Barely three weeks had passed since a long summer of Philippines-based programming and my legs were already itching to get back out on the pitch. I hammered down and worked for about three weeks, but finally, the day had come. It was time to get back on the road.

I checked in for my flight, packed a bag and a half of footballs, and happily began my seven-hour commute to JFK airport. I was heading to what at first might seem like a new country to the Around the Worlds story, but in truth, this trip was a long time in the making.

About ten months ago, I sat at my desktop hitting “confirm” on a round trip itinerary to Karachi, Pakistan. We didn’t have any contacts there, nor any confirmed programs, but still, I was hopeful. I hit “pay” and almost immediately realized the fault in my actions, specifically, the fault in my timing. The dates I booked the trip for fell right smack in the middle of Ramadan. With nearly 97% of the country practicing Islam, the thought of a football program let alone any high-intensity physical activity seemed insane during a time of devotion and fasting.

I triggered a refund within the 24 hour booking window and well, that’s how our Ethiopian programs came to be. Still though, I was hopeful that Karachi would happen eventually. No matter how long it took, we’d find a way. After all, what’s Around the Worlds if not just a decade-long journey of “finding a way”?

Sure enough, October 7 was that day and as the Mandalorian says, “this is the way.” My feet hit the ground in Karachi and I was immediately welcomed by an attack on all the senses. Noise, smells, traffic, and people. Lots and lots of people! This was hardly uncommon amongst the major cities Around the Worlds has been to, so I took a deep breath and relished the opportunity to acclimate and then explore a new locale. Thankfully, my contacts were absolutely golden.

One graciously prepared a customs document, which the officer read through intently before waving me on through the arrival gates without a single word of English or Urdu spoken.

I settled into a nice apartment, featuring one bedroom and two bathrooms, in the Phase 6 Defense Authority neighborhood and got straight to inflating footballs for an early morning session on Thursday. For reference, my flight just landed on Tuesday evening, so this was a faster turnaround than most. A couple naps and jet lag-labored sleeps later, Thursday morning had come.

I called a Yango (Pakistani ridesharing service) and pinned the day’s location: Abdullah Shah Gazi Government Girls School. Arriving 15 minutes before our scheduled session, I was ushered through a tall metal door to the right of the school’s front gate, one very appropriately donning a massive Pakistani flag mural.

When I walked through the door, I felt like I was entering a party. The atmosphere was celebratory. Green streamers and plastic plates fashioned into footballs hung from the rafters, all to welcome the day’s football program. Meanwhile, upstairs, 20 young athletes stood at the ready, ever-so-prepared to learn footy the Around the Worlds way.

“We were hard at work here to welcome you!” said my wonderful contact, Faryal.

“The kids have been training for the past couple weeks, in anticipation of your arrival,” she shared.

Eager to build off of that excitement, an associate of Faryal’s had coordinated shorts and uniforms for the boys, while Faryal herself ran them through some basic training drills to begin. With Around the Worlds now on-site, she was excited to turn those basics to some higher-level training. Not necessarily out of my wheelhouse, but certainly not playing to my biggest strengths, I knew the task on hand for the day was a tall one. Why, you might ask?

These were little tykes. Boys in the 4-5 year old range, and not just a handful of them – 20! Of course, though, those 20 students were just a drop in the bucket when it came to the school with an annual enrollment of over 800 pupils. Faryal present, my own boots laced up tight, and even a professional photographer in attendance, it was time to get started.

I greeted the boys and they greeted me back loudly. We formed a semi-circle for our first drill of the day – a listening exercise led by both Faryal and I. Then, I instructed the boys to all grab their own football so we could hit our “dribble until you hear the whistle and then stop the ball with whatever body part I command you to” drill.

“Hand!” I yelled out.

“Done!” the kids yelled.

“Feet!” I said.

“Done!” the boys yelled back, in unison.

Things were running smoothly, but I knew that wouldn’t always be the case. We broke into relay races and my luck (expectedly) ran out. Luckily though, it wasn’t for long. It was simply just the young boys’ inexperience showing. In their youth, they were having trouble grasping the concept of our basic relay races. The simple guideline of running to the cone across from them just could not seem to be understood.

Instead, they (as in all four lines) opted to run to the same one cone in the center of our grid. Nothing a good example can’t fix though! And myself along with our incredible teachers on hand quickly rectified the situation. Fortunately, our next game was a little bit more easily understood. That game was, of course, “Red Light, Green Light.”

In between our three variations and associated rounds, our numbers had fallen from 20 down to 19. Evidently, one boy was feeling unwell, but I was still hopeful he’d join us later in order to get in on the fun. Just in case though, we set aside a ball for him so he wouldn’t miss out on the day’s take-home prize. I loved how engaged the boys were, though that kind of eagerness is not uncommon among beneficiaries this young.

Nearly an hour and 45 minutes had passed and I decided we would cap off the session with our program mainstay: teaching the boys how to do a neck stall. Though their frames were tiny, they sure were mighty, grasping the technique in only a matter of moments. I smiled in the background, as they smiled at the forefront of our beautiful turf space on the second floor of the school.

“Say ‘teeka’,” Faryal said to me.

“It means ‘cool’ in Urdu,” she added.

“Teeka!” I yelled out, as the boys’ faces lit up.

Two hours in and plenty of energy expended, it was time to wrap things up with a new football and a Pakistan flag-colored bracelet for each student. They smiled and yelled “thank you!” – holding the yellow footballs under their arms, though they were almost as big as half of their bodies. I was grateful for our teachers too, and made sure they each received a bracelet as a small gesture of appreciation for their help.

“Come with me, Stephen, we have prepared a small breakfast for you… just to say thank you,” said Faryal.

She invited the principal of the school up to our small classroom space and I chuckled as the five of us, all adults, sat down at a kid-sized table surrounded by kid-sized chairs. I was excited to chat with Faryal and more so, to congratulate her on the latest milestone of her foundation – aptly named “The Faryal Kamran Initiative.” Her and her team had just celebrated five years of their community-based work.

I was eager to pick her brain. “Any advice for someone wanting to start, but unsure where & how to begin?” I asked.

“Just start,” she said. “Have courage & start. On top of that – start young.”

Just like the kids she works with, Faryal understands that NGO work requires a level of resilience that young people don’t just seem to have, but have in droves. Personally, for her it required a level of not just self-investment, but self-belief – receiving support from family and friends in order to build things from the ground up.

Of course though, both our stories (and milestones) paled in comparison to the woman sat across from me. Faryal helped translate from Urdu to English, as I was able to learn the story of Abdullah Shah’s principal. For 23 years she had served the school, taking two buses daily just to commute there.

“She’ll even come here when she is sick!” Faryal shared. Of course, a testament to someone with a real heart for her work and more so, for the kids her work touches.

“Man!” I exclaimed. “Here we are talking 5 years, 10 years – meanwhile, 23 years over here! You’re a legend!” I exclaimed.

The principal smiled, taking the moment of silence to thank me for the bracelet and for choosing to bring our sessions to the school. Plus, five years in, the sky really was the limit for Faryal and FKI. They are currently looking to expand their work, looking to adopt another government school – ideally a boys’ school next. I was curious to hear the motivation behind her work, though anyone lucky to share conversation with her could easily gather it through basic context clues.

“This work fills my heart,” she said.

I just sat there and nodded. Because I get it, I mean we all do. Without a doubt, everyone at that table – from charity directors to photographers to teachers and administrators… we all got it.

“Please be honest, Faryal, how was today for you? How’d it go?” I asked.

“It was so perfect!” she answered.

I gathered my things and thanked those present for sharing a post-program meal. Before I could stand though, I was stopped dead in my tracks.

“Wait, Stephen! We have something for you,” said Faryal.

She handed me a FKI swag-bag while the principal approached me with two handcrafted pieces of traditional Pakistani garb. I was touched. I couldn’t put them on any faster if I had tried, and smiled ear to ear as we posed for a picture.

“Teeka!” I yelled out, leaving the session happy as a clam – with my own set of thoughtful gifts, just like the kids.