18/06/2026
đ¨đŽ Yann Diomand's message to his deceased sister:
Dear Roxanne,
Remember when someone bought me a fake Manchester United jersey and I wrote "Ronaldo 7" on the back with a black marker?
We didn't know if we were rich or poor. We only knew what happiness was.
Remember when 25 people slept together in a house in Abidjan? Mom would watch her series, the rest would watch movies. I would pretend to be asleep, then go to the TV room in the middle of the night and watch football on very low frequencies and dream.
Remember when the adults saw me playing football on the ground and called me "Roberto Carlos" because I shot so hard? But inside I was angry because my idol was Cristiano Ronaldo.
Remember when I was only 9 years old and went to play far away from home? At Inter Foot Sud KomoÊ, near the border with Ghana. We were so hungry that we would steal potatoes from the village shop. We would keep two shopkeepers busy, and the rest would run around with two potatoes. The potatoes weren't very good, but they seemed like the best food in the world at the time.
Remember, when I first got real football boots, I would sleep in them? When I was a kid, I used to play in white plastic sandals. I still wear them when I go to the country.
Remember, when I came home, you would tell my friends, "Why did you stop training? Ian won't buy you a car. You have to work hard yourself."
You were only 10 years old, but you were like my agent.
Remember, we used to dream of going to France? You believed that one day I would become a great footballer. Even though everyone laughed, you never doubted.
When I was 15, I went to high school in America. I didn't understand the language, it was very difficult. Back then, I would call you and tell you these stories.
Remember, I had trials at Bournemouth, Chelsea, Rangers, Olympiacos, Crystal Palace? Everyone said I was good, but no one signed me.
Even the B-teams of the MLS didn't take me. They didn't give me any reason.
My visa expired. It felt like the dream was over. I had to go back to Africa and we cried together.
But you didn't lose faith. A few weeks later I signed for Leganes and we cried with joy.
I still had feelings then.
They don't anymore.
I feel empty after you died.
A few weeks after my debut for Leganes against Real Madrid, the phone rang.
"Your sister is gone."
"What?"
"She's dead."
"What are you saying?"
"Someone spiked her drink at a party. She never woke up."
You were only 15.
I still don't know why this happened.
Maybe it was jealousy, maybe it was fate.
Maybe I could have saved you.
I don't know.
I just try to trust in God's plan.
I don't want to forget you, because I know I never will.
I just want to turn this pain into strength and make our dreams come true.
I'm writing this letter because I can't say these things verbally.
I want you to know that I will make sure the world knows your name.
Everything I do on the field is for you.
Remember, we used to watch Mbappe on TV? You would say, "Mbappe is good, but my brother is better."
I was wrong about one thing.
I don't want to be rich.
I've seen that money changes people.
I just want to play football.
I just want to prove that you were right.
And yes, you will laugh when you hear this.
After I went to Leipzig in Germany, everyone said I was always late. So I started coming so early that everyone called me "The German".
You always said I overdid everything.
The field is now the only place where I find peace.
Where I can talk to you.
I just wish you were still here.
Then I could say -
We did it! Everything you said has come true.
Tomorrow we leave for the World Cup.
True!
Your brother is now playing for Ivory Coast in the World Cup.
Like Drogba, Yaya Toure, Zverevinho.
This is not just a game.
This is my chance to show the world what you saw in me.
If I score a goal, everyone will know your name.
No one will forget you.
You said I would be bigger than Cristiano one day.
If I meet him, I will greet him on your behalf.
I will make your prediction come true.
I will prove you right.
Or else life will end in the attempt.
- Your brother, Ian. đ¤
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