Nabil Akaazoun’s parents sat on the blue couch in their modest apartment in the east of Amsterdam, where he and his three sisters also live. Their youngest daughter, Safae, 8, sits on the arm rest, leaning against her mother.
The room is furnished with matching dark blue curtains, a light blue linoleum floor and a large flat screen television.
In the center of the room sits one of Nabil's soccer trophies.
Nabil’s oldest sister, Chaima, 19, is a first-year psychology student and has just heard she made it to the next year. She was studying in the living room, and quickly tidies away her books and laptop when visitors arrive.
Fourteen-year-old Samra had just returned home from school.
The only boy in the family stretches himself out on the couch across from his parents and sisters to check his smartphone for messages.
"I was a fairly good soccer player myself", says his father, 54-year-old Idris Akaazoun. He prefers to speak in his native Tarifit, a dialect of the Moroccan Berber language. He proudly shows a postcard from the coastal area Al Hoeceima, a town hidden in the northern part of the Rif mountains in Morocco. "Look, this is where I was born and this is where I played soccer," he points at the sandy beach. "On my bare feet." Unlike his son, he did not have money to buy soccer shoes, let alone time to become a professional soccer player. "I was very poor, I started working when I was about eight years old."
The prospect of a better life in the Netherlands made Nabil's father leave the Rif mountains when he was in his mid twenties. He married Hosnija Boudraa, 45, who had lived in Amsterdam since she was 14 years old.
"My father arranged my marriage. I could not have made a better choice: I am still happily married," says Hosnija, who pours Moroccan tea in small glass tea cups. Despite her own experience she would not do the same for her three daughters. "They can choose their own partner."
All three girls are doing well at school. Nabil looks at his oldest sister, who is the first in the family to seek a university degree. "I just don't have the patience to do that, poring over books every day. I'd rather go outside and do my own thing," he says.
Hosnija smiled and gestured to the balcony. "He always did his own thing. He was so spoiled!"
"You see our balcony? Once there where about twenty soccer balls there. All of them are Nabil's. Most of those balls where bought by his grandfather. He bought him every soccer ball he wanted."
It is not only the men in the Akaazoun family who like to play soccer.
Young Safae says her favorite thing to do is to play soccer with her brother after school.
Even 14-year-old Samra, dressed in a spotless white blouse, silver necklace and khaki-pants, likes to kick a ball in her spare time: "I was good, but getting older I lost interest," she said.
All three girls are proud of their big brother. "Even at school people tell me how great of a soccer player he is," said Samra.
Although young Akaazoun has played indoor soccer for money since the age of 14, his parents always pushed him to finish high school and even made him go to a vocational school afterwards.
"I just didn't expect him to make it this far. I thought he was just fooling around with a ball," said Hosnija, glancing at her boy. "My husband and father took him seriously and that's why he is where he is now. In hindsight, I think I should have supported him a bit more."
Nabil doesn't feel like he lacked support.
"My parents supported me more than 100 percent. My mother cooks meals for me and my father, well, for him this is a dream come true."
His father nods in agreement: "It's healthy to be an athlete and it's good money."
Idris Akaazoun didn't have as much luck, having lost half lung capacity working wrapping flowers. He was forced to quit, due to health problems.
His own tough past as a laborer has made him acutely aware of the path of success his son made for himself.
"Apart from earning lots of money, it comforts me knowing that when I leave this place my son is doing something he enjoys."
