After more than 10 years of doing programs in the Philippines, I realized last summer we could expand where we do programming in the beautiful island nation. We decided to move away from the island of Luzon and the capital region near Manila and expand to other islands.

We started this project in 2025 with a stop in Cebu for a session at a center focused on the protection and shelter of the city’s street children. In 2026, we landed on working in Palawan, the ever-so-popular tourist destination, and focusing our efforts in Puerto Princesa. We sure cooked up something special for this summer’s expansion.

Our beneficiaries for the Saturday morning session were a dozen beneficiaries coming from an incredible organization named Taw-Kabui.

The organization’s name comes from a word in Palawan’s local dialect meaning to “share a life”, which is exactly what the organization, their volunteers, and their staff members are doing. Their work benefits over 100 beneficiaries and some are located in very remote areas outside of Puerto Princesa. They do quite a lot of things with quite a lot of different people, and the bulk of their programming centers on children with developmental disabilities. I was excited and grateful for the opportunity.

I was in contact with their executive director, Ma’am Ofelia and her husband, Pastor Solomon for the better part of two months now. They were eager and so were the kids and their parents. As the program dictated, we had done plenty of planning ahead of time, for which I was thankful. Ma’am Ofelia coordinated logistics from her position on the ground, talking with beneficiaries and reserving space at the local court from the government for our weekend session. Throughout my time in the Philippines, we remained in close contact, all the way up until my arrival in Puerto Princesa. With best laid plans made, there was nothing left to do but get the ball rolling.

The morning started off differently than most. Palawan experienced a brownout, which is notorious for happening. From 4 a.m. until 5 p.m., there was no running water, no kuryente, no electricity, nothing. It threw me for a loop, but was nothing uncommon in my days in the field. After all, nothing a bucket shower couldn’t fix right? I’d been taking those ever since I was a kid in the Philippines, so it was really all just business as usual. I called a tricycle and made my way to the area’s local sports complex, which was only about a twenty minute ride away.

Once there, I was met by the smiling face of one of Taw-Kabui’s staff members. As things would have it, her face was just one of the many I’d be crossing paths with on the day. We were set to have nearly a dozen volunteer social workers from the local university join us as well! It really was about to be a full day. These students were currently doing their on-the-job training at the foundation to meet a 500 hour pre-graduation requirement.

“Okay, Kian, right foot. Cge, left foot na (okay, left foot now),” I said.

He nodded his head, controlling the ball ever so carefully.

“Malakas dapat (let’s kick it strong)!” I continued.

“Good! Galing (very good)!” I exclaimed.

He was happy to hear the positive reinforcement, and his passing and control already improved immensely in just the three minute window of our two-touches. Once our twelfth participant arrived, it was finally go-time. I opened the day up with our listening drill, which was ever-so well-received by this new set of beneficiaries. They enjoyed it so much that after I ran a few rounds, they were lining up to run a couple themselves! Of course, I happily obliged.

“Just remember, malakas ng boses mo (make your voice loud)!” I said, reminding our leaders to project so that everyone could hear them properly.

“Parang ganun (like this),” I said, putting my hands around my mouth and yelling loudly, as they nodded their heads affirmatively.

From there, we broke off into our dribbling drill, which was received just as well. Likewise, program participants were called front and center to run the drill by my side. Still, I wanted them to know they weren’t alone, so I made sure close communication was maintained all throughout.

“Pssst,” I said, looking at one of our captains on the day. “Francesca, ano pa next (what command should we do next)?”

She smirked. “Hmm… dib dib (chest),” she replied.

I blew my whistle and yelled out her command. Her smile widened, already thinking of what to say next.

“Kili kili (armpit)!” she yelled out, laughing all the while.

Francesca was a star and I noticed right at the beginning of the session. She was eager to help, wherever and however she could. I caught her collecting my cones after our listening drill without being asked. Beyond that, she even offered me snack crackers to eat from her own hands twice. I was touched, but hardly surprised. After all, all 12 participants were incredibly sweet from the moment I met them. I turned my attention back to the drill.

“Francesca, let’s do a jump command next,” I said. She agreed and did so swiftly.

“Jump!” she yelled out.

Our beneficiaries jumped in place, smiles painted across their faces.

“Jump ulit (jump again)!” Francesca commanded.

I looked at her and chuckled. “Sarap talaga magjump, noh (it’s fun to jump, isn’t it)?” I said.

“Oo naman (of course)!” she exclaimed.

Through water breaks, I was happy to chop it up with kids and their parents, just to maintain a healthy coach-pupil dynamic.

“What’s your name?” I asked one of our smallest participants on the day.

“Princess,” she said with a smile.

“May kapatid ba sya (does she have any siblings)?” I asked her mother.

“Hindi po, sya lang (no, just her),” she responded.

I grinned. “Ah… only child, ganun pala kase ‘princess’ sya (no wonder she’s called ‘princess’),” I said.

“Oo nga (exactly)!” her mother answered.

Water break done and dusted, we were moving on to a new drill – relay races. I took a moment to discuss with one of our many social workers in order to plan out the rest of the session.

Relays went well and with the program winding down, there was nothing left to do except teach the kids how to do a neck stall before letting them leave with prizes two and three on the day: brand new soccer balls and custom soccer bracelets.

They imitated my freestyle trick surprisingly well and unsurprisingly took an affinity with our bracelet gifts.

“Your mom made these?” asked one of our participants.

“Oo naman (yes)!” I responded. “Ganda, noh (they’re beautiful, right)?”

Fully armed with their new tee shirts, soccer balls, and bracelets, there was nothing left to do but snap some pictures and bid our beneficiaries farewell. I was happy, because even after the dust had settled, the kids and their families still remained very much present on the court. A conversation made me realize that this may have seemed like just a small football class, but in reality, it was far more than that.

Kuya Michael, our eldest and tallest participant, could be spotted snapping pics more than 15 minutes after session’s end.

“Hindi kayo finished sa photoshoot, ma’am (are you guys done yet with your photoshoot)?” we asked.

It was a happy sight. Kuya Michael surrounded by his family, clutching his brand new soccer ball proudly. He was 19 years old with level two autism, joined by his sister and mom.

“No, not yet po. Michael is happy kase… and we don’t really get out of the house often,” she said, offering a tiny window into the lives of our beneficiaries and their families.

As I made my way off the court, I heard a familiar voice from behind me. None other than Princess, our ever-so-appropriately named participant. Though not one to eavesdrop, I caught a whisper from her to her mom from behind as I walked off, “Coach Stephen, you are very good po,” sabe nya (she said).

“Ah, thank you Princess! Mana sa’yo friend! (Just like you!)” I responded, with a smile.

She locked eyes with her mom and they both smiled big. 

“Stephen, I’d be happy to drop you off wherever you’re heading,” said Ma’am Ofelia, as we made our way to Pastor Solomon’s car, parked just outside the venue.

I won’t lie, I was famished after the long morning session.

“We can take you to a place known for their chicken ‘inato’ (similar to chicken inasal BBQ in the metro) if you’d like,” she suggested.

“G!” I replied, “that sounds amazing.”

And amazing it was. Still, though, I wanted to hear their honest take on the day’s program.

“How was it, for you guys?” I asked, all but ready to close the door on this run of Palawan-based programming.

“It was really good!” said Ma’am Ofelia. “Like you saw today, sometimes the kids are interested, sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes their focus is concentrated, but other times, it comes and goes. But still, nagpawis sila (they sweated), they got out of their houses (with their families too, I might add), and they left with some gifts – shirts, footballs, and bracelets,” she added. “We are happy… and we are thankful, Stephen.”

Me too, Ma’am Ofelia. Me too.