Monday arrived and with it, our last Pakistan-based program. With an early flight scheduled for 6 a.m. Tuesday, we were cutting it close with the 9 a.m. program, but as always, I was up for the challenge. Plus, this reschedule was mostly my fault. Faryal and I had originally planned to work in both groups (the young boys and the older girls) the Thursday prior, but that was always going to be a tall order while adjusting to jetlag.

On top of that, I know my body and its limits, and two back-to-back sessions barely 48 hours into being in one country, is right about where I draw the line. The schedule change would benefit everyone too, as the girls could prepare a little bit longer for their session, while taking the Friday prior to enjoy an interactive field trip at a local theater in the city.

Happy to only have to haul 20 inflated soccer balls in my Yango, rather than 40, I hopped in the front seat and blasted the aircon to negate the effects of Karachi’s steamy temps. As mentioned, this was to be an early morning start: an 8:45 a.m. kickoff, right after a shortened version of the school’s daily morning assembly. As billed, the girls showed up and filed into a single line minutes before the clock struck 8:45. They were ready, as was I.

“Hello!” they said, a bit shyly, their hand waves almost as timid as their voices.

I knew it wouldn’t take much to get them out of their shells, though, and I sure was right. Within a matter of moments, they were cheesing and giggling as we debuted our listening drill with groups of two in a big circle. Although our first FKI collaboration was held on the school’s second floor in a tight little turf-lined space, we had opted to move things down to the ground floor to be able to utilize a little more room for our slightly bigger participants. We had more room than before, but the quarters were still tighter than normal. Still though, space is space! We made do, just like we always do.

Our relay races were well-received and the girls gave it their all through every variation introduced to them. Off to the side, just like the Thursday prior, our professional photographer – Azzal snapped pictures of the session, capturing joy in its pure (and untouched) form. Fifteen minutes of relays out of the way, it was time to move onto a different drill. Next on the docket, our listening exercise followed by our body part dribbling game.

“Head!” I yelled out, pointing to my head.

The girls all followed suit.

“Toes!”

More of the same.

“Head!” I yelled out again, this time pointing to my toes.

The kids followed my hands, rather than my voice.

“Toes!” I exclaimed, pointing at my head.

Once again, more of the same.

“Fooled ya!” I yelled out, as the kids responded with a chorus of giggles.

The giggles would only increase as we transitioned over to the day’s dribbling drill.

“Hand!” I yelled out, watching the girls reach down to stop the ball with either of their palms.

“One finger!” they reached down to ‘trap’ the ball with their pointer fingers.

“Two fingers!” they added their middle or thumb to the ball resting on the ground just before them.

“No fingers!” they all looked at each other quizzically before removing any touch from the ball.

“One finger again!” The girls laughed and cheered.

The school was about to break for recess and Faryal asked that we wrap the session up to move to our old turf grounds. After all, with 800 other students flooding onto the quad, things were about to get a whole lot busier.

Taking advantage of the break we had been given, the girls took five to snack on some chicken sandwiches and juice boxes provided by Faryal.

Some finishing before others, I called about seven participants over at a time to run “Red Light, Green Light” with them, since the game had been so well-received in our first FKI session.

“Red light!” I yelled, watching the seven girls halt to a stop.

After a pause, I tried to trip them up – just like our head/toes debacle earlier on.

“Red light!” I yelled out again, with many of our fierce competitors flinching and falling over their feet.

“Green light!” I exclaimed.

“Green light!” I yelled again, after a pause.

“Red light!” The girls stopped, their brakes screeching to a halt.

“Good job girls,” I said, with a smile, extending my hand for a high five.

A couple of them took the bait, reaching out their hand for one in return.

I chuckled, having tricked them successfully, though ever-so-cruelly. I knew my time was limited, especially with our off-to-the-side snackers soon ready to join back in, so I made sure to run a couple different variations while I could. First, our student athletes ran simply carrying the ball in their hands. Next, they dribbled it with their feet. And lastly, they hopped forward with it lodged between their knees.

Taking full advantage of the comfy turf we called home, I led the girls through our ball control exercise, as some of the older ones were gracious enough to step in as leaders for the grids on each side of me. Still, though, I wanted to test our participants’ 1) memory and 2) attention.

“Head!” I yelled out, a callback to our first activity on the day.

The girls scrambled to touch the sides of their dome with their hands.

“Well done, girls! Way to pay attention,” I exclaimed.

We had very little time left, so I circled the group up in order to show them some tricks. I had already planned to do so, but Faryal had asked if I could do a little freestyle performance to close out the session. I knew my hamstring was throbbing, but I was committed to do my best. First, I tossed the ball up onto my forehead, balancing it there before rolling it up to give it a little smooch. Next, I hit a neck stall before dropping to the ground for some sit down juggles. I felt my hamstring on its last legs and oh-so-close to popping, so I rose to my feet and hit a quick bow – Faryal more than understanding of the situation.

“Your turn now, guys!” I yelled out.

“Our turn??!!” they answered, in disbelief.

Faryal stepped in, grabbing five volunteers to learn our neck stall, which they did quickly and perfectly. With no time left, we distributed the day’s bounty, new footballs and new Pakistan-colored bracelets for each participant.

“Sir?” said a girl quietly, before rattling off some words in Urdu.

“She said, ‘please tell your mom I said thank you [for the bracelet]’,” Faryal translated.

I was touched.

“I will! And you are most certainly welcome,” I said in return.

Nothing left to give and nothing left to say, the kids all marched back to their classes, footballs in hand – with their names penned on them in blue permanent marker. Two sessions done and dusted, it was time for celebration.

“We’ve prepared you another meal,” said Faryal with a smile, myself excited to not need to worry about lunch on the day.

We sat down at our familiar kid-sized table as our spread was laid out in front of us – a delicious reshmi paneer handi (creamy, cheesy chicken).

“Please, Stephen, dig right in,” Faryal said.

When I tell you, this dish was amazing. “Faryal! Thank GOD, you saved this dish until my last day here in Pakistan… or else I would’ve eaten it every day for all three meals!” I said, cleaning off every last corner of my plate. 

“Being in community-based work, we all have our favorite success stories… Faryal, can I ask what yours is?” I asked, eager to know her answer.

She smiled. Why? Because just like myself and anyone else in this field, we know. We always know. Her’s told the tale of a young boy named Saif. He was unfortunately dealt a far tougher hand than most in his young, young life. Diagnosed with cancer, he was given just two months to live. Faryal asked the boy what his dream was and the one thing he ever wanted in life was. Surprisingly, his answer was simple – a goat. You see, Saif’s diagnosis made life very challenging for him. His classmates would keep their distance, afraid to be around him. “We might get it too, if we stay too close to him,” they said, misinformed. At the end of the day, Saif just wanted a friend. Hence, he asked for a goat.

So, Faryal got to work. She acquired a goat. She paid for it. And she delivered it to Saif’s family. A goat riding a rickshaw. I never thought I’d see the day. A dying boy’s last wish was fulfilled, he enjoyed all the time he could with his new “friend” – all thanks to Faryal. Saif did end up passing away, and with time, Saif’s dad had forgotten what Faryal’s face looked like – as did she to him. But one day, at school, the two adults were reunited and Saif’s dad was able to share just how much of a godsend the goat had been.

“Faryal, he had so many happy memories with that goat. We all did,” the man said. It was a beautiful tale of connection, loss, and grief – all intertwined. A drop in the bucket, when it came to Faryal and her work, but still, she seemed to remember every single ‘drop’ there was.

“You know, Stephen, there’s another story I like… it’s about a boy and a water bottle,” she said.

“Please, go on!” I answered.

Evidently, another boy in a similar health situation had been asked the same question by Faryal. His answer was even simpler, all he wanted was an automatic water bottle like his classmates at school. So, Faryal bought him one.

“Stephen, Pakistani kids are very simple. It doesn’t take much to make them happy. Imagine? Some days it’s a goat, but others… even just a water bottle can bring them so much joy,” she said.

I couldn’t help but smile, because yes, some days it’s a goat, others it’s a water bottle, but today, it was a football. At the end of the day, no matter how you swing it, joy is joy, and it is beautiful.

Shukriya, Pakistan! (Thank you, Pakistan!)