2026-07-26, 09:10 AM - Word count:
A Narrative Bio
[Part V: Under A Different Sky]
![[Image: BIOV1.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/jdWHX6Zb/BIOV1.png)
The first thing I noticed from the window of the plane was the colour. At first, deep reds and greens as we flew over the earth and hills which stretched out as far as the eye could see. Then as we flew over the city itself, buildings in every colour imaginable. I saw the Rova of Antananarivo, also called the Manjakamiadana, a fortified palace situated on Analamanga – the highest hill in the capital - towering above the city, and where my new club gets its name from.
After spending all of my life in England and Sweden, surrounded by grey skies for the majority of that, it felt like I was stepping into a new world. Which, in a way, I was.
As the wheels touched down on the runway at Ivato Airport with a couple of small bounces and bumps, the realisation that I was starting over again, for a second time, hit me. I was 11 years old when I first arrived in Sweden and I remember how scared I was at the thought of having to start all over again, leaving everything and everyone I knew, behind. This time, I was older, and it was out of choice, but the fear doesn’t go away, not completely. I looked to Slabko (Plačkovič) who was seated beside me, and the only other player from our academy class joining me on this Madagascan adventure, and said to him: We're here.
The arrivals hall was louder than any airport I’d ever been through. People laughing, families embracing their loved ones as they reunited, taxi drivers calling out destinations in a language I was yet to learn. Outside, I heard the sound of distant music, being carried by warm air that smelled of vanilla and spiced meats. I looked across the road and saw a small stall selling what I now know as Mofo Gasy; sweet rice pancakes formed into little oval-shaped treats and usually eaten for breakfast. Another stall a bit further on was selling skewers of different varieties, the meat sizzling and smoking on charcoal braziers, next to bowls of rice, shredded mango, carrots, and cucumbers. My mouth was watering at the aromas. I’d only been here an hour or so, but I felt alive in a way I’d never experienced before.
Before long, a mini-van pulled up and I saw the Rova Mpanjaka crest on the side of it. A man got out and greeted us, loaded our suitcases into the back, and off we went.
The drive back into Antananarivo felt like watching a film through an open window. The warm, but pleasant, air against my face. I took my camera out of my bag and snapped some photos as we got up in the hills. The roads twisted and turned between houses painted in pinks, greens, yellows, blues. Street vendors stood under umbrellas selling fruits I’d never seen before. I remember smiling at seeing some children kicking a football around in the shade of a huge tree, the leather well-beaten and stitches fraying, showing it’d had plenty of use.
The apartment which I’d call home overlooked the city from a hillside. It was clean and modern. Me and Slabko would be sharing, to start with at least. Our rooms (each with it’s own en-suite) on opposite sides of the building, an open-plan kitchen and living area in between, and a small terrace outside with a patio that looked over the city and the heart-shaped Lake Anosy with it’s central island which stands the Monuments aux Morts, built to commemorate the losses of French soldiers after World War 1. There was a small pool in the centre of the terrace. I dipped my hand in, it was ice cold perfection.
I unpacked slowly that evening. Out came a few pairs of boots, tracksuits and various other sportswear supplied by the SSL to all rookies. A small pile of books (I couldn’t bring them all, so I mostly chose some favourites – Neuromancer, Flowers for Algernon, House of Leaves, as well as a few travel books and guides I’d purchased once I found out where I was heading next). Next came my camera equipment and some photos I’d had printed, as well the photo Liv took of me all of those years ago, which I still kept. After that, I called my mum to let her know I’d arrived safely and told her I missed her and that I can’t wait for her to come and visit. She’d love it here. Dad would’ve too.
The next morning, I got up and made my way to the training facility to meet the rest of the team and staff. I made sure to stop by a stall on my way and grabbed some Mofo Gasy, which went down a treat. I wouldn’t properly start training until the following day, so I went in with no real plan or agenda. I spent the first hour or so introducing myself, or someone introducing themselves to me, and just walked around getting a general feel for where everything was. The facilities were a different level to what I was accustomed to back in Stockholm. Everything was state-of-the-art. Once formalities were over, I was told I could go and they’d see me in the morning.
I’d spent so much of my life moving from one place to another, always on a schedule. School to training to home, to matches, back to training, back to school. For the first time in as long as I could remember, even if it was just for one day, I just walked because I wanted to. I explored the city, taking in the sights, took some photos, tried some of the fruits I’d drove past the previous day and just sat and watched the world carry on around me. I watched a woman laughing as she bargained for flowers in the market. A young boy carrying loaves of bread, one of the loaves having a small child-sized bite mark on one end. I could hear the sound of a radio playing in a mechanic’s workshop round the corner. I looked up at laundry hanging between balconies, caught in the afternoon breeze like colourful sails. I found myself reaching for my camera again and again. There was so much to see here. I’d always thought of photography as just a way to preserve memories, which it is, but it’s so much more than that. Photography also makes you pay attention to the present. That was something Liv had told me, and standing in the middle of Antananarivo with the afternoon sun on my back, I finally understood that.
Result: Seoul 0 v 4 Rova
Outside of club duties, I kept exploring the city. My camera rarely leaving my side. A few days before our next pre-season game, the squad visited a local school. The children all wearing Rova shirts, their favourite players’ names on the back. I didn’t expect any of them to have a shirt with my name on yet, but when I walked in to the room to “Pow!” and “Jackkkkk Powwww,” it felt really special. One boy asked me how cold Sweden was, and if it was the first time I’d ever seen the sun. Judging by current skin-tone it seemed a sensible question.
Pre-Season Match-day 2 (v Athenai):
Our final warm-up game and my first taste of playing at home. I’ll be honest, the game completely passed me by. I put it down to still acclimatising to the heat and the altitude. Maybe I spent a bit too long in the sun yesterday. Or had one too many Mofo Gasy the morning of the game. It was nice to see another ex-Stockholm teammate in Moew enBach, though, who was lining up between the sticks for Athenai. At the end of the game we had a quick chat and wished each other well for the coming season.
Result: Rova 3 v 1 Athenai
The closer we got to the opening fixture, the calmer I actually felt. Back at Stockholm, every match felt like an audition of sorts. Knowing we were being watched by the managers of every Org, who would be planning for the draft at the end of the season. It made every mistake feel huge, one of these managers in the crowd likely writing it down on a notepad, etched into history forever.
Here I wasn’t trying to earn the right to be here. I was here on merit, the draft had already decided that. Now it was all about becoming the player Rova, and eventually Liffeyside, hoped I’d become. And I was relishing it. There was a freedom to that.
The night before our season opener, I struggled to sleep due to the excitement and adrenaline running through my veins. I knew I had an early start in the morning, but I knew sleep wouldn’t come. Some battles just aren’t worth fighting. I got up, picked up a light blanket and a few cushions and stepped out onto the balcony leading from my room. It was approaching midnight, but the city was still alive, stretching out across the hills, beneath a sky full of stars and constellations I’d never seen from my old life in the northern hemisphere. In the distance I could hear music from one of the many nearby bars or restaurants, the smell of charcoal lingering as a warm breeze caressed my face. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and set the cushions down on the floor.
Time always seemed to move differently at night. And it was always the time I felt most comfortable in. When you have nowhere to be, the minutes stop feeling important. They just exist. I watched as lights from distant buildings and neighbouring apartments switched off and on, wondering about the lives of the people living there. The strange thing about cities is that thousands of completely different stories are happening all at once, and just like in a loud dressing room after a game, it’s easy for so many of these stories to go unnoticed or unheard. But at night, similar to a camera catching a moment in the present forever, you can really appreciate those stories, when there are no distractions in the world. You only get to live your own life, but it doesn’t mean you can’t feel the lives of everyone else in other ways. And that’s what I loved about this place.
For years I’d looked for some sort of meaning in the big moments that shaped me.
Moving to Sweden.
Losing my dad.
Joining the SSL academy.
Being drafted.
Leaving my mum.
Starting a new life here on the other side of the world.
But what I’ve come to realise is, it’s those quiet, often forgotten moments in between all of those that are just as important. It’s the little moments that are the glue holding the memories of all the other moments together. Life rarely changes at once, it happens quietly. In conversations you don’t realise will stick with you forever. In walks with no destination. In photographs you almost didn’t take. In evenings like this one.
The first hint of orange eventually appeared on the horizon. In a few hours I’d be playing my first senior match. I wasn’t sure how it’d go, but there was one thing I was sure about; happiness isn’t the absence of uncertainty. If anything, uncertainty is what gives life its shape. Every place I ever loved began as somewhere strange and unfamiliar. Strangers went on to become lifelong friends, and more. Every chapter I was once afraid to begin, became one I never wanted to end. And maybe that’s all the future is. A collection of unknown things, waiting to become memories.
![[Image: BIOV2.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/hPJYddm4/BIOV2.png)
[Part V: Under A Different Sky]
The first thing I noticed from the window of the plane was the colour. At first, deep reds and greens as we flew over the earth and hills which stretched out as far as the eye could see. Then as we flew over the city itself, buildings in every colour imaginable. I saw the Rova of Antananarivo, also called the Manjakamiadana, a fortified palace situated on Analamanga – the highest hill in the capital - towering above the city, and where my new club gets its name from.
After spending all of my life in England and Sweden, surrounded by grey skies for the majority of that, it felt like I was stepping into a new world. Which, in a way, I was.
As the wheels touched down on the runway at Ivato Airport with a couple of small bounces and bumps, the realisation that I was starting over again, for a second time, hit me. I was 11 years old when I first arrived in Sweden and I remember how scared I was at the thought of having to start all over again, leaving everything and everyone I knew, behind. This time, I was older, and it was out of choice, but the fear doesn’t go away, not completely. I looked to Slabko (Plačkovič) who was seated beside me, and the only other player from our academy class joining me on this Madagascan adventure, and said to him: We're here.
The arrivals hall was louder than any airport I’d ever been through. People laughing, families embracing their loved ones as they reunited, taxi drivers calling out destinations in a language I was yet to learn. Outside, I heard the sound of distant music, being carried by warm air that smelled of vanilla and spiced meats. I looked across the road and saw a small stall selling what I now know as Mofo Gasy; sweet rice pancakes formed into little oval-shaped treats and usually eaten for breakfast. Another stall a bit further on was selling skewers of different varieties, the meat sizzling and smoking on charcoal braziers, next to bowls of rice, shredded mango, carrots, and cucumbers. My mouth was watering at the aromas. I’d only been here an hour or so, but I felt alive in a way I’d never experienced before.
Before long, a mini-van pulled up and I saw the Rova Mpanjaka crest on the side of it. A man got out and greeted us, loaded our suitcases into the back, and off we went.
The drive back into Antananarivo felt like watching a film through an open window. The warm, but pleasant, air against my face. I took my camera out of my bag and snapped some photos as we got up in the hills. The roads twisted and turned between houses painted in pinks, greens, yellows, blues. Street vendors stood under umbrellas selling fruits I’d never seen before. I remember smiling at seeing some children kicking a football around in the shade of a huge tree, the leather well-beaten and stitches fraying, showing it’d had plenty of use.
The apartment which I’d call home overlooked the city from a hillside. It was clean and modern. Me and Slabko would be sharing, to start with at least. Our rooms (each with it’s own en-suite) on opposite sides of the building, an open-plan kitchen and living area in between, and a small terrace outside with a patio that looked over the city and the heart-shaped Lake Anosy with it’s central island which stands the Monuments aux Morts, built to commemorate the losses of French soldiers after World War 1. There was a small pool in the centre of the terrace. I dipped my hand in, it was ice cold perfection.
I unpacked slowly that evening. Out came a few pairs of boots, tracksuits and various other sportswear supplied by the SSL to all rookies. A small pile of books (I couldn’t bring them all, so I mostly chose some favourites – Neuromancer, Flowers for Algernon, House of Leaves, as well as a few travel books and guides I’d purchased once I found out where I was heading next). Next came my camera equipment and some photos I’d had printed, as well the photo Liv took of me all of those years ago, which I still kept. After that, I called my mum to let her know I’d arrived safely and told her I missed her and that I can’t wait for her to come and visit. She’d love it here. Dad would’ve too.
The next morning, I got up and made my way to the training facility to meet the rest of the team and staff. I made sure to stop by a stall on my way and grabbed some Mofo Gasy, which went down a treat. I wouldn’t properly start training until the following day, so I went in with no real plan or agenda. I spent the first hour or so introducing myself, or someone introducing themselves to me, and just walked around getting a general feel for where everything was. The facilities were a different level to what I was accustomed to back in Stockholm. Everything was state-of-the-art. Once formalities were over, I was told I could go and they’d see me in the morning.
I’d spent so much of my life moving from one place to another, always on a schedule. School to training to home, to matches, back to training, back to school. For the first time in as long as I could remember, even if it was just for one day, I just walked because I wanted to. I explored the city, taking in the sights, took some photos, tried some of the fruits I’d drove past the previous day and just sat and watched the world carry on around me. I watched a woman laughing as she bargained for flowers in the market. A young boy carrying loaves of bread, one of the loaves having a small child-sized bite mark on one end. I could hear the sound of a radio playing in a mechanic’s workshop round the corner. I looked up at laundry hanging between balconies, caught in the afternoon breeze like colourful sails. I found myself reaching for my camera again and again. There was so much to see here. I’d always thought of photography as just a way to preserve memories, which it is, but it’s so much more than that. Photography also makes you pay attention to the present. That was something Liv had told me, and standing in the middle of Antananarivo with the afternoon sun on my back, I finally understood that.
***
The training ground was situated on the outskirts of the city, where buildings gave way to more open country-side and rolling hills. As I stood at the side of the pitch ready to get stuck in to my first training session, I realised something. Every time I’d stepped on to a pitch before now, my mind would always think back to where I’d come from, and the journey I’d gone through to get there. But here, as the early morning sun started to poke its head above the facility building and on to the field, I wasn’t thinking about any of those things. Now I was thinking about where this place might take me.
The first session went well. Initially, I was worried. I was surrounded by real high-quality players here, all operating on a totally different level to what I was used to. There was Jay Cue Jr, who, in my opinion, is the best right-back in the league. As well as ilovezeagLe and Grudnar who will be at the forefront of most of our attacks, I’m sure.
There was Schwarte our left-back and Rocket our right-winger who’d be ensuring I wouldn’t be playing in the position I predominantly played at Stockholm last season. I actually didn’t know where I’d be playing. I’d always been told one of my key strengths was that I could play anywhere, and I’d always look comfortable doing so. But up to now, the players I’d played against were much closer in level to what I was. This season would be uncharted waters for me coming up against a far better players.
After training, we all headed back to the dressing room. It was actually quieter than I expected. There was a calmness about it. It made me feel comfortable. I’d always hated these moments previously, when there would be shouting and chaos as a multitude of conversations happened simultaneously. I felt like I could hear every word of every single one of them, unable to hear my own voice or my own thoughts. Here, there were conversations still happening, and people talking in various different languages – Portuguese, Korean, German, Dutch – but it never seemed like anyone was talking over one another. Luckily, everyone spoke English so I never felt isolated, we also had a fair few Americans in the team. Often, though, I just liked to listen. It reminded me of my first day at school in Sweden, where everything was unfamiliar. The difference this time, though, was that I wasn’t rushing to fit in immediately. I was wise enough to know now that this would come in time.
The first session went well. Initially, I was worried. I was surrounded by real high-quality players here, all operating on a totally different level to what I was used to. There was Jay Cue Jr, who, in my opinion, is the best right-back in the league. As well as ilovezeagLe and Grudnar who will be at the forefront of most of our attacks, I’m sure.
There was Schwarte our left-back and Rocket our right-winger who’d be ensuring I wouldn’t be playing in the position I predominantly played at Stockholm last season. I actually didn’t know where I’d be playing. I’d always been told one of my key strengths was that I could play anywhere, and I’d always look comfortable doing so. But up to now, the players I’d played against were much closer in level to what I was. This season would be uncharted waters for me coming up against a far better players.
After training, we all headed back to the dressing room. It was actually quieter than I expected. There was a calmness about it. It made me feel comfortable. I’d always hated these moments previously, when there would be shouting and chaos as a multitude of conversations happened simultaneously. I felt like I could hear every word of every single one of them, unable to hear my own voice or my own thoughts. Here, there were conversations still happening, and people talking in various different languages – Portuguese, Korean, German, Dutch – but it never seemed like anyone was talking over one another. Luckily, everyone spoke English so I never felt isolated, we also had a fair few Americans in the team. Often, though, I just liked to listen. It reminded me of my first day at school in Sweden, where everything was unfamiliar. The difference this time, though, was that I wasn’t rushing to fit in immediately. I was wise enough to know now that this would come in time.
***
Preparations for the new season were in full swing now, and our first pre-season games were fast approaching. We’d be playing against division rivals Seoul and Athenai, and this would give us a good idea of where we were, or what was needed.
Training felt different. There was still intensity and expectation, of course, still mistakes being made, but there was a positivity around the place, and it was infectious. Players laughed and joked during rondos, disagreements were nipped in the bud and disappeared as quickly as they started. Goals in training were celebrated loudly. I felt fortunate to be here, and I’m certain that everyone in the team felt the same way.
The session before our pre-season match with Seoul was an interesting one. There was a tropical storm and I fully expected we’d all move inside to one of the indoor pitches. Instead, the coaches barely acknowledged it. Within minutes the grass was slick, my boots caked in sloppy red mud. I could barely see the opposite goal from the downpour. But nobody complained, we just carried on. By the end we were all completely soaked and covered in clay-like stains. It wasn’t long before the sun was back out and we were all bone dry.
Training felt different. There was still intensity and expectation, of course, still mistakes being made, but there was a positivity around the place, and it was infectious. Players laughed and joked during rondos, disagreements were nipped in the bud and disappeared as quickly as they started. Goals in training were celebrated loudly. I felt fortunate to be here, and I’m certain that everyone in the team felt the same way.
The session before our pre-season match with Seoul was an interesting one. There was a tropical storm and I fully expected we’d all move inside to one of the indoor pitches. Instead, the coaches barely acknowledged it. Within minutes the grass was slick, my boots caked in sloppy red mud. I could barely see the opposite goal from the downpour. But nobody complained, we just carried on. By the end we were all completely soaked and covered in clay-like stains. It wasn’t long before the sun was back out and we were all bone dry.
Pre-Season Match-day 1 (v Seoul):
My first match in my new colours. I was excited. Still unsure where I’d be playing. In training I’d filled in pretty much everywhere, but I understood we had some very good players who we’d want in their best positions. The gaffer turned on a projector and I saw the team-sheet, the first with my name on it. I’d be playing on the left-wing. I’d spent most of my academy season on the right-wing, as well as a few games as a striker, but I was confident I could make this position my own. My class-mate Plačkovič taking his place in the midfield. It was nice to also see a familiar face in Dennis Van Huntelrooy, my ex-Stockholm teammate and who was the big man up top for our opponents. I knew how dangerous he was in the box and let our defence know beforehand of the threat he was, especially in the air.
My first match in my new colours. I was excited. Still unsure where I’d be playing. In training I’d filled in pretty much everywhere, but I understood we had some very good players who we’d want in their best positions. The gaffer turned on a projector and I saw the team-sheet, the first with my name on it. I’d be playing on the left-wing. I’d spent most of my academy season on the right-wing, as well as a few games as a striker, but I was confident I could make this position my own. My class-mate Plačkovič taking his place in the midfield. It was nice to also see a familiar face in Dennis Van Huntelrooy, my ex-Stockholm teammate and who was the big man up top for our opponents. I knew how dangerous he was in the box and let our defence know beforehand of the threat he was, especially in the air.
Thankfully, we took an early lead 54-seconds into the game, before doubling our advantage a few minutes later, which really settled the nerves. We looked sharp. By the 11th minute we’d got a third. I was struggling to get in the game, everyone was just so much quicker, stronger, and anticipated things sooner. Last season I’d have got frustrated about this. But now things were clear to me; I knew the levels I needed to reach.
And in the 86th minute I made my mark. A free-kick deep in our own half found its way to Schwarte, picking out Grudnar in the middle, who laid it off to ilovezeagLe, and he knew exactly where I was going, cushioning it first time into my path. One touch to knock it past my academy class-mate STAR SCREAM which sent me clear on goal and I made sure to finish the move, finesse-ing it past the oncoming keeper into the top corner. Result: Seoul 0 v 4 Rova
Outside of club duties, I kept exploring the city. My camera rarely leaving my side. A few days before our next pre-season game, the squad visited a local school. The children all wearing Rova shirts, their favourite players’ names on the back. I didn’t expect any of them to have a shirt with my name on yet, but when I walked in to the room to “Pow!” and “Jackkkkk Powwww,” it felt really special. One boy asked me how cold Sweden was, and if it was the first time I’d ever seen the sun. Judging by current skin-tone it seemed a sensible question.
Pre-Season Match-day 2 (v Athenai):
Our final warm-up game and my first taste of playing at home. I’ll be honest, the game completely passed me by. I put it down to still acclimatising to the heat and the altitude. Maybe I spent a bit too long in the sun yesterday. Or had one too many Mofo Gasy the morning of the game. It was nice to see another ex-Stockholm teammate in Moew enBach, though, who was lining up between the sticks for Athenai. At the end of the game we had a quick chat and wished each other well for the coming season.
Result: Rova 3 v 1 Athenai
The closer we got to the opening fixture, the calmer I actually felt. Back at Stockholm, every match felt like an audition of sorts. Knowing we were being watched by the managers of every Org, who would be planning for the draft at the end of the season. It made every mistake feel huge, one of these managers in the crowd likely writing it down on a notepad, etched into history forever.
Here I wasn’t trying to earn the right to be here. I was here on merit, the draft had already decided that. Now it was all about becoming the player Rova, and eventually Liffeyside, hoped I’d become. And I was relishing it. There was a freedom to that.
The night before our season opener, I struggled to sleep due to the excitement and adrenaline running through my veins. I knew I had an early start in the morning, but I knew sleep wouldn’t come. Some battles just aren’t worth fighting. I got up, picked up a light blanket and a few cushions and stepped out onto the balcony leading from my room. It was approaching midnight, but the city was still alive, stretching out across the hills, beneath a sky full of stars and constellations I’d never seen from my old life in the northern hemisphere. In the distance I could hear music from one of the many nearby bars or restaurants, the smell of charcoal lingering as a warm breeze caressed my face. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and set the cushions down on the floor.
Time always seemed to move differently at night. And it was always the time I felt most comfortable in. When you have nowhere to be, the minutes stop feeling important. They just exist. I watched as lights from distant buildings and neighbouring apartments switched off and on, wondering about the lives of the people living there. The strange thing about cities is that thousands of completely different stories are happening all at once, and just like in a loud dressing room after a game, it’s easy for so many of these stories to go unnoticed or unheard. But at night, similar to a camera catching a moment in the present forever, you can really appreciate those stories, when there are no distractions in the world. You only get to live your own life, but it doesn’t mean you can’t feel the lives of everyone else in other ways. And that’s what I loved about this place.
For years I’d looked for some sort of meaning in the big moments that shaped me.
Moving to Sweden.
Losing my dad.
Joining the SSL academy.
Being drafted.
Leaving my mum.
Starting a new life here on the other side of the world.
But what I’ve come to realise is, it’s those quiet, often forgotten moments in between all of those that are just as important. It’s the little moments that are the glue holding the memories of all the other moments together. Life rarely changes at once, it happens quietly. In conversations you don’t realise will stick with you forever. In walks with no destination. In photographs you almost didn’t take. In evenings like this one.
The first hint of orange eventually appeared on the horizon. In a few hours I’d be playing my first senior match. I wasn’t sure how it’d go, but there was one thing I was sure about; happiness isn’t the absence of uncertainty. If anything, uncertainty is what gives life its shape. Every place I ever loved began as somewhere strange and unfamiliar. Strangers went on to become lifelong friends, and more. Every chapter I was once afraid to begin, became one I never wanted to end. And maybe that’s all the future is. A collection of unknown things, waiting to become memories.
![[Image: New-Sig-S1.jpg]](https://i.postimg.cc/fTVR7J4H/New-Sig-S1.jpg)
