Only two weeks had passed since returning from a long summer of Asia-based programming and it was already time to get back on the road. My jetlag had only just subsided the day before hopping on another 12 hour flight, and I feared I would be permanently stuck in this cycle of 4 a.m. wake-up calls.

Where am I going this time around? I’ll be traveling to country number 62 on the Around the Worlds roster: Kenya. I was excited, Kenya had been on my radar for a long time, and after what felt like years of waiting, I was finally heading that way. With a quick stopover in Qatar, I arrived in Nairobi just around midnight. All my documents were on point, and though customs was, as per usual, customs’ing, the agent ultimately let me pass through with my footballs and apparel after sharing, “These will be a huge blessing to the children here.” Needless to say, the trip was off to a fantastic start. Plus, the interaction, though brief, would set the tone for plenty of friendly interactions to follow.

After a small hiccup checking into my apartment, a nice little number situated in nearby Fedha, right beside the airport, I finally settled in and hit an eight hour sleep. Unfortunately, one of our prospective partners, set for a Saturday program in the slums, had gone silent. I had blocked time off for them, but all I heard to my multiple pleas for confirmation were crickets. Luckily, one door had closed while another opened. I moved our scheduled Sunday session with another organization, also located in the slums, up to Saturday for an 11 a.m. start time.

It would be a perfect one to start this Africa-based run anyway, as we had 25 pairs of brand new Nike shorts to donate to our beneficiaries, which needless to say, had me stoked. For what it’s worth, my contact for this one was incredible. His name was Bobby Berry, and he was world-class right from the start. A full breakdown of the kids’ ages and apparel sizes, a field rental at a nearby park just beside the slums, and a stamped and signed customs document. I could never ask for more!

I hopped in an Uber and made the hour-long trip to the slums of Kibera, the largest neighborhood of its kind in Nairobi. Chopping it up with my driver, the trip went by swiftly and soon enough I was led through narrow alleys and low clearance corners by some of the kids that call Paradise Community Centre home.

“I trust you fully bro, you know the kids far better than I do,” I said to Bobby, handing over the 25 shorts for him to sort.

The kids disappeared into the wings, happily clutching their new Nike gear, before returning back down the stairs donning it on their person with a thumbs up and a smile. Everyone kitted up, kitted out, and ready to go, we began the 20 minute walk towards a nearby park, continuing down through the slums until we reached a main road. En route, the kids approached me with questions and curiosity as we spoke of all things football, school, and life.

They talked to me about their teachers and their classes. “Sometimes if we misbehave, they flog us!” they yelled out.

“It’s always our science teachers,” they said. “All of our chemistry teachers are so strict. I’ve never ever met a nice one, math too!” one boy said, evidently reliving the multiple floggings by pipe or paddle, on either the hand or behind.

“Coach, I’m a Liverpool fan!” said another boy, as we connected on all things Liverpool-related, Mo Salah, Steven Gerard, and even an upcoming weekend fixture against Chelsea.

“What are your predictions, boys?” I asked the crowd forming behind me.

“4-2 Chelsea… 4 goals by Jadon Sancho!” said one boy, clearly a Sancho fanboy.

I slowed my pace down, allowing Bobby to catch up so we could chat for a bit.

“My mom started this center 22 years ago. I took over four years ago, after her passing,” he shared.

“I’m sure those are incredibly large shoes to fill bro,” I said. “But you’re doing a tremendous job thus far.”

Finally, we reached the open play space, which was equal parts dirt and tall, long grass. It was fixing to be a messy session, but I could care less; it was time to play! I set up our listening drill while Bobby introduced me to the kids.

“Okay guys, divide yourselves into groups of three!” I shouted, as they quickly scurried around to situate themselves.

After a brief water break, we divided into three technical grids manned by myself, Bobby, and once again, Larry, to run the gamut of push passes, volleys, and headers. Over the years, we’ve had plenty of wildlife crash our programs, dogs, cats, and most recently, a duck during our last session in the Philippines. Well, today, a new animal would be entering that esteemed list – as a monkey emerged from the bush and circled around our playing grid, observing, but eager to get some touches on the ball, I have no doubt.

I was caught somewhere between laughing at the sheer hilarity of the situation and smiling at the joy it brought me, as after all, monkeys have been my favorite animal of all time ever since I was a kid. Once our special guest returned back to the bush, we broke straight into a big scrimmage with Bobby on the field, myself as the game’s referee for the day.

Coach Bobby had subbed himself in for one of the older girls, Chantiel, who exited over the goal line to go work with the little tykes, who were playing a little scrimmage of their own on the side. Coach wanted to get in on the action, made ever so clear as he bent down to lace his boots up just a little tighter. This scrimmage would be one for the books. No, not for the dirt-covered field, after all that’s commonplace by now. Rather, because of the goals at each end.

He didn’t want anyone laying in front of the goals, making the already impossible task of scoring a goal all the more so. I was so convinced the game would stay deadlocked for hours based on our tiny targets, but Coach Bobby quickly proved me wrong – rolling a bouncing effort through the metal wickets. 

His eyes caught mine. “See bro, I still got it!” he yelled out.

“Hey man, way more than me!” I answered, unafraid to call out greatness when I saw it.

Then, his team had a chance to double their lead after a penalty kick was called. Obviously, we couldn’t use goalies – so he paced ten steps back from the goal and placed the ball down in front of its kicker – one of the girls on his squad.

“Place your foot to the side of the ball and then try to kick it through with your other leg,” he instructed. “No run up allowed.”

She took a deep breath and did the sign of the cross before cocking her leg back. I held my breath just long enough to watch her effort trickle wide of the right post. Eager to get some touches, I deployed myself onto the opposing team, hoping to even things up, if possible. I lifted a couple crosses in, some absolute peaches, but the tiny goals proved far too hard to thread. I looked over and caught Bobby’s attention. “Bro, I’m telling you, I’d rather score on that tiny little goal than win the World Cup!”

He laughed and shrugged, knowing he could hardly relate as he was sitting on a brace and looking to complete his hattrick.

“I mean, I don’t know that feeling of scoring on these tiny nets but man… I’d like to know it,” I said to Bobby, as he called out a 5 minute warning before the end of our match.

One last effort put high and wide, I blew my whistle and brought the group in for a wrap-up chat. Coach Bobby smiled, saying to me, “I could’ve played for a few more hours, but I saw the kids were beginning to tire hence the five minute countdown.”

I was lowkey happy for it too, as I was feeling winded from both the program and the travel leading up to it. We all made our way back towards the park entrance as Bobby squared away payment for the field rental. It was only 2000 shilling (about $15), so I happily gave him two 1000 notes from my bag to cover the cost. As he sorted that, I lounged with the kids and talked more footy. Although they were sworn Chelsea fans and even donning the famous shade of London’s “blues”, the boys couldn’t believe it when I told them our US National Team had recently hired Mauricio Pochettino.

“Pochettino??!!!” they yelled, in utter surprise.

Perched atop our half tires dug into the ground, they yelled out over me to one another in Swahili, to confirm our newest head coach appointment, before returning back to conversation with me to get my honest thoughts on the hire. Finally, tired and sweaty, we all headed back through the winding slums to the shelter and comfort of Paradise’s home base. Coach Bobby helped me hail an Uber, and I was quick to thank him for his professionalism during the program and in the weeks leading up to it.

“I appreciate it big time for today,” he said. “Today was fun for all of us.”