The 17-year-old Soccer Player who Left Medical School to Go Play Basketball in the United States

"Lebron James made me do it."

My story begins during my first year as an undergraduate at Imo State University's (IMSU) College of Medicine, Owerri, Nigeria.

I had two friends, Robert and Alex, who were crazy about basketball. Now, football was my thing. Or soccer, as they call it here in the United States.

But one sunny day, they somehow convinced me to go with them to a basketball tryout session at Dan Anyiam Stadium, the home stadium of Heartland FC, a Nigerian football club based in Owerri.

Their pitch? A scout was coming who would take promising prospects to the Ejike Ugboaja annual bootcamp — the biggest basketball camp in Nigeria.

You can imagine how uninterested I was. I had just started down the path to becoming a medical doctor — which was a big deal. And I didn’t even fancy basketball.

But I agreed to tag along as a spectator.

We got to the court. But I wasn't a keen spectator because basketball looked so easy. In search of something more worthwhile to pass the time, I spotted some other kids playing football nearby and joined them.

While enjoying our little kickabout, I wasn't aware a certain Mr. Tony from California was watching with interest. After the game, he walked up to me and said, 'Why do you play soccer?' Dumbfounded by the question, my reaction was along the lines of, 'Uhh, why won’t I play soccer?'

His response was even more confusing: 'I think you should play basketball.' So, I curtly responded, 'There’s no money in basketball. Tell me how many Nigerians have made it in basketball.'

Surprisingly, he started reeling out names.

I still wasn’t convinced. I wanted to know how much these supposedly successful basketballers earned per week because I was sure footballers made more, but only because I was more in touch with that world.

For instance, I used to play football with Kelechi Iheanacho, who we fondly called “Lefty” at the time. I had a front-row seat to his rise from an academy player on the streets of Owerri to a regular feature for the Nigerian national team and then going on to snag a lucrative contract with Leicester City FC in 2017.

I also knew someone else who had quit basketball for football and was already gearing up to make his national team debut. For me, football was a bigger deal than “B-ball.”

The conversation carried on for a while. Mr. Tony said I should consider traveling to the U.S. to play basketball and outlined what that would look like. I’d get a full scholarship for my schooling and could even play professionally. The whole basketball thing had begun to sound interesting.

However, there was one problem: convincing my dad.

I could be ready to hop on a plane the next day, but it wouldn’t matter because my dad would never entertain the idea of me traveling abroad to play basketball or any sport.

My elder brothers had tried to go to the Netherlands to play football, but he didn’t let them. 'Register in FUTO,' he said to them. He was big on education, so much so that at one point, he had one of my brothers running two undergraduate degree programs concurrently in IMSU and the Federal University of Technology (FUTO), Owerri — Library Information Science and Information Technology.

Sports and anything related to the creative industry was a no-no for him. My sister, who enrolled in Theater Arts, somehow found herself studying Urban Development at the University of Port Harcourt.

It was obvious my basketball idea wasn’t going to fly. So I went home and never mentioned my conversation with Mr. Tony.

Case closed, I thought, until I walked into our house one day and found Mr. Tony sitting in our living room with my mom. Apparently, Alex, my friend, had brought him. 'Eii, there’s fire on the mountain,' I said to myself.

Mr. Tony had pitched his proposition to my Mom and they both concluded to wait for my Dad to get back from work. As I predicted, he shot it down without hesitation.

Coming to America.

Luckily for me, Mr. Tony kept in touch.

One day, he sent me details of a basketball game he wanted me to watch. It was on SuperSport 7 on DSTV. So at 3AM, I was up watching LeBron James do his thing. By the end of the game, I decided I wanted to spend my life playing basketball. I asked Mr. Tony to start applying to colleges on my behalf. I even got a trainer and started playing regularly with my friends to sharpen my skills.

The big news soon came. I had secured college admission on a basketball scholarship. BUT...how to get my dad to give Mr. Tony the consent he needed to keep working with me.

I remember the first time I told my dad about needing his consent. He said if I ever broached the matter again, he’d throw me out so I’d be free to play “my basketball.” At least he was offering me an escape route, only that it was one I couldn’t afford to take.

So I got creative. As the tech guy at home, I often helped my parents download apps on their devices and send text messages. I got my dad’s phone and sent a text message to Mr. Tony, saying he had my Dad's permission to continue with the process. For good measure, I even sent an email in his name—something he still laughs about today.

I also forged my dad’s signature on the consent docs and sent them to Mr. Tony.

But there was still the small matter of the ₦115,000 fee I had to pay. I somehow got it from my Mom and breathed a sigh of relief. Moms!

My elaborate con had taken me far, but it was difficult to see how it’d help me scale the next hurdle. I had to leave home for a week for a visa interview and would need my dad's permission and someone to accompany me. This time, I chose honesty. Naturally, I turned to my Mom, who helped lay the groundwork.

My dad was irate, but he eventually came around when I explained that my scholarship required me to maintain a decent academic record to keep playing basketball. It also helped that, coincidentally, he had to take a trip to the U.S. a few days after our conversation. He met up with one of my uncles, who advised him not to stop me.

My dad returned from the trip and agreed he’d accompany me to the visa interview.

On my first trial at the Lagos embassy, I was denied a visa. This stung because I had bragged to my friends that I was ready to leave the country, and this was before the Japa wave, so it was a pretty big deal.

The second attempt was the charm.

My school in the U.S. wrote a letter to the Abuja embassy this time, and I was granted my visa. With everything set for me to move to the U.S., my dad called me again. He reiterated his endorsement but said I had to maintain a solid academic record and send him my certificate in a few years.

That was his due.

And so my journey as an American immigrant began.

I landed at the Los Angeles International Airport with just a school bag in tow. The first thing that hit me was the cold. I wasn’t properly dressed.

Settling down didn’t quite go as planned. After the scholarship, I still had a hefty sum to pay, one my Nigerian middle-class family couldn't afford. So, after staying with Mr. Tony in California for six months, I decided to explore other options.

I began connecting with people and eventually found a host family in Iowa that invited me over for the Christmas holidays.

Interestingly, when I landed in Iowa, I had another wardrobe oopsie — it was becoming my thing. I came in as a California boy in a tank top and a pair of shorts, thinking the weather would be fair. As I stepped out of the airplane, it was so cold that the host family had to stop at a Patagonia store at the airport for the most expensive jacket they had, which I still own today. I think it cost about $135.

Anyway, the family and I bonded right away, and they asked if I was interested in living with them as they were willing to find me a school. It felt like a miracle. I needed it badly, so I grabbed it with both hands.

True to their word, they found a coach at a junior college in Iowa who agreed to give me a scholarship. I moved from California to the Hawkeye State.

Iowa was a different experience. While I was with Mr. Tony in California, he was very protective. I didn’t experience America. My itinerary was school, basketball practice, and home. At Iowa, I was able to finally experience what it felt like to live in America as an immigrant.

Learning to play basketball was pretty tough.

I came to the U.S. at age 17, knowing very little about basketball. Upon arriving, I soon discovered that even my little knowledge was almost useless.

The first day of basketball practice was hell. Everyone else was so knowledgeable while I was so lost it sounded like they were speaking in tongues. Even worse, I didn’t know the standard rules or what it felt like to play a real game on a standard court.

So while I was pretty athletic and could run, jump, and dunk (I was 6’7 and weighed about 165 pounds at the time), I was so out of shape that I began puking after running the length of the court about five times.

My initial struggle with basketball was just one of the many challenges I faced.

I also had a hard time socializing. Back in Nigeria, I could meet with my friends in the streets to play soccer. There were no formalities—my friends could just show up at my house whenever they wanted. It’s different here. The culture here is more individualistic, and that took some getting used to.

Adjusting to the social rules of interacting with people here was challenging. I was a jester growing up and was used to poking fun at people. Getting to the U.S., I discovered some things that could easily pass as jokes in Nigeria could be considered offensive.

The weather was also a sticky point. I bet you could have guessed that one.

Plus, issues around understanding others when they spoke also popped up (people here speak too fast, in my opinion). My accent, which I’ve stubbornly decided to hold on to because it’s part of what makes me Nigerian, would also often have people asking me to repeat myself.

I had a few squabbles about the pronunciation of my name. People eventually resorted to calling me “Big Mo,” and I learned to let such things slide and just “act like the Romans.”

One of the things that helped me adapt was my boarding school experience back in Nigeria.

I went to Nigerian Navy Secondary School. And it was some experience.

For example, when my provisions finished and the visiting day was still a long way off, I had no choice but to become resourceful to survive. I’d sell contraband like lollipops, Superstar chewing gum, and Cabin biscuits. I would also rent out my pressing iron.

I also learned negotiation skills there: 'hey you want my Indomie, I get your fried rice and chicken on sunday evening.'

So, I saw my trip to the U.S. as another boarding school. I was going to be away from my parents and had to step up.

Mind you, adapting was hard, and it got depressing on some days, even though I didn’t know what I felt at the time was depression. I just knew I was bored and lonely and longed to meet more Nigerians and Africans who understood what I was going through.

Looking back, I’m grateful for the opportunity I had.

Studying medicine and surgery in Nigeria takes about ten years. I’d have been going into my tenth year right about now, surrounded by uncertainties about the future.

I’ve taken so many risks in my life, some of which I’d advise people not to take. But I’m glad I took this one. It's exposed me to a lot of innovation, opportunities, and people. Now I’m able to consider how I can help the Nigerian economy grow even from the diaspora.

This journey has also challenged me and changed my mindset. I came here as a scrawny teenager, learned to play basketball from scratch, and became good enough to play it professionally. I think that’s a big deal.

But as the popular saying goes, "There's no place like home."

Even though going to Nigeria nowadays means tolerating avoidable inconveniences, I love the feeling that overtakes me once I land at the Lagos or Abuja airport.

It’s different. It's soothing. It's home.

References:

• Japa: a Yoruba word meaning “to run away.” It's become a Nigerian buzzword for immigrating to the West.

Credits:

Writer: Emmanuel Alonge

Editor: Doz Anyaegbunam

Immigrant: Munachiso Okonkwo

Images: Sourced from Munachiso Okonkwo