Stan, you ended up leaving after all.
And the silence that follows is no ordinary silence. It’s a silence filled with your laughter, our endless conversations, our unfinished projects. A silence that resonates louder than any words.
Life, of course, has not always been sunshine and roses. There have been storms. And I remember the most violent one, that afternoon in July 2010, when I was confined to my bed in pain in the family home, following the accident that left me between life and death. I felt empty, unable even to find tears.
Then you arrived. With Carolle. You barely knew me, and yet you sat down next to me. No big speeches, no ready-made solutions, just your passion for football, offered as a lifeline. You talked to me about the game that unites us, and in your eyes I saw a familiar sparkle. At that precise moment, I knew I had known you forever. From that day on, nothing could separate us, until that damn 19 December 2025, exactly fifteen years later.
You were my anchor. The silent and benevolent witness to my weaknesses, as I was to yours. In this shared vulnerability, we forged a bond stronger than blood, more enduring than distance – Nairobi, Dar es Salaam, those cities where our messages travelled, those places we talked about with such dreams.
Sometimes, the reflex is still there: I grab my phone to tell you some insignificant detail, an anecdote about life here, there. To speak to you in English, that language we had adopted as a new playground between us. Then the emptiness hits me with full force, that cold reality: you will never answer again.
Your last photo, the one with my daughter, broke my heart. You could see your fatigue in it, but also that gentleness that never left you. I begged you: “Fight, stay strong. ‘ You replied, ’I’ll do it for us.” You fought, Stan. I saw your body, once so lively, bend under the weight. I saw fatigue take its toll, but I never saw your light go out.
And our dreams… Ah, our dreams! Dar es Salaam and its beaches that I was going to show you, Kilimanjaro that we were going to climb, Serengeti Park where we wanted to feel the dust of the savannah. Nairobi and its climate that you knew, but whose secret corners I wanted to show you. Those unfulfilled promises, those maps unfolded with laughter.
In the end, there is silence. You are gone.
But strangely, you are not completely absent.
Part of my soul left with you, but part of yours now lives in me. It speaks to me when I watch a match of FC Barcelona, the Nigerian or Spanish team – from now on, I will cheer every goal for both of us. It whispers when music by Fally Ipupa, which you loved so much, plays; in every beat, I search for and find the echo of your soul.
So I make you this promise, before these words and before the sky that now carries you:
I will visit the beaches of Dar es Salaam, I will watch the sun rise over the Serengeti, and in each of these moments, it will be you that I celebrate.
I will live fully, passionately – vicariously for you too.
You are no longer my travelling companion, Stan.
You have become the star that guides my steps, the melody that rocks my memories, the goal I celebrate in the silence of my heart.
Rest in peace, my friend, my brother, my other self.
Our match continues. And with every whistle, I know you are there, somewhere, smiling.
