With our first of three sessions now in the books, it was time to move on to the next organization. The day’s beneficiary, Anjuman ul Hayat Islam, had a storied past and an impressive reputation. It was an orphanage, but one also providing educational/trade school opportunities for the boys living there.

“We are the oldest orphanage in all of Pakistan,” Zeeshan, Anjuman ul Hayat Islam’s managing director told me.

Zeeshan had been great ever since my first conversation with him. He was always responsive, quick to answer any questions I had about our forthcoming collaboration.

“25 kids, bags for giveaways, footballs for the organization, the weekend of October 11th.”

He noted everything, responding eagerly, just as excited for my arrival as I was. Zeeshan couldn’t help but gush when speaking about the orphanage.

“We’ve been around since 1932,” he said. “It’s been almost a whole century of our work here in Pakistan.”

“93 years!” I responded, “Mashallah!”

Zeeshan was caught by surprise. “Are you Muslim?” he asked. “Nope! But I have a bunch of friends who are. Plus, we’ve run plenty of programs in Muslim countries before,” I answered, with a smile.

I wanted not to leave the boys waiting any longer, as they were standing at the ready from even before the moment I stepped foot on campus. When my Yango arrived, they were already warming up and getting some touches on the ball – donning their favorite football jerseys along with some matching shorts. I didn’t want them to stand around any longer. “Let’s go boys!” I yelled out, officially commencing the Saturday morning session.

The day was early, but they had brought plenty enough energy to keep things bumping despite a 10 a.m. kickoff. I instructed the kids to partner up before grabbing a cone and a ball to be shared within each group.

“Okay, and now let’s get into a half circle,” I gestured to them, their English limited and my Urdu even more so.

Our first drill was a listening exercise, although the “listening” on the day was to be done with the eyes rather than the ears. Just as I’d done in a few past countries where my language capabilities were not up to par, I ordered the kids to focus their attention on me, repeating my movements themselves shortly after I performed them. Let’s call it glorified Simon Says, if you will.

Off the top of my head, the last time I ran a session this way was back in Egypt under my limited knowledge of Arabic. Luckily, just like back then, the boys were up to the task. They watched intently and did just as they were told, touching their head, their toes, their elbows, and more – before bending down to grab the ball before their partner at whistle’s blow. Still though, I wanted there to be more of a “listening” part to our listening drill. I mean… duh, right? I called Zeeshan forward, and had him run some rounds in Urdu, which he happily obliged.

Everyone was happy and smiling, and it was time to move on. Mid-water break, the boys posed a question.

“What is your name?” an older one asked.

“Coach Stephen,” I said with a smile.

“Coach Stephens,” they yelled out, not quite correct, yet plenty correct enough.

“And from what name is your country?” a younger boy asked.

“America,” I responded, before blowing my whistle to get the ball rolling yet again.    

I set up a tidy tic-tac-toe grid and we dove straight into it. This might’ve been my favorite drill on the day. The kids grasped it for the most part, but it did not come without its share of laughs and mishaps. Wrapping things up, I drew the boys in to teach them how to do a neck stall.

They raised their hands quickly and eagerly, hoping Zeeshan might call them forward to attempt to imitate me, but I didn’t fret, knowing we had enough time to give everyone a try. I watched on with pride, as one young buck managed to drop to the floor with the ball nestled on his nape and do SEVEN WHOLE PUSH-UPS. What a wizkid. I was floored.

As with past programs, there were plenty of high fives and even more positive reinforcement on display throughout the session, not just for our successful tricksters and goalscorers, but for those in defeat as well. Basically, we were rewarding the attempt, not necessarily the success of it. Just as it should be, at this age.

I was trying to spread a positive culture, but I was met with just as much of one in return with even the boys who weren’t participating in the session just as involved. At all times, they could be seen cleaning up our playing space, retrieving balls, setting up tic-tac-toe cones, and snapping pics all while we did our thing.

As our clinic wrapped up and I headed to the office to call a Yango, Zeeshan relished the opportunity to chop it up regarding the day’s events. Yes, the man was a cricket fan by trade, but he was not blind to the healing power of sport.

“How did you find the boys today?” he asked, eager to hear what I had to say, knowing my response would reflect him too, in a way.

Luckily, he needed not to fear. “They were amazing,” I answered, highlighting how respectful and helpful so many of them were.

“They’re good kids,” I added, as Zeeshan nodded his head in sound agreement.

Still though, it seemed like Zeeshan and the boys had not had enough football.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” he asked.

“We hope you will, inshallah (God-willing),” he added, ever-so-hopeful.

Truth is, I had nothing on my agenda for Sunday. Yes, it was a planned rest day, but I would much rather play some more footy rather than rest.

I looked at Zeeshan and smiled. “Sure! 10 AM?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Let’s do 11,” I said, knowing how my sleep (or lack thereof) had gone just the day before. Plus, I had a dinner out on the town scheduled with my FKI contacts and wasn’t completely sure what time we would be returning home.

Zeeshan confirmed the start-time and that was that. Just then, another man stepped into the office as we sat there chopping it up in the dark. The campus had lost power minutes before the program’s end, an extremely common occurrence in Pakistan.

Zeeshan was excited to show off. “This is a football coach,” he shared, as I extended my arm towards the new face in the office. “He came all the way here to teach our kids,” Zeeshan continued, proudly.

Plenty of positive chatter out of the way, I decided to call a Yango to bring me to my go-to lunch spot, Yum Cafe by Amna.

“Coach, your shoes!” yelled one of the boys, making sure my Nikes didn’t get left behind.

“Can I get you anything to drink before you leave?” Zeeshan asked, already so gracious to share his wi-fi hotspot with me, to begin with.

“Tea? Coffee? Juice?”

“I’ll take a juice, thanks so much, Zeeshan!” I said, as he disappeared down the hall and came running back with one in hand.

It was a productive morning with plenty of sweat and energy expended between the clinic’s start at 10 all the way until 11:30. I was hungry, sure. Tired, too. But above all, I was happy. Happy to share the joy of the game with yet another awesome group of kids in yet another country teeming with footballing talent.