barca, the decline in talent within the league especially compared to past years, and more. At some point, I even asked him if he wanted to help me run the program and play around a little!
Finally, we arrived, the gates of MIA/ALMA opened and we were met with music, dance, excitement, and more. Drums were beating, voices singing, the whole shebang! Across the way, a group of girls wearing matching red kits smiled with glee, eager for the session to begin. I quickly changed into my boots, designated a captain, and set up our first drill.
We ran a few rounds of our listening exercise, with my captain jumping in for a few rounds of her own. Then, I broke us into technical grids, working on passing and volleys, some of which went straight to my hands or feet, while others were sent into orbit. Noticing a drop in energy level, I paused the drill and demoed it once again, but with an almost exaggerated level of energy.
“Like this, girls!” I said, calling for the ball, and sprinting from one cone to the other.
Knowing what had to be done, a staff member sitting on a bench behind us placed the drum from earlier at her feet and began to beat it, increasing in tempo until all the girls were sprinting from cone to cone, receiving the ball and distributing it back to myself as I had demonstrated in a fast and orderly manner. It was really cool and something I had never seen before.
Time dwindling, we went to a 1v1 drill towards the goal, which the girls all loved. They cheered and celebrated individually whenever they scored, and ran back towards their respective lines and teams to celebrate even more on arrival.
Finally, time ran out and I gathered the girls to thank them for their attention. I had been briefed by Denis that this group would have 10 participants, but we ended up with two dozen girls in attendance! Luckily, I came prepared, and as a result, none of them were leaving empty-handed. I called some mains ou tete prize winners forward, and they had their first choice of a new ball or a brand new Nike jersey from our giving partners back home, Oakwood Soccer Club. Kia logo on the front, number on the back, another sponsor above that, and a tag to top it all off. These moments are always special to me. We often think them to be trivial, but that feeling of ripping a tag off of something, distinguishing it as literally brand-new. That’s special. It’s lost among us, but I hope maybe it isn’t among them.
Once each participant had something, Hubert called me over to the whip and dumped my now empty bag into the bed. The girls all continued towards the truck, singing and drumming away, until the gate was shut and we were already around the corner – their melody only but a whisper in the night.
Thirsty more than anything, I arrived back at AMPO’s restaurant and eagerly waited for Katrin, affectionately known as “Mama Tenga” (mother fatherland) here in Africa, to arrive. She exited a vehicle and walked down a stone-covered path to where I was seated in the outdoor section of the restaurant, greeting me with a big hug like two old friends.
A German native, she sat down and quickly apologized for her English as she had been out of practice for months. I told her my French needed work, and she graciously continued the conversation in English.
We ordered two salads and two lasagnas, a specialty of the restaurant. The salad was delicious, crafted with alternating slices of papaya & avocado, topped with local nuts, with honey drizzled on top. It might sound suspicious but it was delicious with big flavors throughout.
We talked origin stories and hers, though far different from mine, contained many similarities just like several conversations I’ve shared with fellow NGO founders. She shared some Burkina Faso 101, which I made a mental note of since I knew they’d be helpful further down the road.
As our conversation flowed, her words only grew more profound. She spoke about the ongoing terrorism just outside the city borders, and how her beneficiaries were scared, but knew that they had to lean on each other during these times for strength and understanding. That together, and only together, they’d be okay. She shared her biggest piece of advice, that everything must always come from a place of love. It was a founding principle that had driven her work forward for nearly 30 years now, and had jumpstarted things so long ago. It was a foundation sought to be replicated by other NGOs all over Africa because of its sustainability and its proper model.
Noticing that my lasagna was growing cold because I had been so concentrated on our conversation, I asked her to share her biggest success story.
“Because I want to know but also because it will buy me a few extra minutes to eat my dinner,” I joked, as she returned a smile.
“You must eat!” She said, motherly-like, aware that my family had just landed in Burkina and we only had a bit of time to eat before I would leave to see them.
She struggled to pick one, but shared about a boy she met when he was just a small little guy. He was bright, but without resources, just like so many.
“I really want to go to school,” he shared, already repeating his numbers despite not having any formal education.
The boy graduated top of his class, then received a scholarship to university where he also graduated top of the class. Now, he spends time back at AMPO, tutoring the kids both in school and in life, hoping they might follow his example. He was one of many, as she shared about past kids of hers from AMPO who received scholarships to study abroad, studied and graduated with law degrees, became judges, some even started their own foundations to fundraise for AMPO – the very place that gave them a chance when they were so very young.
In absolute awe of her model, I mentioned how I had always dreamt of having a similar story to tell and hoped one day I might. I dream of having past participants help run new programs for new beneficiaries from the same communities that shaped their childhoods.
As we sorted the bill, I took a moment to thank her.
“I know and I’m sure you have a million and one things to do, a million things you could and should be doing, but thank you for this. Thank you for this conversation,” I said, genuinely.
“This was something special,” I added. “Just to be here, to be a fly on the wall of you, your story, your legacy… I am eternally grateful.”
“Stop stop stop,” she interjected.
“Don’t say that – ‘a fly on the wall.’ Stephen. We have the same path and we walk it together, shoulder to shoulder,” she said, as a final, profound closing thought.