After a long summer of Philippines-based programs, it was finally time to branch out to other Southeast Asian nations.

Myanmar was the first on my list, a new country for Around the Worlds, increasing our country tally to 61. I set this up a month in advance, which showed my excitement to get the programs rolling. This would be a jam-packed trip with sessions planned at a few different stops. 

First up was the East Dagon-based Grace & Love Children’s Home. My contact, Brother Joseph, was super responsive and active in the weeks ahead of our session. He and I were hard at work, coordinating airport pickups, field rental, catering and more. He was determined to make sure my first impression of the country was a warm one, and it was. So much so that Joseph and his wife went out of their way to meet me at the Yangon International Airport after a long day of travel.

After meeting at the airport, we called a taxi towards my hotel for the week. My home base was a cozy little number by the name of Hotel Yankin. We know by now that I’m not a hotel person at all, but with a nationwide ban on AirBnBs I was left with no other choice. Plus, the $99 price tag for a 7 night stay was still well within budget. I dropped my bags off then quickly reconvened with Brother Joseph and his wife, Grace, in the lobby. We headed out for dinner just down the street.

Call it a cautionary tale, but man, Burmese food hit me like a freight train. The spice took me out and left me reeling, wiping sweat from my brow with every scoop of the spoon. Although spicy, it was delicious and cheap. I was stoked to experience more of their delicious cuisine. I opted for a spicy chicken dish paired with rice, while my company for the night decided on some soup noodles to satisfy their stomachs.

Finally ready to rest my head, I retired to the cold embrace of my hotel’s air conditioning unit and slept nine hours before beginning clinic prep. Our session was scheduled for Saturday from 11-1. There were about 25 kids attending, including Brother Joseph’s kids. In celebration of our first ever Burma-based program, I was fully prepared to pull out all the stops. We’re talking about a two hour futsal field rental, a humongous lunch spread for the kids (chicken biryani rice meals, cold drinks, and to top it off, ice cream), and of course, a brand new Sondico ball for each participant. I couldn’t wait to jump into it!

Evidently, the kids were just as stoked. I gave Brother Joseph 12 soccer balls to inflate, while I took care of the remaining 13. “Is that okay?” I asked, knowing it was above all, a favor. “Of course,” he answered warmly, “It will give the kids something to look forward to.”

Reaching our venue “Super Futsal” about 35 minutes early, I waited patiently in the wings for the kids to arrive. They had rented a fun little passenger van, more open-concept than anything, with a bed in the back for the kids to sit in. I didn’t sleep well the night before for a number of reasons, but excitement was certainly one of them. Unsurprisingly, I wasn’t alone in that.

“The kids couldn’t sleep at all last night,” Brother Joseph said as he greeted me with a handshake, “they were so excited.” This only made me even more fired up to begin. I greeted the kids with handshakes, waiting ever so eagerly for the clock to strike 10:50 so we could finally enter the caged futsal field and prepare things.

I excitedly set up some relay race lines in order to prepare for the second drill, despite knowing we’d be using the other half of the field for our first exercise. I wanted to begin things actively, so after a quick intro chat translated by Brother Joseph, I orchestrated a dribbling drill. You know it by now, the one where the kids had to stop the ball with whatever body part I commanded them to. Though sleepless the night before, I was determined not to be unproductive and had used the time to learn some Burmese.

Still lacking confidence in my accent and words, I mimed commands out for the kids while shyly calling out words like “ley-bin (neck)” “puh-cone (shoulder)” and my absolute favorite “doo”, the Burmese word for knee. Despite my bad pronunciation, the kids were having a swell time, motoring around the field before pausing to stop the ball with their butt, armpits, nose, and other parts of the body. To my pleasure, they had big smiles on their faces the entire time.

From there, I designated three captains to choose our relay race teams. We kicked things off with dribbling, followed by lateral jumps, stepovers, and sole of the foot dribbles. Technical business out of the way, I lined the kids up for our 1v1 drill at goal, with two keepers alternating responsibility in net. The time was nearing 11:30 and I called everybody in to transition over to a scrimmage.

We had three teams and would be rotating field time on a winner-stays-on basis. Almost on cue, with a blow of my whistle, the clouds opened up and it began to absolutely downpour outside. I was pleased by our field rental from the jump, but boy was I even more thankful that Brother Joseph had gotten this one considering the covered field meant safety from Myanmar’s heavy monsoon season. We scrimmaged for nearly 25 minutes before blowing things to a (temporary) halt. Why? The food was here!

First to be delivered were bags and bags and bags of chicken biryani, each styrofoam container filled to the brim with meat and rice. Grace was on the side scooping ice cream into big bowls for the children. Brother Joseph was there to pass out refreshing drinks. It was a spread and a half!

I disappeared off to the side to take down a box of biryani myself, right beside Brother Joseph. Before I could finish my meal though, I stood up and did a lap by the team benches, just to check in with the kids. “Everything taste good guys?” I said, gesturing to them with a thumbs up.

They looked up from their plates, still able to muster a smile though their mouths were stuffed with food, putting down their spoons for only just a second to return a thumbs up my way. The futsal venue was nice enough to give me a large amount of water “on the house”, and I took that bad boy down too. I was dying of sweat, so much so that you would’ve thought I had played a full 90 in the monsoon from earlier, though I’d been under an awning the whole time.

The time was now a little past 12:20 and I turned to Brother Joseph to ask a question. “What’s next?” I said.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, “the kids are going to play again.”

They grabbed their footballs and ran back out there, just as did I. A keeper threw himself in net while we spent the better part of thirty minutes rifling shots his way from half court. I exchanged glances with a younger boy positioned beside me, challenging each other to hit the upper left corner. He went mid-height, while I went top-drawer, us both returning a look of commendation to each other afterwards.

It was a firing range of kicks at goal, and I won’t even lie, we kept going until the instep of my foot was bruised and my hamstring could barely function anymore. But man… the kids were having a blast. The clock struck 1 o’clock and we were whistled off the field, for another group had reserved the next hour slot.

Our van scooped us up and whisked us off to Brother Joseph’s home, where we all cooled down with some hand fans and cold pineapple while kids disappeared upstairs one by one to freshen up. I was thankful for a warm welcome and a successful programming day.

“They’re going to sleep really well tonight, maybe even as early as 9 PM,” Brother Joseph said, looking out at all the knackered faces sitting in front of him.

“Many thanks for everything today, Brother Stephen,” were his last words as my taxi scooped me up just outside.