Living Proof

The only reason I’m alive is because of two random, unlikely acts of kindness.

To tell you about them, I have to go back to the beginning, all the way back to the day I almost wasn’t born.

My family is from Liberia, a small country in West Africa between Sierra Leone and the Ivory Coast. In 1990, when my mother was pregnant with me, the country was in the midst of a horrific civil war. More than 200,000 Liberians died.

My mother was almost one of them.

The way my mother tells it, she was nine months pregnant with me and about to go into labor. A friend was guiding her through the streets of Liberia’s capital, Monrovia, in the middle of the night, trying to find help. The streets were dangerous, especially at night. There was no electricity, no light — only darkness, with rebel soldiers killing any civilians they could find. 

So when two rebel soldiers ran up on my mother and her friend, all they could think was, This is it … we’re gonna die.

The rebels grabbed my mother and her friend and led them to a nearby house. My mother prayed under her breath as they entered the home. Inside, there was a woman. The rebels turned my mother and her friend over to this woman … and then they left.

That woman, it turns out, was a midwife. And throughout the night, that woman stayed at my mother’s side. The following morning, she helped deliver me into this world on the floor of that home. 

The same morning, my mother and her friend fled the house to get me home safely. She never saw the soldiers or the midwife again.

I wrestle with that story to this day. Those rebels easily could have killed my mother. But for whatever reason, there was a kindness in their hearts, and they decided to help her. They spared her life and gifted me the opportunity to have mine.

I still wonder why.

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I know that’s a pretty heavy story to start out with. But I tell that story from my distant past because it highlights something I find myself returning to again and again as a grown man. 

These days, one of my favorite things to do is work with the young kids at the Boys & Girls Clubs of Central Ohio. And, above all else, I preach to them the power of kindness. I think it has a lot to do with remembering the kindness those rebels and that midwife showed my mother.

I don’t tell the kids that story. But I’m telling you because it reminds me to be grateful that I have a life at all, and that I have a responsibility to do something positive with it.

The stories I tell the kids are mainly about what it was like for me growing up in Ohio. That’s our common ground. I also talk about the power of sports. Because during my most difficult times as a kid, I turned to soccer. And all the biggest moments and achievements in my life seem to be connected through this beautiful game.

Soccer was my family’s way out of Liberia. My dad played professionally in France, so he wasn’t there to help my mother. But because of him, my mother, my brother, and I had a place to escape to.

I was five months old when we fled the war. We spent the next decade hopping around Europe with my dad while he played for different clubs in France, Switzerland, and Greece. In those places, there weren’t a lot of kids who looked like me — a Black kid straight from Africa.

Thank God for soccer. That was the great equalizer. Everywhere you went, kids were playing soccer. Before school, at recess, during lunch, after school while you’re waiting to get picked up, at home with your friends in the evenings … soccer was everywhere. And on the pitch, everyone was welcome.

Then, when I was 11, my parents split up. 

My dad stayed in Europe to continue his soccer career, and my mom brought me, my brother, and my two younger sisters to the U.S. to get an education — you know, pursue the American Dream.

Ohio was the opposite of Europe. In East Cleveland, just about everybody looked like me. On the surface, I fit right in. But these kids weren’t playing soccer. They were playing football, baseball, and basketball. They were dressing differently than me, listening to different music. I had no connection point. No equalizer.

We lived in an apartment complex with these tall brick walls. And I remember being outside every day, all alone, kicking my soccer ball against the wall, competing against myself to see how many times I could keep the ball up without letting it hit the dirt. It was good training. 

Just … lonely.

It was the same at school. I had nobody to play with at recess. Nobody to talk to. No friends. 

You ever seen a movie or a TV show and there’s that scene where a kid’s standing in the lunchroom holding his lunch tray, looking for a group to sit with, but he ends up having to walk past everyone and sit by himself? 

That was me when I first got to East Cleveland. It definitely wasn’t fun, but looking back on those times, there’s a lot that I learned from them. Lessons that I still draw on. And I often find myself telling those East Cleveland trying-to-fit-in stories to the kids down at the Boys & Girls Clubs. 

I see a lot of myself in some of them, and I know many of those kids are going to new schools and will have to deal with that loneliness. Some others will be on the opposite side of that equation, welcoming new kids to their school.

Those situations require two different skill sets. The first is about perseverance — patience, getting comfortable being uncomfortable, being vulnerable so people can get to know you. You have to proactively put yourself out there and make an effort to connect with people, and not lose hope if it doesn’t happen right away. That can present a difficult mental struggle for a young person.

The second is about kindness — empathy, being welcoming, understanding what that new kid is going through, and making it easier for them to become a part of the community.

I didn’t understand how to navigate being the new kid when I first came to East Cleveland. I didn’t have the tools. So things didn’t really change for me until about a year after we moved to Ohio and I joined my first soccer club, the Cleveland Internationals. Finally, making friends became easier, because we could bond over the game we loved. And not only did I have a new group of friends, but their parents welcomed me into their families. They fed me, drove me to and from practices and tournaments, and showed me a kindness that made me feel like I was one of their own.

Traveling to tournaments was the best part. Just being with my teammates and their families, going out to eat, playing the craziest games of tag in the hotels — that’s when, for the first time in my life, I started to feel at home.

That’s when I fell in love with Ohio.

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As I got older and started thinking I might have enough talent to play professionally, I would hear other guys talk about how they dreamed of playing in Europe, and I just wasn’t interested in that. I had done my time in Europe. For me, it was Ohio or nowhere. 

All I wanted was to play for the Columbus Crew.

I stayed pretty close to home to play at the University of Akron. So the first time I moved out of the state was when the Portland Timbers took me second overall in the 2011 MLS draft. It was an honor to be the first draft pick in the franchise’s history and exciting to start my professional career, but it was a difficult transition.

I remember I had gotten an apartment downtown, and I went out to go grocery shopping. I was walking around, looking for a Giant Eagle. (That’s the big grocery store chain back home.) But all I saw was a bunch of places called Safeway. It was either that or Albertsons. 

So I called up my girlfriend, who’s now my wife. She was still back in Ohio.

“Hey, can you look up where there’s a Giant Eagle in Portland?”

This was 2011, but I still had one of those really old flip phones coming out of college, so I didn’t have Internet. 

“Uhh … there’s no Giant Eagle in Portland,” she replied.

“What? C’mon….”

“I’m telling you, there’s no Giant Eagle out there.”

It’s funny how something as basic as that can make you feel out of place. And when those little things add up, they can eat away at you and make you feel like you don’t belong.

Even when you’re not a little kid anymore. 

I mean, loneliness is loneliness, right? It can jump up and mess with you at any age, and then it’s like … How can I push past this? What can I do to start feeling better, and more connected to the community around me?

Thank God for soccer. 

That’s what focused my mind. And things got easier after a few months, when my girlfriend moved out to Portland. Then, in 2013, I began to feel even more at home when my college coach from Akron, Caleb Porter, took the Timbers job.

Listen, I cannot overstate what Coach Porter and his family meant to me when I was at Akron, and what they’ve meant since. When I was away from my family for the first time, Coach Porter and his wife welcomed me into their home and treated me like one of their own. The kindness they showed me — always making sure I had the means to get to and from practice, and that I was doing well in school — is something I’ll never forget.

And when it came time for me to leave Akron for MLS, it was Coach Porter who helped me find the right agent, made sure I surrounded myself with people I could trust, and guided me in avoiding the common mistakes young athletes make when they go pro.

He’s been a father figure to me from the time he recruited me. 

So when he joined me in Portland, I couldn’t have been more excited. It showed on the pitch, too. In his first season there, I had the best year of my professional career, numbers-wise. And it had everything to do with his leadership. 

We had a great run in Portland that included an MLS Cup in 2015. But when Coach Porter left after the 2017 season, I moved on to Atlanta.

My wife and I had our first two children in Portland. In 2018, we had our third, born in Atlanta. And as our family grew, I began feeling the pull of our families back in Central Ohio. I wanted our kids to grow up around their cousins. To be around family.

Then, before the 2019 season, Coach Porter took the job in Columbus. 

I told Atlanta that if there was ever a way for me to get back to Ohio, I would jump at that opportunity. And to their credit, after the 2019 season, they traded me to Columbus.

I was going home.

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Sometimes I can’t believe how well my life has turned out — coming home to Ohio, winning two MLS Cups with the Crew, raising my kids in an incredible community surrounded by family … I’m grateful every day. I’m living proof of the power of kindness and the magic of this beautiful game.

But I realize that not everybody has something like soccer, which has given me so much.

That’s why I love working with the Boys & Girls Clubs. It provides a safe space and allows kids to feel like they’re a part of something bigger than themselves, and it gives them the resources they need to reach their full potential, whatever they choose to pursue.

I think kids look at athletes and entertainers sometimes and they put us on a pedestal and assume that we must live perfect lives. But it’s not like that. We’ve all gone through difficult times, and will again. That’s why, when I talk to these kids in Central Ohio, I want them to know that I was once in the same place they’re in now. I want to show them it’s possible to start where they’re at, like I did, and still achieve their dreams.

To help do my part in encouraging them to reach for those dreams and to never give up or lose faith, I’ve teamed up with Audi. They’re contributing $40,000 through the Audi Goals Drive Progress fund to support the Boys & Girls Clubs of Central Ohio. It’s an tremendous honor that I’m truly grateful for.

Because of what soccer has given me — and because of all the incredible people who have shown me such kindness throughout my life — I have always felt a deep responsibility to make the best use of the platform I have. I don’t want to waste it. 

I feel the same about this life I have — the one that very easily could have been taken from me before I was even born. I don’t want to waste that, either. 

I believe that raising my three kids well, being the best father I can be, and helping inspire the next generation through the Boys & Girls Clubs is the best way I can do that.

Doing it in Central Ohio is just the icing on the cake. 

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Audi Goals Drive Progress initiative supports MLS athletes making an impact off the pitch through financial contributions to nonprofit organizations that create sustainable communities, foster equity and inclusion, and enrich the lives of those in need. Through the Audi Goals Drive Progress fund, Audi will be contributing $40,000 to Boys & Girls Club of Central Ohio in celebration of the work that both the organization and Darlington do for their community. For more stories on Audi’s commitment to supporting MLS athletes and their community initiatives, please check out additional content from the “Celebrating Impact” series.