Across the world, millions of people are forced to leave their homes due to wars, conflicts, and crises they did not choose. According to the latest data from UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency, more than 120 million people worldwide have been forcibly displaced. Behind these vast numbers are individual people, families, and children. <\/p>\n\n
Homes left behind\u2026 Schools interrupted\u2026 Roads leading into uncertainty\u2026 And childhoods that must not be allowed to disappear amid all these challenges\u2026<\/p>\n\n
20 June, World Refugee Day, is an important occasion to remember the faces behind this vast human story, which is often told through numbers. The story of Liberian-Canadian footballer Alphonso Davies is one of those faces. <\/p>\n\n
Today regarded as one of the best left-backs in the world, Davies was born in 2000 in Buduburam Refugee Camp in Ghana. His family had fled the civil war in Liberia and sought refuge in the camp. In those years, dreaming was not the priority; survival was. <\/p>\n\n
Reflecting on those uncertain days, his mother, Victoria Davies, says: \u201cOur means were very limited, and we did not know what tomorrow would bring. Every time I held Alphonso in my arms, I prayed the same prayer: \u2018Please open a safe door for this child, so he can grow up and experience his childhood.\u2019\u201d For his father, Debeah Davies, there was only one goal: \u201cTo provide a safe future for our children. We left our home behind and set out on the road because we had no other choice. Life in the camp where we took refuge was not easy; every day was a major struggle to access our basic needs. But we did not give up.\u201d <\/p>\n\n
When Davies was just five years old, his family was resettled in Canada. Yet reaching a new country did not mean that all challenges were over. There was a new language to learn, a new culture to adapt to, and new friendships to build. <\/p>\n\n
As in many families who migrate, children often become one of the most important parts of this adaptation process. They usually learn the new language faster than their parents and become an invisible language bridge between their families and their new lives at school, in hospitals, on the streets, and in daily life. Alphonso was one of those children. <\/p>\n\n
As his family worked to rebuild their lives in Canada, his parents worked long hours. His father worked in a chicken factory, while his mother worked in cleaning jobs. Alphonso, meanwhile, was trying to adapt to his new country at a young age while also helping care for his siblings. <\/p>\n\n
In his childhood, football was not just a game. Sometimes, it was a space where he could breathe after the responsibilities at home. Sometimes, it was a way to express himself in a country whose language he did not yet fully know. And sometimes, it was the silent form of saying, \u201cI belong here too.\u201d <\/p>\n\n
When he ran after a ball, even if the words were missing, the game continued. On the pitch, everyone spoke the same language. Recalling those days, Davies describes that silent sense of belonging on the field as follows: \u201cWhen I started school, I didn\u2019t know the language; I couldn\u2019t talk to anyone. But the moment a football touched my feet, everything changed. The pitch was the only place where I felt safe, where I could say without words, \u2018I am one of you too.\u2019 Football was my language.\u201d <\/p>\n\n