After decades watching football from television screens, local stadiums and childhood dreams, attending my first FIFA World Cup match in Boston, United States, became far more than a sporting event- it became the fulfilment of a lifelong dream.

As I climbed the steps into Boston's Gillette Stadium, the sound reached me before the pitch came into view.

Thousands of voices echoed through the stands. English supporters sang in unison, their chants rolling from one end of the stadium to the other. Ghanaian fans answered with drums, dancing and singing songs of their own. For a brief moment, I simply stood still and took it all in.

After more than three decades of watching football on television, listening to commentary on the radio and dreaming from thousands of miles away, I was finally watching a FIFA World Cup match with my own eyes.

My mind drifted back to where it all began.

Like almost every child growing up in Africa, I kicked anything that remotely resembled a ball. If it was round, we played football with it. If it was oval, we still found a way. Plastic bottles, bundles of paper, homemade balls—anything became a football. The streets, school grounds and home compounds were our stadiums, and every afternoon felt like a cup final.

Football was never just a game. It was part of growing up.

My love affair with the sport truly began in 1996 when Nigeria defeated Argentina to win Olympic gold in Atlanta. That victory meant more than a medal. It showed young Africans that one of our own could conquer the football world.

From that day, Nigeria became "my team." My football hero was Nwankwo Kanu. I admired his elegance, composure and effortless style. Like many young boys, I spent countless afternoons trying to play exactly like him, convinced that somehow I could recreate his magic.

As the years went by, I also developed a deep appreciation for the football played by Brazil and the Netherlands. They played with a freedom and creativity that made football a beauty to watch.

Closer to home, I spent many weekends watching matches in Rwanda's local stadiums. Some of my earliest football memories include Rwanda FC, Kiyovu SC, Mukura VS and, of course, the great rivalry between APR FC and Rayon Sports. Those stadiums nurtured my love for the game long before I ever dreamed of visiting the world's biggest football tournament.

Eventually, I became an Arsenal supporter. It started with the brilliance of Dutch stars like Marc Overmars and Dennis Bergkamp, grew with the arrival of Arsène Wenger, and became permanent when my childhood hero Nwankwo Kanu joined an exciting generation of French talent in North London.

Every four years, however, club football took a back seat.

The FIFA World Cup was always special.

I usually found myself supporting African teams first, hoping each tournament would finally belong to our continent. But beyond that, I simply loved good football. During the World Cup, I could happily sit back as a neutral and appreciate the beauty of the game regardless of who was playing.

Watching a World Cup match live, however, remained an unfinished dream.

Brazil in 2014 came a little too early for me. I never seriously considered Russia in 2018 because the logistics felt overwhelming. For Qatar in 2022, I even booked flights before eventually cancelling everything after failing to secure match tickets.

I began to think perhaps it simply wasn't meant to happen.

Then came the 2026 World Cup.

Sometimes life has a remarkable way of putting the pieces together.

My American visa had expired the previous year, so I applied for a new one with one purpose in mind—to attend the World Cup. Thankfully, the process was smooth.

Then came another blessing. Thanks to the support of the Rwanda Football Federation (FERWAFA), I secured match tickets for the game of my choice at a very reasonable price.

A close friend in Ghana added another unexpected touch by sending me the beautiful Ghana national team jersey, along with another one for my cousins.

The trip quickly became more than football.

I convinced my cousins to fly in from Iowa, Ohio and Arizona so we could all meet in Boston. It became a family reunion centered around the world's greatest sporting event.

Nothing could have prepared me for the atmosphere.

The English supporters were exactly as generations of football fans have come to know them- loud, passionate, singing from the first whistle to fulltime, celebrating every attack, protesting every decision and, yes, occasionally expressing themselves with colourful language.

Yet behind all that passion was genuine warmth.

Seeing us proudly wearing Ghana jerseys, several English fans approached us with smiles and offered to take pictures together. For all the fierce rivalry inside the stadium, football also has a unique way of bringing strangers together.

Boston experienced real football that day—not "soccer," but football in its purest form. The songs, the chants, the emotions and the shared passion transformed the city into something that reminded me why this sport continues to unite billions across the globe.

What happened after the final whistle is probably a story for another day.

As I left the stadium, I found myself thinking about that little boy back home who kicked anything that rolled and dreamed through every World Cup broadcast.

He could never have imagined that one day he would walk into a World Cup stadium himself.

Dreams do not always arrive quickly. Sometimes they wait for decades. They survive disappointments, missed opportunities and cancelled plans. But when they finally come true, they remind us that some dreams are worth waiting for.

For me, attending a FIFA World Cup match was never simply about watching ninety minutes of football. It was about completing a journey that began on the dusty streets of Rwanda with a homemade ball, a young boy's imagination and a dream that never faded.

Sometimes, a lifetime of watching finally becomes seeing.

The author is a football enthusiast and an advocate for clean energy solutions across Africa.