It doesn’t seem possible, but it was almost four years since we last held a Europe-based program. I was glad to have made it back to Asia, Africa, and North and South America for sessions, but following the pandemic, Europe had remained ever-evasive. Excited to see what I could link up, I reached out to an old but great contact in Spain, just outside of Barcelona.

“Hey, remember those sessions we ran back in 2019?” I asked. “Can we do that again?”

“Absolutely, Stephen,” my contact, Gloria, answered. “Whenever you want to come here, just let me know and I’ll set it up for you.”

That was that. I headed east towards Spain, then from there I traveled north of Barcelona to Manresa, watching with glee as familiar mountains & train stations passed me by on a commute I did back so many years ago. Fresh off a long, long journey, I greeted Gloria with a big hug and we immediately got down to business. The program wasn’t until the following Monday and it was currently Wednesday, but I was determined to make sure all our equipment was ready ahead of time so that I could enjoy the next couple of days stress-free.

Thanks to Gloria’s help, I inflated the 24 footballs I had with me – and we stored them in a corner of the foundation for safekeeping before Monday. We made quick work of the pile of soccer balls, but time had also passed by quickly thanks to the great conversation we were having – full of catching-up, celebrating milestones, and more.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you were in Ghana for your latest programs!” she exclaimed, reminding me that she was from there.

“Of course I remember that, how could I forget!” I said back with a smile, as we spoke of the places I had been, the people I’d met, and the food I’d eaten – the conversation serving as a bit of a return ticket to a place she hadn’t been back to for quite some time.

“Next time let me know when you’re going to be there so I can take care of you,” she said with a smile, mentioning how willing she would have been to set up beneficiaries, home-stays, friends, and more.

This really came as no surprise since she was also willing to do the same here in Spain. She really was top-notch. As I packed up and began to figure out my commute back home thanks to the help of Gloria and her colleagues, a thought popped into my mind. “Wait, is Sor Lucia here?” I asked excitedly.

Sor Lucia is a charismatic nun living at the convent in Manresa and operating Invulnerables, a social impact project through both the Santa Clara convent and the La Caixa bank. Recently, she had been going back and forth to Ukraine and nearby Poland to provide aid to the people there.

“Ah, not today…” said Gloria regrettably. “She’s in Roma, she’s visiting her friend – the Pope.”

Gloria flashed a hopeful smile, though, “She’ll be back on Monday for the session though, don’t worry Stephen!”

I returned a smile right back and headed towards the train station, excited more than ever for Monday to come around. Finally, Monday rolled around and I won’t lie, this 2023 session was playing out almost exactly like our 2019 one. In the days prior, I managed to reach out and visit a friend from high school, currently living in Barcelona. I had seen him back in 2019 too, on the tail end of our Manresa sessions. A familiar face on the road is an underrated blessing, and though our conversation was far more mature than that of four years prior, I genuinely appreciated the comfort of familiarity in a place so far and foreign.

Determined to arrive early and leaving room for train delays and other unexpected setbacks of the sort, I ended up getting to Manresa around 4 p.m. for the 6 p.m. session. Luckily, my promptness was rewarded as I was told almost immediately by Gloria that the session was beginning at 5:30 due to a sudden change of plans. The kids play football for an hour and a half every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday though, so this session was set to fit in quite nicely.

The foundation also runs a feeding program on Mondays which is where Gloria would’ve been if not for the football session today. I’m glad she was around and after four years you can imagine it was just as much a pleasure to see (and work with) her yet again.

“Profe, where are you from?” asked one of the early-arriving participants. “You speak like you’re from Estados Unidos.”

They hit the nail right on the head. 

I turned to the man in charge of those weekly football sessions, Tony, who would be helping me run things in today’s program.

“Pues… the truth is the last program I ran in Spanish was in Argentina so I’ve noticed myself dragging my l’s out and speaking with an Argentine accent.

“We noticed that actually,” said Gloria and a new contact Vanessa – “but it’s okay, I’m from Colombia so I completely understand,” Vanessa said with a smile.

This session was always going to be a doozy though, since the kids speak Arabic, Spanish, and Catalan. Before we could get started, I surveyed the group for a captain, though many children raised their hands to volunteer. One boy, small in stature, but big in heart, was jumping up and down hoping I might choose him. His name was Adnan.

Ultimately, I rested my eyes on a young girl named Marienne and decided to make her captain for the day, as she got right to work in leading the kids through a little calentamiento (warm-up) and stretching circle. Right from the jump, I had been pleased by how polite and friendly the kids were.

“I was here in 2019, do any of you guys remember me?” I asked, hopeful more than anything, since I knew many kids end up leaving programs like this once their family’s socioeconomic status improves.

“Well… I wasn’t here four years ago, porque soy de Maruecos!” one boy said proudly with a beat of his chest, excited to share his roots.

Like I said though, the kids really were very respectful, one greeted all the profes with a handshake and I watched as that same boy who greeted us approached this shy boy who arrived late with a smile and an outstretched hand. They shook hands then I listened as he asked him “What’s your name?” listening intently and nodding his head, making the boy feel extremely welcome despite his tardiness.

Profe Tony would later tell me the kids are dealing with some anxiety, and some (~5 or so off the top of his head) arrive at football practice a bit reserved and quiet, shy for lack of a better word, but after a bit of time on the ball and time with each other, they’re quickly out of their shell and laughing and smiling. Isn’t that the beauty of football and sport, really?

We jumped into our listening exercise, with Captain Marienne doing her thing. Seeing her partner without one, I quickly made my way there to spice up the competition.

“¡Hacer tres vueltas!” Marienne yelled. I swear this girl was pulling out every trick in the book, yet somehow ones I still had never even thought to try before. I looked on with a smile as the kids spun around in front of my eyes, trying desperately to regain their bearings before performing my captain’s next command.

“Do five pushups!” Marienne yelled out, I was thrown way off guard again as I had never heard nor used this command before. “¡Balón!” she screamed. My partner grabbed the ball before I could even reach my feet. “NO way you did 5 push-ups,” I yelled out. “I didn’t, Profe,” she said with a giggle. “I did at most three,” she added, laughing even harder at this point.

Trampas out of the way, we broke into relay races as Marienne was kind enough to demo variations, as was Adnan too. He wasn’t a captain on this day, but he surely had the trappings of one. With a group of just under 20 before me, I decided it was time to snag some prizewinners. The prizes today were soccer balls and bags, but every participant would be receiving one, so the real prize at stake here was to claim dibs on colors and styles.

I described our king of the hill dribbling activity and gestured around me to show the kids the grid we would be using. Coach Tony helped me explain in more detail, going further to tell the kids to sit in the shade once eliminated so we could better see who was left in the grid. A young, curly-headed boy from Brazil took home the first victory, as we quickly recycled things for a second round. This next one, however, was interesting.

I watched a group of four form in one of the corners, a hunger games style alliance. Good from the start but doomed in the end.

“Alright who’s gonna tell them there can only be one winner,” I thought to myself, curious to see how it would play out as loyalty became tested the deeper into the round this alliance went. I mean, I have seen partnerships formed when rules called for two winners, but nothing like this. Finally, we grabbed a second victor in that one and moved over to mano o cabeza. This game, though new to the kids, was a big hit.

I watched as an older girl stepped back once it was her turn.

“Porque? Tienes miedo?” I asked her, the girl shaking her head but pointing at the glasses on her face, which obviously could make heading the ball a tall order, even if done properly.

Knowing what I had to do, I yelled out “cabeza” and she eagerly grabbed the ball, correctly, with her hands. Honestly, time was passing by quickly and despite wanting to break into a scrimmage because of that, I kept telling Gloria and Tony that I couldn’t help but sit there enjoying the smiles, listening to the laughs and giggles, and just knowing the scrimmage could wait.

“Can we play again Esteban?” the group exclaimed.

“Okay, let’s run it back!” I yelled out. “Final round, two winners, and Tony’s in charge of this one!” I finished.

“Profe it’s not fair, you eliminated me last round by throwing the ball to me two straight times, one right after the other! That’s why I was eliminated,” shouted a taller girl.

“Si pero mira,” I said watching as Profe Tony eliminated one boy by hitting him with back to back commands, then eliminating another right after with the same move. “Mira! It’s not just you,” I said, with a shrug of the shoulders.

After, we wrapped things up with a quick round robin scrimmage. Teams of five, first to one goal stays on, or both teams clear out after a few minutes without a score. This one was spirited and fun, but we quickly wrapped things up in order to do our program giveaways. One by one, each kid stepped toward to claim a new Puma ball, an Around the Worlds or Better Everyday drawstring bag, and an FC Barcelona-colored bracelet. After about fifteen minutes, Only one boy was left on the turf as everyone else had cleared out. It was Adnan.

“Wait, seriously?” I asked. “You can play football with the football, you can’t play football with the band,” I reminded him.

“Profe, I’m not gonna lie to you, that’s all that I care about right now – that is the only thing on my mind, that band,” he said with a smile, myself, Tony, and Gloria bursting out with laughter.

“Okay bro, but it is our secret,” I said, pulling the yellow band across his bicep, though it easily could’ve fit two of his arms in it.

In return, he flashed me the biggest smile and the cutest little squeal of joy. Making my way back towards the convent, I ran into a familiar face from four years back.

“Remember him?” asked Sor Lucia, who had dropped by mid-program to observe and say hello.

It was a boy from Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras. He had participated in one of our 2019 sessions.

“Remember the ball? The shirt? British soccer camps – with the flag of Inglaterra?” I said, trying to jog his memory.

“Ah creo que si,” he said reservada.

Sor Lucia was determined to expedite the process, bringing up a photo of a much younger version of this young man from four years ago. Like looking in a mirror, he smiled, he almost couldn’t believe his eyes. His face had matured, and he’d grown taller. I mean as to be expected, dude was seven years old back then and was now pushing 11. Despite the passage of time, he still had a soft, gentle look on his face.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again hermano,” I said, “Truly a great surprise para mi.”

“Igualmente,” he said with a smile.

I gave him a handshake and bid him farewell. “Que dios te bendiga,” I said, as he disappeared past the silver gates of the foundation and back to his home.

Closer to the convent now than the turf field, I was stopped yet again by two older boys who had just participated in the session. One, named Musa, was from Senegal, but had been raised here in Spain. “I was just in your country a couple weeks ago!” I said excitedly. “Do you speak French?”

“No no, because I have been here in Spain since I was little,” he replied.

“Ah, I got you bro I was about to start speaking it with you,” I said with a laugh.

The boy beside him was the one from Brazil, our first victor. His name was Cagua.

“Profe, can you show us some tricks or something?”

“Sure, pass me the ball!” I responded.

He had been trying to balance the ball on his forehead, but was finding little to no success without the assistance of his fingertips.

“Wait, can you do this one?” Cagua asked.

“Of course bro pero this is the ultimo truco,” I said, as Gloria had prepared some drinks and snacks before my departure.

I rested the ball on my head for a couple seconds, “y un beso?” I said, with a soft smile on my face.

“Dale,” he responded, quickly.

I flicked the ball atop my lips and gave it the gentlest besito, rolled it back up to my forehead before letting it come back down to my lips for one last encore.

“Eso!” I heard him yell out in front of me, as Gloria and Sor Lucia and Vanessa cheered from behind me.

He also threw down an inside around the world, responding to the outside one I performed just seconds before. Not to be outdone, I flicked the ball onto my chest then quickly onto my neck. But after all, this was a performance not a competition, so I invited Cagua (still wearing his canary yellow Brazil jersey with pride) closer and flicked the ball from my neck to his then back to mine. I watched as his eyes lit up and a big toothy smile painted itself across his face, ecstatic to have been able to catch the ball on his own neck after my pass to him from mine.

I reckon he’d never tried the trick before but hoped from this day on he might. Either way, I hoped to maybe leave him with a nugget or two of advice.

“Listen bro, for this forehead trick, just rest the ball on your forehead, pretend you have a hueco (hole) right here,” I said with a laugh, pointing at the center of his forehead.

“And then from there, just practice, just practice. Today, 5 seconds of it balancing there. Manana, diez segundos. Tal vez next week, five minutes. Y después ya puedes hacerlo como uno, dos horas amigo asi,” I said, gently balancing the ball on my head with my eyes closed, snoring exaggeratedly loud while pretending to sleep, much to the humor of our little audience that had developed around us.

Finally, I was down in the convent enjoying a tall glass of water and another nice conversation with Gloria, this time with Vanessa and Sor Lucia by her side. Sor Lucia had to get some rest, for it was a long day with the feeding program and football session, but before she departed me with a hug and beso – she passed along a gift for me to give to my mother, a rosary from the Pope. “This is oro to me,” I said, holding it close to my chest as to not leave it behind, and thanking her profusely.

As I made my way back to the same train station only days later, but also four years later if we’re talking bigger picture – the streets seemed different. The sun was setting over the high stretching roads of Manresa. Families were out walking, colleagues were out drinking after work.

Despite the ever-changing landscape, I picked out a familiar face. It was young Adnan! He was playing around with his father and a younger sibling on the sidewalk as I slowly made my way to the train station.

“Profe!” he yelled out, abandoning his brand new Puma ball (the sticker still on it) for just one second to greet me with a handshake.

“Where’s your captain’s band?” I asked.

“It’s already at my home, safe and sound!” He said with the same bright smile he was wearing when I first wrapped it around his tiny arm.