I was shot four times.
When you hear about a story of gun violence in the news, you hardly ever think about the details. You don't think about how loud a gunshot can get. You don't think about the aftermath of it all or how badly it would hurt if you get shot. Or how all your senses go numb as you try and run faster than the bullet.
I realise this is a very grim start to a football story. But life isn't always rosy – at least it hasn't been for me.
I was 16 at the time. A young boy ready to take on the world, ready to take on any challenge. I was always aggressive with my goals and dreams, but I wasn't just talking the talk. Just a few months before the incident, I had signed my first professional contract with FC Copenhagen and I quickly established myself as one of the standout players for their youth team. On some days, I used to even train with the first team. I loved football, I knew I was good at it, and things were finally starting to look good for me. It was perfect. Maybe that's why I cried as much as I did for as long as I did lying on that hospital bed. Life had been promising me the world at the time.
Every Friday my friends and I would go for futsal in one of our local grounds. I would play every chance I got – before training, after school, with strangers, with friends. But this one Friday was unlike any other. As soon as we reached there, a guy showed up and told us to leave the premises immediately. Leave? From our own ground? Not a chance. Maybe it was our teenage aggression that didn't listen, or just poor luck, because we stayed. And within a minute, even before we could realise what was happening, there were gunshots. We got caught in the middle of a gang war.
I loved Copenhagen, but this was the side of the city that you didn't want any part of. Some of my friends got shot too that day. I still don't know how exactly I survived after getting shot on the elbow, and thrice on my ribs with one bullet narrowly missing my heart. All I remember was panic and a lot of red. I was in a coma for two days and the next thing I remember is spending four excruciating months on a hospital bed. Four months is already a long time, but when you're in a hospital lying on a bed struggling to stand up and walk, four months feels like an eternity. I had visitors coming to check on me in the first few days, but after a while, they stopped coming. That's when it started to feel really lonely – and I don't entirely blame them. Who wants to stick around for months to see someone learning how to walk?
The doctors told me that I should forget about playing football. Their report said I was 35% disabled because of the damage caused by those four bullets. Three of my fingers on my right hand don't function even to this day. In fact, I don't feel anything if someone touches my right arm as well. I was told to focus on my studies and think of another career path. FC Copenhagen wanted to help me with that since I had a contract with them. They said they could assist with my recovery and rehabilitation.
But I just had one thing on my mind: I was going to be back on the pitch again and prove everyone wrong.