I play rugby because they gave me a new shirt.

Not the shoes.

Maybe next time.

But I got a decent pair at the dump.

I play rugby because every Saturday they pick me up from the Kibera slum and take me to a beautiful green field.

I also play because after training and the match they feed me rice and meat.

It's the only time of the week I don't eat polenta, beans or field grass.

I like rugby because it makes me feel less lonely.

It's a bit like my life in Kibera: all crammed into tin shacks, one on top of the other in the scrum, trying to team up and come out together.

In the end you know it's just one guy who comes out and starts running towards the goal, until fate tackles him a little further on or, who knows, just when he was about to reach the final line.

Some people have made it, you know?

I play rugby also for this, for the dream.

To cultivate hope, which is born from daily suffering and can blossom into sudden joy.

Even if it's not right that suffering is a scrum of many and joy is always a lonely escape.

This is what I dream of: a goal to which, one day, we can all arrive together.