Alabi Moudjib Christian Adebounde

Dear Christian,

We met when you were playing for Militello. You lived in a small house the team had found for you in the villa, and you were very polite and kind, but still distant; you had not yet made friends with the family or the neighbours.

I will never forget, though, the evening when, with the football season over, you came up the drive to our house. You told me a little about yourself, about the hardship you were living through and the dark time you were going through, and then you bowed as a sign of respect and said to me: "Dad, please, help me." I remember being deeply embarrassed by your gesture, and at the same time surprised by the name "father" you had given me. I took your hands straight away to lift you up and said: "Christian, never do that again. A man never bows before another man, only before God." And I finished by saying: "I promise I will do everything I can, I can see you are a good lad. I'll talk to Pippo and Cesare about it."

The family welcomed you with open arms, and you returned that gratitude with great respect, involvement and initiative. At first it was just a small arrangement, which soon became a work contract that allowed you to stay in Italy and chase your great dream: becoming a footballer. I always told you: Christian, let it go. Enjoy your football... play for the local teams, it is too hard to reach that level. Think about building yourself a future. Focus on what you do, and here, at home, you will always have a safe place and can grow up calmly with at least some certain prospects. But sometimes I forgot that you were 22, and that at that age, with your talent and your love of football, my advice did not count for much. Just like when a father gives advice to his children! After all, you called Francesca and me Dad and Mum, and you really did seem almost like the eldest son, given the friendship you had with Pato and Cecio. There was a time when they only came to Sant'Agata because you were there, to play with you, to talk with you, as if you were their idol. It made me happy. You were their personal coach, their football coach, but above all their favourite player! Their idol, and the idol of their friends, who couldn't wait to come to Sant'Agata to meet you after all the stories they told about you. Right down to autographs on football shirts.

At the same time, the boys helped you get over your fear of water and get into the pool, and if you hadn't been such a scaredy-cat, they would even have taught you to swim.

And yet, dear Christian, these past days, trying to understand what was going through your mind, you have made me think, and tell myself again and again that if fate decided it had to be this way, it cannot be changed.

Your big, everlasting smile, the smile of a 22-year-old with big ambitions, hid your sadness and your struggles very well: your moral duty as a brother and a son to provide, whatever it took, for their basic needs, and your pain at being far away and unable to do more.

I read many articles in the local papers where everyone acknowledges, with great honesty, your big heart, your willingness to help, your kindness (except on the pitch, where, I am told, you fought like a lion), which made you an example of cultural integration in a community that is opening up to people of many origins, as the number of foreign residents in the area slowly but steadily grows.

You were proof that the colour of someone's skin does not define them, and in your case you surely helped some people let go of their first doubts about a community made of many origins. I was always proud of you, and you know well that every request of yours was a priority for Francesca and me, even if your pride never let you ask for anything.

Sadly, we will all be left with one great regret: that we never saw you play a league match. We love you dearly.