From June to late August, I took a summer break to focus on a few domestic programs. It was a good and much-needed sabbatical from international travel, as domestic blocks like that have been few and far between over the past eight years. But, after a long period of resting I was refreshed and ready to return back to international programs, especially at a country so dear to our story in the last few years – Colombia. I was so excited for this trip that I had started planning sessions out nearly 4-5 weeks prior. This included a string of video calls, email convos, and WhatsApp threads with potential beneficiaries – some old, but most new.

As goes, with a long list of past beneficiaries in Bogota, we always want to try our best to visit former participants just to track growth and progression, not just in sport but in life as well. I had a jam-packed schedule, and my legs shivered with nervous energy when reviewing a full itinerary consisting of nearly five programs in just three days. Nevertheless, I blocked off ample time for rest both before and after, only neglecting to take into account the “during” part. I printed out a customs note and met up with my mother in Colombia’s capital city.

After a horrendous two hour wait at passport control, my body and brain were both on their last legs. Things couldn’t possibly get worse, right? Wrong. Customs pulled me aside and told me to scan my luggage. By now we all know how this story goes, but I decided to precede the x-ray scan with a document in the officer’s hands. She reviewed it quickly and passed it back to me, waving me through the exit doors. I was stunned, but we don’t question matters of fate here so I just kept it moving, receiving my blessing and plowing on through to the next hurdle – catching a taxi at the airport.

Three hours later than expected, we finally were able to drop our bags off at a nearby Airbnb. I was thrilled to realize the new flat was only blocks away from my last “home base” a year prior. Despite dark skies and even darker streets, the area felt very much familiar – and I took advantage of that comfort in grabbing a quick empanada with ma before a long, post-travel day slumber.

The next day was only Sunday, and our programs weren’t scheduled to begin until Tuesday or Wednesday so I just took my time, preparing some equipment, finalizing session details, confirming participant numbers, and more. Plus, I couldn’t come to Colombia and not get another $5 haircut, so of course one of my first stops was at Racing Barbershop, the same place I got cut up last year while watching a Manchester United game with my barber, Danner. We spoke about footy, hip hop music, lives, dreams, and more. It was typical barbershop talk, but I appreciated the genuine nature of it.. my barber passing me his headphones to listen to some vintage 50 Cent, myself later introducing him to some of my favorite songs albeit from the old vault as well.

Days passed, full of rest, good conversation, and even better food – and finally por fin, it was time for Wednesday’s program. The venue was a familiar partner and amazingly enough, one with a US-based presence. Not just US-based, but CT-based, in nearby Bridgeport. We last worked with Fundacion Levántate y Anda a little over a year ago in August of 2022. I remembered fondly the two sessions we had held with very different age groups. I figured there’d be familiar faces and boy was I right.

The foundation now had 100 kids during the week, and 40 during the weekend on Saturday, so they could reach even further into the community helping those with even less resources. It was estimated we would have about 60 kids on this particular day and I relished the opportunity to see and work with all the faces both old and new. This day of programming would be focused more-so on our arts element than footy, but my contact Yasser opened up the possibility of playing soccer with the kids and how could I possibly turn that down? Plus it’s all freedom of expression and creativity isn’t it? Whether that be on the field or on the canvas. So it was set – a 20-participant mini program at a nearby park followed by two soccer-centric arts classes with around 40 kids total. I was happy, I was excited, and so was ma.

The program started at 3pm, but we showed up plenty early, around 2:15, which was a reflection of that excitement I suppose. I was escorted up to the main office and greeted by more familiar faces, another one of my contacts – Johanna, and of course, the man, the legend – Yasser, the man also known around these parts as “Stik”. We caught him at a good time as he was scheduled to run photography classes for the kids later on in the day.

He asked questions and listened intently, genuinely curious about how the past year had been, how Around the Worlds was, and where we had been. After a short waiting period for the kids to arrive at the foundation after school got out, we were ready to begin. We made our way down from the five floor building to the ground, reuniting with the kids on the sidewalk in front of the foundation’s clothes bazaar. I recognized a familiar face immediately, a participant from our first of two sessions last year, Josue his name. He had been helpful back then, and even more so this time around – effectively a captain without the armband, which we always love to see.

“Profe? Brazil?” he asked.

“Me? Or you?” I answered.

“Usted profe! Eres de Brazil?” a common question and occurrence nowadays given my dodgy accent.

“Profe eres de Argentina?” another participant chimed in.

“De España?” added a third.

One of the older girls gave her take, “Profe you can’t be from Colombia there’s no way. You have to be from Estados Unidos because of your height.” Well she wasn’t wrong I suppose. “Profe, how tall are you?” her friend asked. “Profe one of my teachers is even taller than you!” the first girl said, reaching her hand high into the air.

These kids sure did love the game and their passion made me ever so excited for the session to begin. Later in the day, a young girl said “Profe I need a little soccer ball (to complete my bracelet)… because futbol es el amor y el amor es el fútbol,” she said, providing context to a moment that needed it not.

Finally, we reached the court and I couldn’t wait to start, same with the kids. As mentioned earlier, today was more focused on arts than soccer with two of the three hours being blocked off for mom’s arts program, plus with the walk to and from the court, I was really only left with 40 minutes total. Not wanting to waste any more time than I already had, we jumped straight into the session.

I sat the kids in front, explaining to them the situation of the footballs (that we only had a few to give out as prizes, but everyone would have an equal opportunity to win them). Then, we partnered them up in groups of three and quickly jumped into our listening drill, run graciously by young Josue.

From there, I set up three lines for relay races as parents and park-goers looked on with delight. Making good timing, as the schedule called for it, we then broke into mano o cabeza to snag a couple soccer ball winners. My voice already beginning to grow hoarse, luckily some former participants helped me explain the rules of the game as they were able to recall them from a year ago. Plenty of laughs and smiles aside, there were still more prizewinners to be had.

I lined the kids up and deployed an older boy into the net to play goalkeeper, but only for a moment. You see, this drill called for participants to act as both attackers and defense. They would first give it their best shot to deposit the ball into the net, then quickly run to the net to try and save the next person in line’s attempt. As you can imagine, this made for some spirited competition. It’s one thing knowing as long as you can score a goal, you’ll leave with a prize… it’s another knowing that if you can block someone else’s shot, you can only further your chances of grabbing a new soccer ball. New soccer balls went to our first three goalscorers and that was that.

I called everyone in for a debrief and quickly passed out some winnings – new soccer balls for our victors, followed by bracelets for everyone else. Normally, these kids would all be receiving them later on… but this group was not to participate in ma’s arts session due to a scheduling conflict with Stik’s photography class. Not wanting to dig into ma’s arts block, we began making our way back to the foundation.

“Profe, can you write my name on my ball?” asked a winner, soon followed by the rest.

“Sure thing!” I answered, asking for each of their names before penning them carefully onto the balls.

The last of the bunch waited patiently as we exited the park slowly, Cristiano was his name. I began to write “Cri…” on his ball, but quickly paused.

“Okay bro, before I give this ball back to you I gotta see a Siuuu”, I said, referring to CR7’s most famed goalscoring celebration.

Johanna was already standing in the middle of the road directing traffic, but Cristiano saw his moment and took it, running to the center of the dormant street and doing his best impression of CR7 with a loud “SIUUUUU!”

Finally back at the foundation, we made our way up to the top floor to an airy community room for homework, yoga, other classes, and more. I helped mom set her class up before calling the kids to order. Among other little crafts, we would be working on friendship bracelets and cards. But they weren’t intended for those making them today, they were to be collected and given to another set of beneficiaries anywhere else in the world. I turned to Johanna and another staff member, albeit a new one from within the past year, Claudia, – “Pues es una manera para construir puentes entre países y comunidades.”

Mom chugged along, knocking out a bunch of cool little surprises for the kids – one of which was a tiny origami book they could store their thoughts and dreams in. The kids had no idea what they were creating and with each step, their curiosity only grew. I won’t even lie, I was just as lost as them as I, too, had no idea where roads led on this specific activity. Seemingly skipping a few steps, Ma pulled out a perfectly folded origami book and yelled out, “It’s finished!”

The kids looked up, dumbfounded, as did I. “Is it?” I asked. I tinkered with my paper meticulously, laboring in both hand and mind, before finally finishing with something that I guess resembled a book? I turned to Paula and Johanna, as Johanna wiped her brow in a shared state of confusion “Pues… logramos pero a qué costó?” I said, the three of us sharing a laugh.

The session winding down, ma began to pass out some cards and bracelets we had collected during a similar arts session back in June at the Springfield Boys and Girls Club.

“These are from kids in the US, some are from Puerto Rico, too!” we shared, the kids holding them in their hands as if they were gold in that moment.

“And Stephen?” Johanna chimed in, “Where will you go next?” she asked, hoping to figure out el próximo destino for these handmade cards.

“Pues, maybe Cuba? Or Lebanon!” I said, excitedly.

Our second arts group, and last of the day, now in their seats, mom jumped into the same activity. In heart-shaped cards, they were writing their names, drawing hearts, smiles, flowers and others cut from the same cloth, and then writing what they wanted to be when they grew older in hopes it might inspire the card’s newest reader to dream similarly. I flipped through a pile of cards in front of me – they wanted to be policemen, soccer players, basketball players, firemen (I laughed because the young boy had written the word as it was said rather than spelled, looking perplexed for several minutes at the “vonvero” written on his cards… alas kids are kids aren’t they!)

“But what if I don’t know what I want to do yet?” a boy asked, clearly falling victim to the weight of this question ‘Que quieres ser?’

“Hermano don’t worry, it’s okay!” I reassured him. “Just write something you like doing or something that interests you..”

Minutes later, I caught a glimpse of his card “quiero conocer a España.”

Both arts programs wrapped up, and soccer done and dusted, we all reconvened on the second floor for a last minute charla. From then, the kids headed downstairs when their names were called, in order to be scooped up by the parents waiting outside the foundation. I really loved the work that Levántate y Anda was doing, exposing these young minds to so many different activities and passions, while helping them on their respective journeys both in education and in life. All of that for just a small cost of $10 a month, a small price to pay for so many more benefits that come with it. Only a few faces left on the floor, I turned to the ones still waiting.

Cristiano was one of them. “Profe I’m a keeper!” he said. “Try to score on me – please!” I faked him left then right then deposited it into the bottom corner “1-0!” I yelled out. Next, a save from the big man – “1-1!” Lastly, a fake turned into a miss kick – “2-1! Felicidades, ya ganaste!” I yelled out – a big smile revealing itself across his face.

“Wait wait I have a trick,” I said, having watched little Cris balance the ball on the tip of his foot. I did the same and then dumped it up onto my neck, dropping down into a push-up and then flicking it back into the air and subsequently, my hands. “WOW!!!” the small group of kids remaining yelled out, thankful for entertainment as they waited for their parents to scoop them up downstairs.

Our cab was waiting outside, so we made our way down the winding, narrow steps. My heart was full, as was ma’s, and we could only hope the same for the kids’ too. I bid Stik and company farewell, as they all expressed gratitude for the opportunity to revisit with the kids only a year after our first collaboration.

“You know, you are always welcome here,” said Stik, with a smile. And having been welcomed in with the same open arms as I was back in August as a complete stranger, I knew he meant that.