“I was seven years old when my dad died. When I turned thirteen I left my township in Johannesburg to play soccer in Capetown. The day I left my mum handed me a phone. I remember very well because it was the first time I saw a mobile phone. There was only one number in it, which was hers. The first months were terrible. I used to call her every night crying, asking if I should come back home. She never told me rather that would be a wise decision or not. She would just say: ‘You could come back home but don’t forget, one day in the ghetto is not much different from the next.’ ”