Buenos Aires, Argentina

In early 2020, I sent a cold email out to a big non-governmental organization (NGO) operating all over Argentina, Manos Abiertas. My contact there was a young man named Santiago. I was serious about a return to Buenos Aires, and I hoped he could see that after we got off a video call to chat about a possible collaboration. Little did I know, the world was about to shut down and that would be one of the last correspondences I would have for the better part of six or seven months. I put that conversation in my back pocket and hoped that one day, when things were more normal, I might be able to revisit it.

Fast forward to early 2023, three whole years later, I was in Buenos Aires in a car heading north towards CESI, one of Manos Abiertas’ many ‘obras’ just outside the city’s metropolitan area. In the passenger seat was Gisela, my new contact at the organization, who was taking the place of Santiago. In the driver’s seat was her husband.

Despite an early start around 8 am, our conversation was lively and her enthusiasm was contagious. She had been a breath of fresh air throughout all of our conversations – and was just as friendly in real life as she was through the phone, which honestly came as no surprise. The gift of conversation made time fly as we reached CESI’s front doors. An hour had passed but it hardly felt like so.

On the day’s agenda, a Monday morning session from 10-11 AM with about 30 kids. I had inflated 30 balls with the intention of giving a new one to each participant. Having arrived early around 9:30, and as plans so often do – ours changed almost immediately, but for good reason though. After talking with Pablo – one of the administrators at CESI, he had mentioned a group of kids arriving en la tarde.

I’d be remiss not to try and bring our curriculum to them too, so I floated the idea to him. “Today?” He asked, excitedly. “I think tomorrow,” I said, giving ourselves an extra day to plan or at least see if the idea would work.

Plus, we had already decided not to give every kid a ball since there were many groups of siblings. Calculating a surplus of 14 balls, we decided to open up a second session on Tuesday afternoon. I would still be coming in the morning to finish off the hour-long session we were doing on Monday – with that same group. I was nervous about divvying up our curriculum across two days, but even with two hours of program time I wasn’t guaranteed to check all the boxes of what activities I wanted to do.

Still though, we pushed forward as the kids flooded out of their classrooms and onto the same outdoor space Santiago had sent me a photo of years before. He worried then that the space would be too small, but now seeing it in person I knew we could definitely make it work. Before we could kick things off, the kids all took their seats for a small charla. They were eager, mostly because they’d hardly received any visitors from other countries – let alone a football coach.

Excited to guess de donde soy, they all raised their hands high to share varios lugares.

“Hollywood?” asked one boy in the back corner.

“Tejas? Los Angeles?”

“That’s in the south! That’s on the west coast!” I yelled out.

A girl in the front left raised her hand – “Paris?” she asked, quietly.

“Paris?” I said, with disbelief. “Do I talk como a French person?” I asked.

Their interest very much still piqued, the questions continued, “Profe, que equipo eres?”

Of course, she was talking about Boca Juniors or River Plate. This wasn’t my first walk in the park, I knew that my answer to this question could determine how these kids treated me for our session. Fans of Boca and River carry their teams almost as much as their religions, sometimes even more.

“Pues la verdad es que no tengo una…” I said, playing it close to the vest. This, of course, was the truth since though I knew of the teams here, I wouldn’t consider myself a supporter of either of them.

I chuckled as I remembered the last time I was in Buenos Aires, in Lanús, where the kids would chant out “fruta, verdura, boca a la basura” a chant personalized by any and all rivals of Boca Juniors.

“Profe, conoces a Messi?” a boy asked.

“Y Dibu?” asked another, moments before recreating Argentina National Team keeper Martinez’s pre-shootout dance, to perfection.

“Y De Paul?” asked a third boy.

“Pues tengo amigos como futbolistas but I’m not friends with those guys,” I said, as if I’d somehow be on a first name basis with Leo Messi, the actual greatest of all time.

With the hard-hitting questions out of the way, I made my way outside and we jumped straight into our listening exercise. After a few rounds led by myself, I designated a captain, a young boy named Leon to be the session’s honorary captain. He immediately fell into the role, pulling a yellow armband onto his right bicep. I took his place across from his partner and he ran a few rounds before we transitioned over to some relay races with three equal teams of eight kids each. In a little in-between period of merely 30 seconds, one of the older girls in the session tapped my shoulder.

“Profe you know you talk like Sebastian Yatra, your voz sounds like his.”

I was dumbfounded for a second time on the day, though this one is definitely a compliment.

“The singer?” I asked. “Que chevere vecina!” (How cool, neighbor! – in Colombian slang) She laughed in response.

For what it’s worth, Argentinian Spanish has a very very distinct accent, so I was trying my best to settle in but my own accent easily gave away the fact that I was not at all a local. I mean, that and the fact that the kids had already known earlier that I was from the states.

As I struggled to grasp the pronunciation of L’s and Y’s, Gisela had helped walk me through some more things. “You keep saying vale (meaning okay) but we actually don’t use that here, we just say bueno or even okay,” she said, as I made a mental note of this helpful bit of information.

As the program played out, I began to see those family connections I mentioned before. The session’s captain, Leon, had two older sisters and an older brother participating. Bauti and Juli were two of his family members joining him in the class. About to start our relay races, a boy approached me with a Dortmund-branded Puma ball in hand.

“Profe are these soccer balls gifts for us?” he asked, with glee.

“Pues, Vamos a ver, amigo. Quien sabe (who knows)” I replied, not trying to spoil the surprise and making sure to not lose the kids’ attention any earlier than I wanted to.

Teams and relay race lines ready, I introduced one of the next variations.

“Como pingüinos, claro?” I asked the kids.

“No profe no es pingüinos because they don’t jump!” responded a girl at the front of her line.

“Show me how they would move then,” I said, in reply.

The same girl took the ball between her knees and started waddling.

“Y entonces que?” I asked, curious what animal they were actually supposed to imitate as I, for the longest time, had advertised this as the pingüinos exercise.

“Como kangaroos!” said their profe.

“Siip!” yelled the kids, “like kangaroos!”

After our relay races had been completed, we moved to an already established square grid for our king of the hill dribbling elimination game. This would get us some winners along with mano o cabeza later on. As expected, though the competition was tense, the kids thoroughly enjoyed it.

“Profe, can we play this same game tomorrow?” asked a few participants, which was music to my ears as a coach, I won’t lie. It’s always a joy to hear when the kids had fun playing a game or performing a certain exercise.

Time dwindling as it always does, I wrapped things up fast so we could break into a scrimmage. “It’s best to always finish off with a little cascarita,” I said to one of the profes, as she assured me it was okay if we went over by 10-20 minutes in order to do so.

Heading back towards CABA with Gisela, I enjoyed yet another lively conversation before hitting a quick rest ahead of our second session the next morning. The next morning promised to be an adventure, as I would be taking the train to CESI instead of today’s (easier) commute. Luckily, I still had my SUBTE metro card from 5 years ago, and even more luckily, it still had money loaded onto it.

Now Tuesday morning, I was ready to go. The plan was simple – take the metro located just a couple blocks away from San Jose to Retiro, from there, a local train into the countryside from Retiro to “Villa de Mayo”, an hour-long trip. Then, a contact from Manos, Sofia, who I had met the day before, would be waiting outside the station to drive me the rest of the way.

“I’ll be there at 9:30 waiting for you so we can start the session at 10,” she had said.

I only had the kids from 10-10:30 because of a revised schedule, so I was determined to make the most of that time we had together.

Planning things out, I left my apartment around 7:45 AM, as to give myself an adequate buffer for the 1h15 min commute. I made my way over to the San Jose metro station and tapped my card on the reader.

“Error” it read.

“Tarjeta bloqueada” it said, continuing.

“Oh no…” my inner monologue said, heart sinking.

Luckily, the kiosk worker saw me and my struggle and told me to pass through the emergency exit gate. With the delay from that and yet another delay from a late metro train arrival, I began to make my way towards Retiro. I knew my card being blocked was an issue but couldn’t even put thought to that while knowing I was already on a time crunch. Finally I got to Retiro, I spun a bit trying to find an exit and made my way towards the slower, country trains.

“Station under construction, no trains will be departing from here” a sign read.

More panic ensued. I walked a block or two to Retiro’s San Martin station, looking for this specific Belgrano Norte line.

“That doesn’t depart from here,” I was told upon reaching San Martin, as I was ushered to head back towards the first station I had already checked.

Finally, I found a train and was ecstatic to hear I could pay with cash. The time was already near 9 AM and I panicked even more knowing that Sofia was waiting at the station at 930 and I wouldn’t be arriving until near 9:55.

Add onto that the fact that I didn’t have any data or minutes to contact her via WhatsApp and it really was a whole anxiety cocktail. Alas, I was already en route and I was closer than I was before. I settled in for a long ride and just prayed that Sofia hadn’t given up and left the station without me. After a 9:55 arrival on the dot I sprinted out of the train station’s exit and hooked a right onto the Main Street. In the distance, a Citroen with its hazards on, and a woman standing outside of it waving in my direction – it was Sofia! We greeted each other and hopped into the car heading towards CESI, as I told her about my absolute whopper of a morning.

“I was afraid you had gotten off at the wrong station or were lost!” she had said. “It’s so good to see you,” she added.

Whipping open CESI’s front doors just a little bit later at 10:05 I was met by the kids, and questions just like the day prior.

“Profe porque you’re always wearing white?”

“Mentirosa!” I yelled out, “I was wearing all black yesterday y hoy blanca, remember??”

“Profe cortaste su pelo?” asked Leon, yesterday’s captain.

“Siiip – te gusta?” I answered.

“Si profe!” he yelled out with a smile

I sat down across from a girl named Francheska, who had won the last bracelet and ball we had of four prizewinners.

“Francheska, were you surprised that you won mano o cabeza?”

“Yes Profe.. but the truth is I really like football,” she said, with a big smile.

“Claro!” I said in response, with pride.

As expected, the morning session flew by – but this was a given with our sub-30 minute time frame. It was still great to see the kids a second time and they all came running up to me asking if we could repeat some of yesterday’s drills. The clock striking 10:30 and the kids heading back out CESI’s doors to their families, I took some time with staff members to grab a lunch and chat about my time in Argentina. They were incredibly sweet and thoughtful, as they were adamant on solving the mystery of my blocked SUBTE card and did everything in their power to figure out just why.

Even Sofia dropped by yet again to ask how my day was going and if it had improved since my eventful morning. We had an afternoon session set up with another group of kids, from around 1 PM to 3 – and I won’t lie man, I was excited. So much so, that I already had my first drill’s cones set up at 11 AM. The kids were just as eager to begin, so we broke quickly into partners for our listening exercise.

“Wait! First I need a captain.” and everyone’s hands shot up.

I designated a young man, named Jano, who would come to reveal himself as the most talented boy in the bunch – to serve as captain. He was silky smooth on the ball and the other kids were aware of his talent too, as another boy quickly bragged on his behalf – “He plays for Argentina Juniors!”

“Esteban, podemos cambiar El Capitan durante el taller?” asked one of the profes.

“Claro que si!” I responded, knowing how important it was to expose all the kids to some form of leadership or another. Thanks to her reminder, I slipped it off of Jano’s bicep and rolled it onto a young boy named Noah on his same relay race team’s arm, as we broke into our next activity after the listening drill. Jano’s sister Belinda would also go on to help me as well as a captain, eventually leaving with the captain’s armband as a gift and a pulsera for her troubles. She and Noah had graciously offered to demo different relay race variations for others to imitate.

For one of our last variations, I observed as Noah and Jano’s line got caught performing a false start. In response, I retreated back and moved their final cone back farther than the other lines – “Si quieres hacer trampas podemos mover este cono lejos como hasta Retiro,” I said jokingly, referencing the station located an hour away that I had just come from.

“No profe!” they yelled, promising to behave accordingly.

Finally, we wrapped things up with some prizewinner challenges – first our dribbling grid, followed by mano o cabeza. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Jano took home the first winner’s slot in the opening game. I had watched as the kids warmed up inside the cuadro – he flicked the ball up onto his chest, I turned around and looked back and it was resting on his neck just like I usually do at the end of programs. “No, you can’t do it like that,” I said with a laugh – just to make sure he didn’t run away with too easy a victory in this game though he was clearly the most skilled of the whole group – by a country mile too. Everyone was dribbling clumsily while he was out there performing stepovers, and drag turns, and roulettes. We then moved to mano o cabeza, which kept the kids engaged and happy.

“Profe – y mi pulsera?” Jano kept asking between turns.

“Tranquilo amigo la tengo la tengo jaja”

Having noticed another girl wearing a shirt with Lisa Simpson on the front, I called out a younger girl for her choice of apparel.

“Somos iguales somos parejas!” I said to her, pointing at her shirt.

“Profe, que??”

Her white shirt read “D’oh!” With the o being made out of a doughnut. Giving context, I turned around and pointed at the back of mine, emblazoned with a picture of Homer Simpson and Cristiano Ronaldo on the front of it – Ronald’oh! it said on the back of it. All of us exhausted from 90 minutes of footy, I sat the kids down in front of me to ask them what they had learned during our time together.

“I learned how to play,” said one.

“I learned a new trick,” said another.

“Ganar y perder,” (to win and to lose) said someone from the front. You can guess who… it was Jano.

“Wow,” I said, with a pause.

“Y hay aprendizajes en los dos?” I said, as a follow-up to mi captain.

“Claro, profe,” Jano responded.

From there, four winners were called up to receive bracelets and their first choice at our soccer balls. I took my time wrapping bracelets around each of their arms, but was visibly struggling.

“Tranquilo Esteban,” I was assured – “No hay presión, tenemos tiempo” – though en realidad I knew we really didn’t. You see, as I struggled to tie a new bracelet around Jano’s wrist, a line of ganadores were already filing behind him – ever so ready to step forward and receive their very own.

Turning to one of the profes stood to my right, I said, “Mis dedos ya son como chorizos,” which she met with a laugh – again assuring me that we were okay. The hour was already 3:20 and the program was supposed to close up at 3:15 so the kids could have their milk and a snack.

As the kids departed through CESI’s front doors just like the morning group, I took a final moment to address this afternoon set of teachers.

“La verdad es que this session was perfect. This group… perfect. It’s a testament to what you do as tutores, as human beings here. Thank you for everything you do” – I said. Though, these people really are angels en la tierra so they quickly deflected the compliment and pushed it back my way.

Just like how the day began, Sofia drove me back towards Villa de Mayo’s station, even parking her car to make sure I didn’t have any issues with direction or my ticket.

“Well, I hope your day gets a little bit better,” she said, as I began to make my way towards the train’s waiting area.

“Well this was a good sign it might,” I said, waving a ticket the man behind the ventanilla at the station gave me for free because my card wasn’t working. “and honestly.. after this perfect day of sessions – it already is better,” I said with a smile and a beso before we parted ways.

I settled down onto a mostly-full train and unlocked my phone to check the time. 8 AM until 4 PM – a long day, but a complete one. My heart was full, just as it was happy.