From the Congo to Cincy: A refugee's plea to play

After you read this story, tell us your thoughts on the OHSAA rules using our ProConIt widget. Then let OHSAA officials know where you stand by emailing them using our Talk to Your Government tool at the bottom of this story.

Daniel Sumuni is certain of two things: He wants to go to college, and he must play soccer.

He's 19 – or maybe 18, but we'll get to that – and a refugee from the Democratic Republic of Congo. He has political asylum here, meaning that the U.S. State Department determined that he and his family were in mortal danger there.

He's a Withrow High School sophomore, by credits, but a soon-to-be senior if he passes his Ohio Graduation Tests.

And, according to high school eligibility rules, Daniel is too old to play soccer this season. His birth certificate says he was born Jan. 1, 1996. Daniel's mom says he was actually born around August – she marked Jan. 1 as a placeholder when they entered this country since she couldn't remember the exact date – but she has no way to prove that.

And the Ohio High School Athletic Association rules are clear: The date on the birth certificate is the one they'll use.

So for now, Daniel waits. He goes to after-school tutoring and conditioning with his teammates twice a week, and on Friday, he and his coach, Tyler Barrott, sent a petition to OHSAA, hoping they'll make an exception.

OHSAA has 30 days to respond. If it's a 'No,' Daniel, Barrott and the school's athletic director will appeal. If it's 'No,' again, that's it. Daniel will never again be allowed to play high school soccer.

He'll stay in school and keep working hard, he said, but he won't be "well."

"When I play soccer, I feel good," he said. "I really need to play soccer. ... I can't stay at Withrow and not play soccer."

The alarm clock sounds at 5:30 a.m. Daniel gets ready in his family's Millvale apartment, then he walks down the street to catch the bus to Hyde Park for school. He goes to class, then tutoring, then practice. If it's a game or scrimmage day, he might not get home until 10 p.m.

The apartments in Millvale are all the same – row after row of Cincinnati Metropolitan Housing Authority townhomes. The exteriors vary – tan, gray, red – but the structure is repetitive.

The median household income in Millvale is just over $15,000 a year, according to census data. Fifty-seven percent of all families there live below the poverty line, and the unemployment rate is about 27 percent.

Yet when Daniel talks about his home here, he speaks of it as a nice, safe, clean neighborhood. He likes where he lives, he loves his school, and he loves playing soccer.

"I love Cincinnati. I'm free. I feel good," he said. "... I feel like I'm better than I was before. I know what I do, and I believe in the future."

Daniel was born in the midst of civil war. His family fled to a Tanzanian refugee camp when he was still very little, and that's where he spent most of his childhood. Then, he gets quiet. Either he doesn't remember much about the camp, or he simply doesn't want to talk about it. The housing was not good, though, and there wasn't enough food.

Some days, Daniel went to school, he said, but it wasn't like the education he gets here. Students would gather under a large tree rather than in classrooms, and while the instruction was fine, "the conditions were bad." He didn't actually start school until he was 8 or 9 years old, he said.

"The life there is like ... it's not like humans are supposed to live," he said. "It was a bad life. ...I thank the Lord to be in the United States, because school is much better."

Daniel's family was in the camp from 1999 to 2013. Then – in a system Daniel describes like a lottery – the Sumunis were chosen to come to the U.S. They landed in Cincinnati, and Daniel enrolled at Withrow.

He spoke no English at first – "not a lick," his coach says – but he joined the soccer team almost immediately. That's where he made friends, learned the language and, really, found a second family.

"The way I see my family is the way I see them, too," Daniel said of his teammates. "Soccer changed my life."

OHSAA has a host of rules regarding eligibility, but most pertinent here is the age rule: If a player turns 19 before Aug. 1 of a particular year, he is ineligible that entire year.

There are two exceptions: one for students held back either in kindergarten, first, second or third grade; and another for students with disabilities.

The rules are intended to offer an even playing field. Older players might have advantages in size, skill or experience that would make it unfair or even unsafe for their younger, more inexperienced opponents. And, regardless of a student's past, everyone has to meet the same eligibility requirements, said Associate Commissioner Deborah Moore. OHSAA can't waive the rules for a student who can't prove his or her age, and proof rests on a valid birth certificate – not a family Bible, a baptism certificate or, as in Daniel's case, a mother's word.

It's not that OHSAA is unfeeling toward students with difficult pasts, Moore said. It's that education, not athletics, is the primary goal.

"Please do not lose sight of the fact that athletics is a privilege and not a right for any student," she wrote in an emailed response to The Enquirer. "The privilege comes only with compliance with the minimum standards of eligibility as set forth by the members."

OHSAA discusses its bylaws every year, Moore said. In fact, this year, they'll be voting on nine potential changes. But once the rules are adopted, there's little wiggle room.

The DRC has been a war state for decades, with rebel groups fighting for control since the Rwandan genocide in 1994 forced an influx of refugees in the region.

More than 5 million people have been killed, the most in any conflict since World War II.

Rape, genocide and human trafficking became the norm, with the United Nations calling the DRC "the rape capital of the world."

Worldwide, fewer than 1 percent of refugees get resettled, said Larry Bartlett, the U.S. Department of State's director of refugee admissions. There aren't enough spots in the world to send them, and it makes more sense to send resources – sometimes billions of dollars worth – to help them where they are.

Resettlement is "a very scarce resource, and it's one that we use carefully," Bartlett said.

In 2012, though, the United Nations launched a large resettlement program specifically for the Congo. The U.S. is one of five or six countries resettling Congolese refugees, and in the next five to seven years, the program is expected to resettle more than 50,000 people, Bartlett said.

From 2005 to April 13 of this year, the U.S. took in 18,990 Congolese refugees, according to state department data. That includes 532 who were resettled in Ohio, and 73 in Cincinnati.

"They've been in limbo far too long as a refugee population," Bartlett said. "They've suffered, frankly, as refugees. The conflict in Congo has been brutal. Even what people have experienced in flight, in some cases even in regional hosting countries, has been really tragic."

Cincinnati specifically is a safe haven for refugees. Since the Vietnam War, the Catholic Charities of Southwestern Ohio have resettled more than 10,000 refugees in the tri-state area, said Kelly Anchrum, marketing/communications director.

This past year, the charities resettled 134 refugees, largely from Asia, and they're on track this year to settle 200-plus.

"I think we have a good track record," Anchrum said. "By welcoming strangers into our community, we believe we're creating a more vibrant, inclusive society for all. ... They're bringing a lot of rich culture and vitality to our communities."

What are they not bringing? Material possessions, Anchrum said, and accurate, up-to-date paperwork.

Refugees get a social security number and a case file when they come to the U.S., and the charity helps them fill out all the forms. Sometimes, there are no schooling records, so the children go through an assessment process to place them in the right grade. Sometimes, there's no birth date, Anchrum said. So, like Daniel and his mom, they pick one – often it's Jan. 1.

This has happened before.

Just this past year, Coach Barrott had another soccer player who was going to be ineligible. The player was a refugee from Africa, just like Daniel, and – the result of civil war, genocide and a subpar education – he needed extra time to graduate.

That player turned 19 one month before OHSAA's eligibility cutoff date. Barrott applied for a waiver, but it was denied, he said. He appealed, and that was denied, too.

Shortly after, that player dropped out of school.

"Was it just because of soccer? Probably not," Barrott said. "But that was a big thing."

Barrott understands why eligibility rules are important, but he thinks there should be some consideration for players like his – refugees who are scrambling for a shot at a normal life. Especially since there are already exceptions, Barrott wants to start a conversation about adding one more.

In Daniel's case, while he wasn't technically held back, he didn't actually start school until he was 8. So, while the paperwork is not the same, the end result is that Daniel started school in a "vastly inferior" system, at least two years behind his U.S.-born peers, Barrott said.

Daniel took the Ohio Test of English Language Acquisition in 2014 – a gauge for non-native English speakers – and he earned a composite score of one, the lowest possible score, records show. He has come a long way by himself, making massive gains in listening and speaking, particularly, but writing remains a challenge.

Barrott points to California, New York and Oregon, all of which have "hardship" exemptions in their eligibility requirements for high school athletes. More and more refugees are coming to Ohio, Barrott said, and it's time for the rules to reflect that.

"I understand that the OHSAA has such an incredibly tough job to do; I just want to work with them," he said. "I would just hope we could get the kids the opportunity to practice the sport they love and stay engaged in school."

Barrott's team includes kids from about 17 countries. They understand each other – not necessarily in language, but in what it's like to be dropped off at school in a foreign country – and they've become a sort of family. Soccer is a huge self-esteem boost, Barrott said, and it gives students like his a place to belong.

"A lot of the African kids are speaking Spanish now," he said. "Soccer is a valuable part of making the kids feel included, keeping them in school and, ultimately, making them contributing members of society."

Barrott started coaching at Withrow as a volunteer during the fall 2013 season. The team went 5-11-1, he said.

In the 2014 season, Barrott's first year as head coach, they went 5-7-1.

Daniel plays forward and midfield. Overall, he started in three varsity games and scored one goal, Barrott said.

Compared to other players in the conference, Daniel ranks No. 72 in terms of overall stats.

Barrott is proud of his team, but his players are going up against opponents from much wealthier backgrounds who have been playing club soccer all their lives. In soccer, money matters, he said, and simply put, his players tend to have less.

The point: He isn't trying to work OHSAA for a competitive edge, he said.

If OHSAA says no to Daniel, Barrott will appeal. But, honestly, he doesn't have much hope for a different outcome. He's seen this before, and he knows how it ends.

"My goal is to give Daniel the best shot," he said. "The precedent seems to be that they don't have any sort of policy equipped to deal with refugee students. There's no provision for refugees in their rules, which is a shame."

The neighborhood is busy. Outside, the stoops are crowded. Children race on the sidewalk, and people work on cars in the street.

A group of teenagers is clustered on some steps. "Hey!," they yell when they see The Enquirer's cameras. "Take our picture! We'll be famous!"

Inside, Daniel's apartment is full of brothers, sisters and uncles. His parents speak a little English, but for the most part, they let Daniel do the talking.

His mom, Avijawa Neema, tries to remember exactly when Daniel was born. The family banters back and forth in Swahili, and they settle on August. But they're not certain.

His dad, Yembe Sumuni, says he remembers Daniel playing soccer back in Africa. It's what Daniel has always done, and Yembe wants him to be able to play here, too.

Soccer teaches Daniel to work hard and to improve himself, Avijawa says.

"To make me a person who can take care of myself," Daniel says, interpreting for his mother. "A strong man."

Daniel is one of seven children. His goal is to go to college to become either a businessman or a lawyer. He wants to help people, because "when someone has a problem, I feel like it's my problem," he said.

He wants to play soccer in college, too, but he's afraid if he has to sit a year, no team will want him. He knows the OHSAA rules, but he also knows that to him, soccer is worth the fight.

"I'm really hopeful," he said. "When you try to do something, you must be hopeful. I need one more year to play."

If you're viewing this on a mobile device, tap here to tell us your thoughts.