When I first arrived in Manila in mid-June to kick off this summer of Asia-based programming, I fully expected to spend only two months on this side of the world. However, life had other plans. My original ticket back home was set for August 20. As I write this, it is now mid-September.

But how could I leave so soon? This country is home to me. It is half of who I am It is filled with countless loved ones and it has quickly become one of my favorite places to run Around the Worlds programs. After my other summer sessions, I was left with a surplus of equipment and knew exactly what I had to do. I called up an old partner, Kuya Center for Street Children and the rest was history.

“We’d love to see you, Sir Stephen!” the center answered. The last time I ran a program with them was last year. It had been the final stop of a four session run, which spanned two months, in the Philippines. We hashed out the details for our current collaboration so that I could run the program and still go on a much-needed island vacation with my mother and sister. We settled on a September 13 program with Kuya Center’s 17 beneficiaries.

As their name so clearly states, Kuya Center is on a passionate, never-ending mission to better the lives of Manila’s street children, providing them food, shelter, clothes, and an education. Meeting the children where they are, the center exposes them to a variety of outlets for help so that these kids, often battle-tested by the streets, can be just that, children.

I really enjoyed our first session and couldn’t wait to link up for a second one, hopefully with some familiar faces too!

Our session was slated for 2:30 in the afternoon. I headed out around 1 o’clock to get there on time. The kids heard the honk of a vehicle and flooded out the front gate while a staff member made sure a parking spot was available. The boys crowded around the truck, carefully guiding Rronyth and I backwards to a slot just beside the center’s office.

“No tagalog today,” said one of the boys. “Today we speak English!” 

As the boys changed into athletic wear, I was introduced to the new social worker at Kuya Center, a tall fella by the name of Jimboy. He recently replaced Ate Reg, who was there for our first program. I greeted him with a smile and a handshake, “Those are big shoes to fill, but kaya mo yan kuya!” (You can do it bro!)

In actuality, we would be working with 15 or 16 kids because some of the boys were too young to participate. I scanned the crowd and quickly realized that the day’s participants were far younger than our usual suspects. I welcomed the challenge and was excited to teach footy to some bright, and eager, young minds. As our last remaining players were entering through the wings, I approached my old contact, Fatima, known affectionately as Ma’am Faith, for a quick conversation.

“What’s the boys’ schedule today?” I asked Ma’am Faith, just to get an idea of how much time we had to work with.

“Wala!” (Nothing!) she said, “It’s the weekend na (now) and we blocked the whole day off for football, so take as much time as you need.”

“I got so excited when I saw you over the CCTV walking through the front gate because I knew the kids couldn’t wait to play football with you,” she added, much to my delight.

Just about ready to begin, my conversation shifted over to some of the older boys, three of whom had participated in our first session. We talked about everything footy-related, including about some of the world’s greatest players, which also included the boys recreating those players’ celebrations right in front of my eyes to let me know how serious they were about the game.

Nothing but soccer on the brain, it was time to get things going. I hit a quick intro chat with the boys and got right to work with our listening drill with nine footballs, and 16 kids grouped into partners.

We jumped straight into it: “Likod!” (Back)

“Pwet!” (Butt) – followed by an eruption of laughter.

“Bola!” (Ball!)

The boys caught on quickly. I ran a few rounds and then I let Kuya Jimboy take the helm. It was now time to move on to the relay races. 

I knew we had plenty of little bodies and even littler legs in the mix, so I was quick to call an audible, allowing the youngest boys to swap to a smaller size two ball if necessary for certain variations like our jumping with the ball between the knees. They appreciated the adjustment and ran with it. With this change, they were able to compete equally against their much bigger counterparts. I watched on with pride as the older boys stood alongside their younger teammates, encouraging them and cheering them on with unwavering excitement.

With only a few repeat faces in the mix, I was excited to introduce some newer games to the boys. Kuya Jimboy and I spent a few minutes during clinic prep to sketch out a tic-tac-toe grid with a block of chalk.

“Do the kids know this game?” I asked, once it was time to debut it.

“They should!” Kuya Jimboy answered, before one of the older boys shouted out that they knew it, but called it X’s and O’s instead.

We jumped straight into it, and I had a chuckle watching the boys navigate tic-tac-toe so frustratingly, clearly not understanding the rules as much as I hoped they might have. As the program progressed, I took time in between drills to connect more with Ma’am Faith. She pointed out one of the boys, a young chap named Nathan, easily one of the youngest in the session. His hair stuck up at the back, and his arms were bruised all over, though one or two cuts had been patched with a bandaid. Ma’am Faith seemed eager to share a little bit of context about the young boy’s life.

“Alam mo, Steve – You know, Steve – Nathan just arrived yesterday. He was found on the street without clothes, no birth certificate, living underneath a bridge of sorts. His parents surrendered him over to us because they had no way of caring for him or his well-being.”

Nathan, for his part, seemingly had no trouble adjusting to this new life of his. He was super happy throughout the program, sporting a huge smile on his face with every passing drill.

X’s and O’s successfully completed, I instructed every boy to get one of our size two footballs for the next drill.

Ma’am Faith smiled. “Stephen, I’m glad you have small footballs for them, because all of our balls here are all way too big and as you can see, some of our boys are so little,” she said, pointing out a young boy named JR, who was the youngest in the bunch at just 4 years old.

Tic-tac-toe was replaced by our dribbling drill, as I instructed the boys to spread out and use our large space wisely. Our 2023 program had been held on the center’s small rooftop play area, so it’s safe to say I was thrilled to have nice enough weather to use the (much larger) parking area this time around, despite a brief moment of panic induced by heavy rainfall in the south en route to the program.

“Paa!” (Foot!) I yelled out, as the boys all stopped their mini balls with their feet.

“Kamay!” They all knelt down to trap the ball with their hands.

“Likod!” I watched as the boys laid down on top of their soccer balls with only the ball sitting between their backs and the ground. “Okay guys rest na tayo, yeah? Pagod nako!” (Okay guys, let’s rest now, yeah? I’m tired!) I said, letting out a fake yawn.

I decided to up the ante.

“Dalawang kamay!” (Two hands!) The boys all knelt down to hold their mini balls with two hands.

“Dalawang tuhod!” (Two knees!) This one was even more challenging, but they were able to complete it successfully with just a little bit of extra effort, despite some complaints from the crowd. “Ahk! Masakit sya!” (Ouch! It hurts!) yelled some of the young ones. “Mahirap naman yan!” (That’s too difficult!) exclaimed another.

Next, as always, was curriculum mainstay Ulo o Kamay, also known as head-it, catch-it. One of our older boys had suffered a fall before program day and as a result, was sporting stitches and a bandage on his forehead. He couldn’t do headers, so I hit yet another audible and we instead did “kamay o paa” (hand or foot) before I let him run our next round to find another victor.

Winners found and prizes distributed, it was time to keep things moving. Our two hour program was reaching its inevitable end, so I demoed a neck stall before teaching it to some volunteers in the crowd. Of course, Nathan volunteered enthusiastically.

As two employees helped distribute program giveaways – drawstring bags and mini soccer balls, I returned back to Ma’am Faith’s side. She had caught wind of our next program location, in Africa, in a country she spent two years in for training.

“I still have contacts there if you’d like to run a session at a place just like this one!” she said happily.

I told her I was super thankful to return to the center and even more grateful to see some familiar faces in the mix.

“Your Tagalog keeps getting better!” she said. “I could hear it from inside the office!” This, a compliment of the highest order, given my toddler-level grasp of the Filipino language.

Ma’am Faith filled our hands with biscuits and juice boxes as Rronyth and I left the same way as we had arrived, the truck surrounded by the boys, this time yelling out “Bye, Coach!” “Salamat!” (Thanks!)

My heart was full because I didn’t expect to run another session in Manila, but I sure was glad I did. That joy, the post-program high would only grow, as Rronyth shared some of her favorite moments from the session.

Apparently, right in the middle of the program, the youngest boy went up to her and said “Ate, ang saya!” (I’m so happy!). Then, another young boy who wasn’t even participating, only spectating, said to her, “Ate ang bait niyo po.” (Sis, you guys are so kind)

I smiled wide because those comments only solidified something I already knew: these Philippines-based programs truly are special.