Soccer or football was my first love passion, and I went way up and way down with it for years, until I cracked my knee, several menisci and acls, coming down from a header on a desert hard field in Senegal, after scoring on a volley, then yelling at a teammate for never passing the coveted ball, then dribbling and having it stolen from me and the opposing team immediately scoring, a complete game, ending in complete pain, driving myself home in simultaneous excruciation and liberation.

Anyway. I also have a hard time being a soccer/football journalist, since it feels like being a reporter of my mother's womb, not a place I really want to return to.

But as a storm brewed in Makeni, Sierra Leone, the field behind the house where I was staying was glowing with such energy, vibrancy, that made me think of so much of my youth that I had to snap as they say there from my new position, finally accepting of being in the stands, not coming up with very good pictures, but being a witness to the wonderful flow and movement.

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