Dear Roxane

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Dear Roxane, 

Remember when somebody bought me a fake United jersey, and I wrote Ronaldo 7 on the back with the black marker? 

We didn’t know rich or poor. We just knew happiness. 

Remember 25 people sleeping in one house back in Abidjan? Mum wanted to watch her soap operas. Everyone else wanted to watch movies. Remember how I always used to fake like I was asleep and then go into the TV room after midnight? I’d put the TV on real low. Just like 2 volume bars. I’d watch football in the dark and dream. 

Remember when the adults saw me playing football in the dirt and nicknamed me “Roberto Carlos” because of how hard I would shoot? And remember how I was secretly so mad about it, because CR7 was my idol?

Remember when I went to play so far from home? I was 9 years old. Inter Foot Sud Comoé, all the way near the Ghana border. Just a little boy on his own. I don’t know if I ever told you this story, but me and the other kids used to go into the village and steal potatoes because we were so hungry. We did a “bank heist.” Two kids distracting the shop owner, and 18 other kids running out with two potatoes. They weren’t even good. But they tasted amazing. Hahahah. It’s still my favorite thing to eat. Boiled potatoes with some oil. It reminds me of those times. 

Remember when I got my first real football boots, and I used to sleep with them? Growing up, I always played in those white plastic sandals. Even when I go back home now, I still play in them. It’s our tradition. 

Remember when I would come back home, and you would tell my friends from the neighborhood, “Why did you stop training? Yan is not going to buy you cars. You have to keep working.” 

You were 10 years old, and already my agent. 

Remember how we used to sit and dream about moving to France? How we were going to go shopping and get our own apartment and I was going to be a rich footballer with cars and a big house, and you wouldn’t have to worry about nothing. You were the one who always believed that I could be the next Cristiano, when everybody else laughed.

Remember when I moved to America for high school at 15, and I was so homesick? I didn’t know what anybody was saying for months. They sat me next to a French kid, and he tried to translate everything the teacher was saying. Remember when I called you, saying, “You won’t believe it, the kids here argue with teachers.”

Back home, you know we wouldn’t even dare to blink at our elders.

Remember when I couldn’t believe the kids were smoking after school? 

You used to say it sounded like I was in an American TV show. 

Remember when they took me on trial at Bournemouth? At Chelsea, Rangers, Olympiacos, Crystal Palace? Eze and Olise even came up to me after one training and said, “Yo kid, you’re really good.” 

But they still didn’t sign me. 

Even the B teams in the MLS didn’t want me. I didn’t even know why. They never gave me a reason. The adults handled everything. They just kept taking me all around Europe, and everybody kept saying no.

My visa was up. My dream was over. They sent me back to Africa, and we cried together. 

You were the one who never stopped believing. A few weeks later, I signed for Leganés and we cried different tears. 

That was back when I used to have emotions. Now, I don’t feel anything. It’s like I’m not even human. Since you died, I’m just blank.

I don’t even think I shed a tear the day they told me that you were gone. I was just in shock. 

It was a few weeks after I made my debut for Leganés. Who makes their debut at 18 against Real Madrid? It was too crazy. It was a dream. 

And then it was a nightmare. Someone kept calling me from back home. I was annoyed. I didn’t understand why they kept calling me. 

I picked up, and they didn’t even soften it. You know how it is back home. No emotions. Just……..

“Your sister is gone.”

“What?”

“She died.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Somebody put something in her drink at a party, and she never woke up. She is gone.” 

You were 15. 

15. 

I never got any answers. I don’t know if I want to know why. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it’s just something that happens in our country. Maybe I could have protected you. I don’t know. 

I try to trust God’s plan. It’s all I can do. I don’t try to forget, because I know I won’t forget. All I can do is use the pain to work harder, and to do everything we dreamed about. 

I wrote this because I can’t speak about it. I wrote this because I want you to know that I will make sure that you live on. I will make sure that everybody knows your name. The whole world. 

Everything I do on a football pitch, it’s for you. 

So much has happened since I last saw you…… You would not even believe it. I don’t know if I believe it. 

You know what’s crazy? After my debut against Madrid, I actually swapped shirts with Mbappé. Remember when we used to watch him on TV, and you’d say, “Mbappé? Yeah, he’s good. But my brother is better.”

I was wrong about one thing. I don’t want to be rich. I see what it does to people, even to family. When I was at Leganés, everything I was earning, I was sending home. It got to the point where I didn’t even want money anymore. It was just a burden. They never stopped asking. I guess they thought I was a millionaire already. I didn’t even have an apartment. I was living at the training ground in a room with no TV. Just football and sleep, football and sleep. 

I didn’t want a big house. I didn’t want cars. I just wanted to put everything into football. Everything to show the world that my sister was right…….

Ha…. you will think this is funny.

When I moved to play at RB Leipzig, I was always late. Well, not late. But I was on time, which in Germany means you’re very late.

So you already know what I did next. I started arriving 90 minutes early to everything. I was so early all the time that the guys started calling me “The German.”

I always have to overdo everything. I have zero chill. You always said that.

The pitch is the only place that I feel at home anymore. It’s the place where I feel calm, and I can speak to you. I just wish you were still here so I could tell you….. We did it. 

Everything you said came true. 

We’re leaving for the World Cup tomorrow. For real. Your brother is going to play for Côte d'Ivoire, like Drogba, like Yaya, like Gervinho. 

I don’t even look at it like a game. I look at it like a stage. This is my chance to show the whole world what you saw in me. Every time I score, I’ll make sure everybody knows your name. I’ll make sure they don’t forget you. 

You always said that I could be better than Cristiano. If I see him there, I’ll tell him hello for you.

I’m going to do what you predicted, I swear. Before I even had real boots, you were telling everybody, “My brother is going to be the greatest in the world.” 

I will prove that you were right, or I will die trying. 

Your brother,

Yan