After a long week of bucket showers in Ghana, I was heading back to where I came from – Accra’s Kotoka International Airport, to hitch a ride to Abidjan, the capital of Côte d’Ivoire, and Ghana’s next door neighbor.

When I planned this trip out years ago, even looking at which countries I’d be using my Philippine passport to enter and which I’d be carrying my US one with me, just for the sake of visas or a lack thereof, I originally planned to take buses between all of these Western African countries. Basically, an 8 hour bus from Ghana to the Ivory Coast and, on a possible return trip to Ghana in the future, a bus from Ghana to Togo, and then over the next border to Benin, for some sessions in the latter two.

Well, long story short, Uber drivers, local contacts, friends, and more had advised me against taking a bus to cross borders.

“The journey is not comfortable nor is it safe,” said a friend.

“It could take up to 12 hours, so budget at least one whole day,” said another.

“There are sometimes holdups,” added a Ghanaian contact and whatever he meant by ‘holdups’ I’ll leave up to interpretation.

I bit the bullet and booked a plane ticket instead. A quick hour-long hop over the border on Emirates, an airline whose reputation preceded them. My connection with the Ivory Coast could seem distant, but it does run a bit deep. Basically, while studying at UConn, I’d play pickup soccer nearly every weeknight and some weekends too. It kept me out of trouble and gave me the opportunity to meet students from all over the world; from Mexico to Peru to Argentina, Korea and more. While there, I linked up with a towering gentleman by the name of Ibrahim. “Ibra” we would call him. He was an excellent goalkeeper and an even better person.

Later on in life, and into our post-college days, I always spoke with Ibra of the chance of maybe bringing Around the Worlds to his home country of Cote d’Ivoire. Logistics were tricky and it kept getting pushed and pushed, to the point I feared it might never happen. I’ve done sessions in Senegal and Burkina Faso but I never quite seemed to make it to the Ivory Coast. It remained ever-evasive to me.

With my Ghana visa finally secured, Ivory Coast seemed like it might actually happen. I reached out to Ibra, who responded excitedly just as an old friend would. Enthused, he said he was going to reach out to his brother, Mamadou, ASAP, who helped run his family’s school in Abidjan. Once connected through Ibra, me and Mamadou got right to work. I prepared footballs back home in the states while he got to working on a customs document. The school was for middle school aged kids and older, just a touch bigger than the age group I was used to, but I figured if we stuck around the lower grades it’d be perfect.

Mamadou hit me with a voice message as I made my way to NYC to catch a flight to Ghana. 

“Sure bro just hit me up once you’re on the continent, I already have a place for you to stay and I can even help you set up another session elsewhere if you’d like to do something on top of the school.” 

This dude was world class, that was evident right from the jump. A day before my flight to Abidjan, he passed along the customs document and I had it loaded up on my phone as I nervously waited in line. I put my bags through the X-ray system, claimed them at the other end, and didn’t even look back. 

“Those guys will try to get you, no matter what.. they’re just looking for a buck, doesn’t matter if what you have are donations, they don’t care,” I’d been told. But this is nothing new to us or our story by now.

Just outside arrivals stood Mamadou, towering over everyone just as his younger brother Ibrahim did back during the UConn days. He greeted me with a hug and took me right to his home, to introduce me to his wife, his family, and his father.

“I hope your legs aren’t jetlagged because we’re playing tonight,” said Mamadou with a smile.

I was hesitant, having not played any sort of competitive footy since October 2022, but how could I turn down an invite like that. I laced my boots up and Mamadou scooped me up for an 8:30-10:30 PM playing window. On the field, just a bunch of ballers. An all-star keeper, a couple dudes who could easily play in the professional Ivorian league. And topping the list, Abdou Razak, a Burkina Faso national team player who had last played in China after stints all over Europe.

Reputation aside, the dude was super friendly, and he seemed chuffed at the fact I had run some free sessions in his home country. The competition was fierce and I won’t lie I couldn’t walk for the next two days as my hamstrings were shot from a level of play higher than what I was used to, with these guys and their skill being far better than Les Enfants.

As I let my body heal before any programming began, I later ended up sharing a weekend dinner with Mamadou, his wife, and his father, who had invited me over for a meal prepared at the house. It was incredibly special, and I owed a debt of gratitude to the Toure family for welcoming me into their home, their family, and their country as one of their own. My relationship with Mamadou was similar to how one might treat a younger brother. I later told him that this hardly came as a surprise because Ibra was always one of the kindest people I had ever met back during my college days. So it made sense that the apple hardly fell far from the tree.

I bid farewell to the family after dinner, searching for rest as the following day I had an afternoon session set up with a local team. Mamadou’s father stood up and shook my hand. He and I hardly shared the same language but I was able to make it work with my little proficiency of the French language. 

“You know… my son Ibrahim is the youngest. And a friend of Ibrahim, well, a friend of Ibrahim is a friend of ours. You are always welcome here. Thank you. Thank you infinitely. Bonne nuit.”

Understanding the things I could, and aided by Mamadou in translating what I could not, the words warmed my tender heart. Sure I left with a full stomach, having eaten a little bit of everything – local fishes like carp/tilapia, local rices, some sweet potatoes, and even Ivory Coast’s famous attieke. But it should definitely be said that I left with an even fuller heart after a night of wonderful conversation and even better company.

Finally, Tuesday rolled around and after a couple days of rest it was back to programs. I hadn’t run any since the Wednesday prior in Ghana, so I was definitely eager to get back to it – albeit reserving most of my excitement since the program would be completely in French and I hadn’t run a French session since December 2021 in Burkina Faso.

I screenshotted a couple main phrases on my phone to practice on the flight to Abidjan, but I really was banking on the fact that the French would come back just as it did in Burkina. I was right(ish) for the most part. I struggled at times, but the kids were understanding. Plus, I always had a lifeline in Mamadou who was always willing to translate as needed. Addressing the group, I got into my usual spiel. “Bonsoir tout le monde je m’appelle Stephen aujourd’hui nous avons un entraînement de foot avec vous…”

It was all coming back, the same old song, same old dance. I was actually quite fortunate to have this session, because the real one we had had set up for Ivory Coast was going to be a big event with dozens of participants. That one at the Toure’s school promised to be a doozy so I chose to look at this Tuesday session as a little test run, a chance to dip my feet in the pool’s water before that same water turned into an ocean.

We kicked things off with our listening exercise, as we always do. I ran a round or two then chose a captain, Rodri, to run a few himself. From there, we broke into our King of the Hill dribbling game to grab a few prizewinners of the soccer balls I had set aside for the team. We would be leaving some with the coach, while using others as prizes in order to keep things competitive. This one required Mamadou’s explanation, but once the kids got it man did they get it. Things got fierce and bodies were hitting the floor, but after two rounds we snagged two winners.

From there, we moved to two ball control grids, one ran by myself and the other ran by Jamo – our goalkeeper from Friday’s pickup session. It was fun to see him again after just a couple of days. I asked Mamadou how things were looking and he gave me a big laugh, “man I don’t even think me and Kone (our other friend) can do some of these things!” he said, as we stood back and admired the boys’ clean touches through push passes, thigh & chest control, volleys, headers, and more. Like I said, this group was a bit thin – just 12 kids had shown up, many practicing in bare feet on our half dirt, half grass pitch. Usually, the boys practice on Wednesdays, but this was a Tuesday and school ran late on Tuesdays, hence why our originally expected group of 25 participants was chopped down to an even dozen.

As we closed out with our 1v1 drill towards goal and France’s version of ‘mano o cabeza’ – “Les mains ou la tête” I couldn’t help but smile. Less than a month ago, we had held some sessions in Argentina in Spanish. Then a week prior, some in Ghana in a mix of English and the kids’ native tongue. And now, a small micro-session completely in French. 

This game is beautiful. Sure, can it be enjoyed without the exchange of language? Of course. But if we can, shouldn’t we at least try? Why take these kids and bring them into our world when we can put forth even just the smallest bit of effort to come to theirs. To make sure language is not a barrier for entry nor enjoyment. Because that right there is exactly what makes this game beautiful.

And how could I not sit back and smile at the thought of that.