A Big Assist, Off the Court

When Mady Sissoko was 15 years old, he left his home in Mali to come to the United States, a country he knew little about, to play basketball, a game he only vaguely understood.

Sissoko set off from Tangafoya, a small village 360 miles from Mali’s capital, Bamako, saying goodbye to everything he knew to chase a better life that playing basketball might offer him.

Now 23 and a senior at Michigan State University, where he’s a center on the school’s basketball team, Sissoko has found that better life. And last summer, he returned to Tangafoya to a hero’s welcome.

Sissoko started a foundation that funded Tangafoya’s first school, built a well that provides the village’s first running water, and installed an irrigation system to help with farming.

“People there, they don’t have the opportunities,” Sissoko says, from Michigan State’s campus in East Lansing. “I got an opportunity. Ever since I came to the United States, I wanted to give that back.”

Mady Sissoko was 15 years old when he left his home in Mali to come to the United States. He didn’t know much about the country. He came to play basketball. At the time, he didn’t even know much about the game.

Sissoko set off from Tangafoya. It is a small village 360 miles from Mali’s capital, Bamako. He said goodbye to everything he knew to find a better life that playing basketball might give him.

Now Sissoko is 23 and a senior at Michigan State University, where he’s a center on the school’s basketball team. He has found that better life. Last summer, he returned to Tangafoya to a hero’s welcome.

Sissoko started a foundation that funded Tangafoya’s first school. The foundation also built a well that provides the village’s first running water and installed an irrigation system to help with farming.

“People there, they don’t have the opportunities,” Sissoko says, from Michigan State’s campus in East Lansing. “I got an opportunity. Ever since I came to the United States, I wanted to give that back.”

It happened because of the N.C.A.A.’s decision in 2021 to allow student athletes to make money from their name, image, and likeness (N.I.L.). As an international student, Sissoko isn’t allowed to profit off his N.I.L. as his teammates can.

He could, however, create a foundation and solicit charitable contributions. That’s what Sissoko did. He set a goal of $50,000 and surpassed it by “quite a lot,” Sissoko says. Last February, officials broke ground on the school. It opened in September, with four classrooms able to serve 60 to 70 students apiece.

“That’s the kind of kid he is,” says Michigan State head coach Tom Izzo. “He never worries about himself. He’s always thinking about other people.”

In 2021, the N.C.A.A. decided to allow student athletes to make money from their name, image, and likeness (N.I.L.). Sissoko isn’t allowed to profit off his N.I.L. because he is an international student.

He could, however, create a foundation and ask for charitable contributions. And that’s what he did. He set a goal of $50,000 and surpassed it by “quite a lot,” he says. Last February, officials broke ground on the school. It opened in September, with four classrooms that can serve 60 to 70 students apiece.

“That’s the kind of kid he is,” says Michigan State head coach Tom Izzo. “He never worries about himself. He’s always thinking about other people.”

Tangafoya is a village of about 900 people with homes of mud and thatched roofs. Almost everyone works as farmers, subsisting on the corn, beans, peanuts, rice, and millet they harvest. When Sissoko was growing up, there was no clean drinking water, no electricity, and no school. He’d leave his house each morning between 6 and 6:30 to walk an hour and half to go to school.

Sissoko is the youngest of 10 children. His parents are uneducated, but they and his siblings insisted he go to school. Only the rainy season, which made travel impossible, allowed him to skip.

“You definitely have to have a vision that no matter what, I’m going to do this,” he says.

Tangafoya is a village of about 900 people. They live in homes made with mud and thatched roofs. Almost everyone works as farmers, living on the corn, beans, peanuts, rice, and millet they harvest. When Sissoko was growing up, there was no clean drinking water, no electricity, and no school. He’d leave his house each morning between 6 and 6:30 to walk an hour and a half to go to school.

Sissoko is the youngest of 10 children. His parents are uneducated. They and his siblings insisted he go to school. They only allowed him to skip school during the rainy season because it was too hard to travel.

“You definitely have to have a vision that no matter what, I’m going to do this,” he says.

That grit never left him. In 2015, a team of American eye doctors was in Mali to provide care when one of their security guards mentioned that his younger brother was very tall and could play basketball. A year later, one of those doctors returned and agreed to sponsor Sissoko to come to the U.S. and play high school basketball.

When Sissoko first arrived, it was a hard transition. He spoke French and Bambara*. Neither his host family in Utah nor anyone at his new school spoke either. Everyone did a lot of charades.

He battled homesickness and second-guessing. Yet he remained determined. He studied flash cards and people, trying to understand through their mannerisms the meanings of their words. When he arrived at Michigan State, he failed the English language test given to all non-English speaking students. To enroll, he had to take five six-week condensed E.S.L. classes in the summer of 2020.

“He has to work a lot harder, but not once did he get frustrated,” says Hannon Roberts, the basketball team’s academic coordinator, who worked intensively with him. “I just always got the sense with Mady he knew he had such a great opportunity to come to the United States and get an education, so he was going to put the time in. He does the work.”

That grit never left him. In 2015, a team of American eye doctors was in Mali to provide care. One of their security guards mentioned that his younger brother was very tall and could play basketball. A year later, one of those doctors returned and agreed to sponsor Sissoko to come to the U.S. and play high school basketball.

It was a hard transition for Sissoko. He spoke French and Bambara. No one in his host family or new school in Utah spoke either language. Everyone did a lot of charades.

He battled homesickness and wondered if he made the right choice. But he remained determined. He studied flash cards. He watched people, trying to understand what they were saying through their mannerisms. When he arrived at Michigan State, he failed the English language test given to all non-English speaking students. He had to take five six-week condensed E.S.L. classes in the summer of 2020 before he could start college.

“He has to work a lot harder, but not once did he get frustrated,” says Hannon Roberts, the basketball team’s academic coordinator, who worked intensively with him. “I just always got the sense with Mady he knew he had such a great opportunity to come to the United States and get an education, so he was going to put the time in. He does the work.”

Sissoko has finished with a 3.0 or better grade point average every semester.

On his trip home last summer, hundreds of people came to thank him. He’d returned to Tangafoya before, in 2021, and still considers himself a citizen of Mali, not America. That’s his home, his culture, the epicenter of his Muslim faith. But this time felt different.

Kids tugged him into the classroom of the new school his foundation had built, and the adults talked to him about the well. Soldiers escorted him around like a celebrity, everyone giddy at what Sissoko had become. Even more, they were grateful for what he had done for them. He’d given them a better life.

Sissoko has finished with a 3.0 or better grade point average every semester.

On his trip home last summer, hundreds of people came to thank him. He still considers himself a citizen of Mali, not America. That’s his home, his culture, the epicenter of his Muslim faith. But this time
felt different.

Kids tugged him into the classroom of the new school his foundation had built. The adults talked to him about the well. Soldiers escorted him around like a celebrity. Everyone was happy at what Sissoko had become. Even more, they were grateful for what he had done for them. He’d given them a better life.