By: Mitch Wilson, Assistant Principal at Constance Lane Elementary School
We just wrapped up our first season of Soka Umoja, the ESL after-school soccer club at Constance Lane Elementary. It was a season full of language barriers, behavior hurdles, and cultural gaps—but also one filled with growth, belonging, and transformation.
The club was born out of a specific need: many of our Swahili-speaking students were struggling—not because they didn’t care, but because American school culture was completely unfamiliar. In their home communities, discipline is handled by the school, not the family. Parents are rarely involved in their child's education. Here, they were being asked to engage in ways they didn’t yet understand, and students were expected to succeed in a system they’d never seen before.
One student’s story captures that journey.
For the sake of privacy, we’ve changed his name to “Mgeni”, the Swahili word for outsider—a word that described how he first felt when he arrived. New to the U.S. and to school, Mgeni showed up with a Mickey Mouse backpack and barely a word of English. Sitting for even five minutes was a struggle. He acted out. He got into fights. Referrals piled up. Teachers were overwhelmed.
But Mgeni wasn’t defiant—he was displaced. His elderly mother had just given birth, and she is also completely blind. She couldn’t make it to the school, and no one really knew how to reach the family.
Except Mr. Emmanuel Kukiza.
A Swahili-speaking MTSS Social Worker and a man of deep compassion, Mr. Kukiza drove to Mgeni’s home, helped install a car seat, and brought both mother and newborn to school. He took her hand, walked her in, helped her sign the reentry paperwork, and gave her the dignity of being seen.
And then he invited Mgeni into something more—Soka Umoja, a ten-week soccer club built specifically for Swahili-speaking students who needed more than discipline—they needed dignity, motivation, and a sense of belonging.
But this wasn’t a free pass. To participate, students had to meet clear expectations: no referrals, no missing work, and no behavior interventionist calls. It was about learning to succeed within the structure of school—through something they loved.
That was the turning point.
Mgeni started to focus. He stopped fighting. He began apologizing when he made mistakes and completing work in class. Because now, his behavior was connected to something that mattered to him: the game he loved. And the truth? He’s the most gifted soccer player we’ve ever seen at Constance Lane.
Through soccer, Mgeni’s teacher connected with his family. His peers began to see his gifts instead of his disruptions. And Mr. Kukiza reminded us what it means to truly support a student—not just academically, but as a whole person.
Mr. Kukiza is a bridge to the outsiders—to the Mgeni.
He goes to the homes no one visits. He carries the burdens others overlook. He lights the way for students who don’t yet feel like they belong.
Thank you, Emanuel. Your work reaches beyond the walls of our school. You’re not just building programs—
You are the bridge to the Mgeni.
Wewe ni daraja kwa Mgeni.
