Dacious, founder of Rise Above Reality Expectation. © Dacious Richardson
From a childhood shaped by war in Liberia to building one of Vancouver’s most dynamic youth initiatives, soccer has remained a constant through every chapter of Dacious Richardson’s life. For him, it’s only the beginning of unlocking the game’s potential.
By Rafay Ahmed in Ottawa, Canada
In some parts of Liberia, the birth of a child is greeted with a ritual gift, as humble as it is hopeful: a soccer ball.
“People will come and say, ‘I’m bringing this gift to this child because he’s going to be the next superstar in the country,'” Dacious Richardson explains. The ball arrives before the child can even walk or speak, an emblem of possibility.
For Dacious, that possibility took shape on the streets of his neighbourhood, where soccer became an organizing rhythm of childhood.
“That’s all we did—play soccer,” he remembers. “Sometimes we didn’t even want to stop and eat. And the thing was, even if you didn’t have a real ball, you’d make one: tie plastic, cloth, whatever you could find. We just wanted to play.”
When darkness finally ended their games, the children lingered outside, mats spread on the ground beneath the moonlight. “We’d sit together and tell stories. It brought us joy. It helped us forget about the war.”
But forgetting had its limits. Dacious was born during the brief interval between Liberia’s two civil wars, his childhood marked by conflicts that would claim hundreds of thousands of lives and drive countless others from their homes. The violence pressed close, intruding without warning.
One afternoon, sent by his mother to the market, he spotted a familiar face in the crowd—a first-grade classmate who had once been among his closest friends. Relief gave way to dread. In the boy’s hands was a gun.
“I just froze,” Dacious recalls. “He had been recruited as a child soldier. When he called out my name, I ran—I was terrified he might try to recruit me too.”
In another incident, he was walking with his grandmother toward the American Embassy, a bundle of clothes balanced on his head. Then, without warning, a bomb exploded ten feet away. Luckily, they survived, but many were severly injured.
The violence was unrelenting, each day bringing new horrors that left him bearing trauma in silence for years. Only years later, in a new country, did he find space to heal—through the game that had been with him since his earliest memories.
The healing power of sport
In 2011, 13-year-old Dacious and his two older sisters made their way to Canada, settling in Vancouver as refugees.
“It was a very bittersweet moment,” he recalls. “Because I was leaving everything I knew—my mom, my grandmother, my friends, my siblings, my community. But at the same time, I wanted to go to school. I wanted an education. I wanted a better life for myself. And that’s what Canada gave me.”
Dacious entered eighth grade midway through the year, a shy kid still learning how to navigate a foreign world. He understood English, but he feared embarrassment, reluctant to let his “broken English” betray him. On the field, though, language didn’t matter.
“I remember the first time I had gym class at school,” he recounts. “We go on the big field, we’re playing soccer, and I’m just going through everybody. The coach was like, ‘You’re so fast, you’re so good at soccer! How old are you?!’ And I said, ‘Oh, I just came here.’”
While others could never fully imagine what Dacious had endured in Liberia, soccer became his bridge to friendship and a means of connecting with adults who wanted to see him thrive. “They [teachers and coaches] treated me like their child. They were there for me. They wanted to see me succeed.”
As he began high school, he branched into other sports—track and field, martial arts, wrestling, just to name a few—each one widening his world and strengthening his sense of belonging. “Sports helped me heal a lot. I felt relieved from all the trauma and the pain.”
The recurring nightmares of war that had once haunted him began to fade, and when he finally began sharing his story with others, the weight he had carried for years lifted.
“Something just left my body,” he remembers. “I felt like a new person again.”
Once unburdened from his trauma, Dacious threw himself into every opportunity that came his way—student council, the Bible club, Big Brothers Big Sisters, youth forums with the Canadian Council for Refugees, volunteering at community events—all on top of the numerous sports he was involved in. Dacious even came to school early to pick up garbage around the grounds. “Nobody told me to do it. I just wanted to. Why? Because my school was my community, and I wanted it to look nice and decent.”
In reflecting on his high school days, Dacious puts it simply: “I was doing everything I did because I wanted to belong. And I was able to, through the community I found.”
Creating change for the next generation
When his high school graduation arrived, Dacious knew he wanted to turn the sense of belonging he had found through sport into something bigger for others. At a meeting of a community nonprofit, he raised the question that had been on his mind: What kind of impact can I make?
His thoughts went back to the local recreation centre, where he and so many other refugee youth played soccer in his community. For most, organized sports and tournaments were out of reach—too costly, too far, or simply unavailable. Determined to change that, Dacious applied for a $500 grant to cover the basics and began spreading the word about a free community soccer tournament for refugees.
Dacious Richardson, right, with a player. Through soccer, Dacious has helped youth find joy and belonging. © Dacious Richardson
Youth arrived from all over Vancouver. “When we did our tournament, it brought so much joy and passion,” he recalls. “It brought a sense of belonging amongst the youth.” Inspired by the response, he turned the tournament into an annual event.
As the years went on, the tournaments expanded to include cultural performances with music and dance from around the world, guest speakers such as Canadian soccer legend Geri Donnelly, and partnerships with the Vancouver Whitecaps, who donated tickets so youth could attend professional matches—nearly all for the very first time.
Eventually, Dacious decided to take his work beyond the field, founding his own nonprofit: Rise Above Reality Expectation. The organization empowers marginalized youth—many of them refugees and newcomers—through practical and personal support. That can mean guidance with a job search, help in processing trauma, or simply providing a space to connect with others. Rise Above Reality Expectation now runs programs in high schools across Vancouver, with plans to expand into elementary schools this year.
Dacious sees a great deal of himself in the youth he works with. “I feel very blessed, I feel happy, I feel joyful. Doing the work just comes naturally. I always wanted to create something that would help young refugees and immigrants like myself.”
His long-term vision is to expand Rise Above Reality Expectation not only beyond Vancouver, but beyond Canada. “I want to take this to other countries, the main one being, of course, my country, Liberia. There are many young people there who went through the wars, just like I did. To this day, they still need help healing.”
Back in Canada, Dacious is looking ahead to the 2026 FIFA World Cup, part of which will be hosted in Vancouver. For him, the tournament is a chance for young people in his community to see what is possible.
“I believe it will be a very powerful moment to have the World Cup here. It’s a reminder that young people’s dreams are valid, because they can see players who look like them on the world stage.”
One of those players is his friend Alfonso Davies. The Canadian star’s journey from a Liberian refugee camp to international stardom mirrors the very message Dacious now shares with the youth he mentors: that no matter where you begin, the game can carry you further than you ever imagined.
