This day began like no other. The only difference was it was our final day of programming in Burkina Faso. 

Assalamu alaikum, mon frere, or in English, peace be with you, my brother, I said, greeting Alphonse while stepping up into our SUV. A big smile revealed itself on his face. Wa alaikum salaam, he responded. He wished me peace as well, which was an unforgettable moment to start my day.

We loaded up a big bag of soccer balls, jerseys, and tees into the backseat and started the day’s journey to Ecole Petit Poucet. Compared to Ecole les Champions, this trip would be much shorter. Hopefully, much smoother too, as my derriere was still sore from the bumps in the dirt road heading towards that one. We were actually heading towards AMPO’s campus because the school was located in the same area. As a result, streets looked more familiar than ever, which brought about an indescribable amount of comfort through a typically uncertain journey.

We only had 15 or so minutes to travel, and as usual, I spent the time chatting with Alphonse. Alphonse had known for quite some time that I wanted to buy a Burkina Faso soccer jersey since the beginning of the trip. Adding to that, he was very observant, so he’d always take note whenever we drove by a street vendor selling them, noticing my eyes shift with delight towards the green, yellow, and red kits dangling from each shop.

We pulled up to the school and were warmly greeted by their administration and a few teachers we would be working with that day. Alphonse gave his greetings to the staff members and quickly retreated to the car, prepared to head towards a nearby market to pick up those prized-possessions I had asked him for while en route. I was introduced to Monsieur Sana, a friend of my Auntie Alice. He was the head administrator at the school.

He toured me around quickly, knowing we were already behind on our schedule, bringing me to a classroom belonging to the first group I’d be working with. Fist bumps were exchanged with the group’s teacher, as we quickly ran out to the school quad to start the session. The playing space was massive, with a net-less goal frame at the end of each side. We immediately kicked things off with a short introduction in French, followed by an explanation of our first drill: active listening.

Along the way, I yelled out derrière,  which was met with a sea of laughter from the class. I laugh every time we use pompis in our Spanish-speaking programs, so this reaction was nice albeit expected. 

From there, we moved quickly to relay races, with three teams of about eight players. We practiced stepovers, jumping, dribbling, and more. After, the kids held hands and created a huge circle for mains ou tete, so I could populate a list of winners. We played a few rounds until prize winners were chosen.

Still running on a tight schedule, I thanked the group’s teacher and sent him back to his classroom with a stack of tee shirts, soccer balls, and Nike jerseys to distribute to the winners. Just like that, the first class was back at their desks, and a group of nearly 30 students from the second was on the playing grid ready for our second 45 minute session.

At this point, another teacher from a younger grade approached me and asked if it was okay if his class watched the session. I obliged, but was shocked to see almost all the other classes in the school follow suit. Soon enough, we had our rectangular playing grid, bordered with 100-200 kids cheering, yelling, and clapping, hoping to get involved in the action should a stray ball head their way. 

I chose a little girl wearing a full Burkina Faso soccer tracksuit to be captain, and she smiled ear to ear as I pulled the red band over her bicep. I demoed a round of our listening exercise before she excitedly took over, yelling out various commands over the loud audience that was lining the grounds.

From there, I deployed my sister’s help for ball control grids, as we worked on push-passes, controlled volleys, and headers. I was extremely thankful for her help now more than ever, as the atmosphere, though lively, was incredibly hectic. After, I pulled the group in for our final drill: 1v1 attack vs defense at goal. We split into two teams and with a whistle the first two were off.

“When I blow the whistle, you turn around quickly and try to score against a player from the other line trying to do the same,” I instructed.

Now let me tell you, the atmosphere was like a World Cup Final game. It was sick. My sister was playing goalkeeper and straight-up laying out for shots that still managed to find the bottom corner of the net. Celebrating with jubilation, goal scorers ran back to their teams, throwing in an airplane celly or even the occasional Cristiano Ronaldo “siuuuuuu” chant.

By now, our school audience from before had creeped even closer to our playing space, basically on the field at this point. They lined the goal behind my sister, and created a makeshift out of bounds for the rest of the space. Now, anyone who’s seen street soccer and pick up games in Africa knows exactly what I’m talking about here. Fans crowd the sidelines, oftentimes inserting themselves onto the field, especially after a goal, panna, or anything worth celebrating. I’d only ever seen them in videos on the internet, but here I was literally experiencing it in the flesh. Every goal, every feint, is celebrated with pride and joy. 

Needing a breather, one of the teachers excitedly took my sister’s spot in goal, and was quickly covered in dirt. We all cheered and laughed, and the crowd fueled the fun even more. Finally, 5 o’clock reached and it was time for the kids to head home. We retreated back to the classroom, where Alphonse was waiting with a big smile and two jerseys in his hands.

“They tried to sell me 2 for 10,000 CFA, but I said no. 4000 each, I told them,” he said with pride, having negotiated a deal successfully. I dapped him up excitedly, and slipped him a 5000 CFA note or $10 USD to thank him for his troubles.

Moving quickly, we gave each kid a Burkina Faso colored bracelet and then let both classrooms sign the jerseys. Making sure not to forget about them, each teacher was asked for their autograph as well.

I thanked the kids for their time and wished them the best of luck in life, soccer, and beyond. And that was it. The last program of 2021. The 50th country. What an absolutely amazing way to go out.

We drove back towards Auntie Alice’s house under the embrace of a cotton candy sunset, full of stories from the day, with photos and videos to help us tell them. As we arrived at the house and entered the living room, family friends were just as excited as we were. “Petit Poucet?!” one asked, before adding, “I went there when I was a kid!”

“Me too!” yelled out another, from inside the kitchen. “We all did!”

A place already special became ever more so. A few days later, we had a going-away barbecue to send off my parents and sister before a long trip back to the United States. We had plenty of delicious food and we ate until we couldn’t stomach any more. Then, family members came bearing souvenirs – bracelets, keychains, traditional African garb, and more, for us to bring back stateside as a memory of our time together. As the night grew dark, Allaine, from Ecole les Champions, drew everyone quiet with a loud hush.

“Attention everyone!” he said, voice booming far beyond our little circle.

“There’s been an announcement, apparently there is a strike at the airport and you guys cannot leave for a minimum of one week,” he said, slyly.

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All part of an elaborate ploy for us to extend our visit, I laughed deeply and reached out my arm for a handshake to meet his smile. 

For the better part of two weeks, this new country showed us the best of its people, its cuisine, its culture, and more. Friends became family, and family became even closer than before. 

“The world feels a little bit smaller now than it did before,” my dad said so eloquently.

From Leevaid offering his apartment for me to rest my head for five days upon arrival, making sure I was fed, making sure I was safe and comfortable; to my cousins, Cindy & Claudy helping out at our very first program; to reaching a milestone so special, one six years in the making, and getting to do it with my parents and my sister by my side; to working with the coolest little human beings, each with such unique stories to tell – ones of great hurt, but ones of immense triumph as well, it was all memories I will cherish forever.

As my parents loaded up their final pieces of luggage into the SUV, with Alphonse in the front seat at the ready as the vehicle idled, I pulled out the second of those jerseys from before. With two neatly written columns below, filled with signatures of each participant, the jersey now had one more signature on it and a message above that.

“Mom & Dad,” it started. “It’s a beautiful thing when you allow kids to dream. Thank you for helping me live out mine. Love always, Stephen.”

Merci beaucoup, Burkina Faso. A bientôt.