Ethiopian Sports Federation — Football Case Study

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Dispatch: a series dedicated to immersive storytelling, where our photographers and writers journey to chosen places, combining evocative imagery with long-form editorials to uncover and share unique football cultures.

Ethiopian Sports Federation in North America: Where Football is a Vessel of Culture

Story in Collaboration with Where Is Football

Words by Marvin Heilbronn
Photography by Meron Menghistab

July 20, 2025

SEATTLE, Washington — The final whistle blew, and for a moment, Eyoel Mammo stood frozen. Around him, teammates rushed the field in celebration, but his eyes searched the crowd for his father. After a gruelling 90-minute performance — made possible only by the four hard-fought matches that led them to the final — Eyoel and his Los Angeles-based side, LA Dallol, clinched its first ever championship at the Ethiopian Sports Federation in North America (ESFNA) Tournament. It was a title his family had coveted for generations, a pursuit that began with his father, 37 years ago.

“It’s one thing to make yourself proud,” shared Eyoel, recalling the moments of celebration, “but seeing how proud my dad and his friends were was what made the moment so special. Knowing that my family was able to live that win vicariously through us meant the world to me.”

Eyoel knew the win didn’t belong to just him. It belonged to his family, to a generation of uncles and elders, to a community that had carried this team, and this tournament, for over 40 years. A tournament where football becomes the medium, but what’s actually being played for is memory, legacy, and home.

A Lineage Woven Through the Game

Every July 4th weekend, tucked within the fireworks and family barbecues, another celebration takes place. Since its inaugural season in 1983, the ESFNA tournament has grown into a 32 team competition, featuring clubs from across North America, competing in rotating host cities: Atlanta, Washington D.C., Seattle, San Jose. With every edition, newly chosen parks and stadiums are reshaped into dynamic hubs of culture and celebration, fueled by a shared history and energy. Thousands attend. Music fills the air. Injera is passed hand to hand. And amid it all, the game unfolds — not just as sport, but as ceremony.

It is a ritual of return; part reunion, part rite of passage, part homecoming, brought together by the rhythms of the game. And for one week, the shared pulse of heritage, hospitality, and high-level football brings generations into orbit with one another.

The ESFNA Tournament, created in 1988, blends heritage, hospitality and high-level football featuring 32 teams across North America, all day and all night.
Meron Menghistab / Football Case Study

A Legacy of Identity, Carried on the Field

For Eyoel, and countless other players who look forward to competing in this annual competition, the tournament carries the weight of legacy. Fathers who once raced up and down the pitch, now watch pridefully from the stands, hoping that their sons bring home the trophy they passionately fought for years ago.

Eyoel’s father immigrated to the U.S. in 1989 at age 25, just one month after arriving, his local team took him to a tournament hosted in Dallas where he had no idea what to expect, but it stated it “immediately felt like a home away from home.”

For over 30 years, the championship eluded Eyoel and his father’s team. Unfortunately, an injury cut Eyoel’s father’s playing days short, ending his time on the pitch before Eyoel was old enough to watch him in action. Yet in 2023, Eyoel stepped into his father’s footsteps, helping lead the team to its first-ever ESFNA championship, a victory decades in the making.

“I’ve played in big games before,” stated Eyoel, “but this one was different. You’re not just winning for yourself. My dad, my uncles, their friends, who built this from scratch — they lived that moment through us. Seeing their pride, it meant everything.”

It’s a moment that speaks to the essence of ESFNA, not just a competitive tournament, but a conduit of memory and heritage. The passing down of jerseys and winning titles is only the surface. What travels deeper is identity, belonging and continuity.

This sentiment is echoed by Zekarias Arage (aka Zack), a fixture at ESFNA since 2013. Born in Ethiopia and raised in Las Vegas, Zack grew up attending the tournaments as a spectator before making his debut as a player in 2015. For Zack, like so many others, the tournament is more than just an annual series of fixtures. Elaborating on this notion, Zack said, “This tournament, which honestly feels more like a festival, is about culture, soccer, and bringing everybody together. It’s a little version of home, and whether you grew up in Ethiopia or are discovering your roots for the first time, there’s something in it for everyone.”

A Taste of Culture, On and Off the Pitch

In the days leading up to kickoff, players trickle into the host city — settling into hotels, sharing meals, and shaking off the travel with light training sessions. The routine is simple, almost ritualistic. As Eyoel put it, the schedule was always constructed around two things: football and food.

“We’d train in the morning, then go eat together at an Ethiopian restaurant. Train in the afternoon, and then go eat again,” he recalls. “Eating with your family is one thing, but those meals with my team — where our food and culture is already so community-based — laughing, sharing, feeding each other bites… that made me understand what being Ethiopian really feels like.”

That discovery isn’t just a personal realization unique to Eyoel’s experience — it’s a generational process. Many of the younger players grew up in the U.S., visiting Ethiopia only rarely, if ever. For them, ESFNA offers a space where culture isn’t taught through stories or passed down in photobooks but lived through experience — in the spices drifting from sideline stalls, the pulse of evening music, and the hum of Amharic exchanged in the marketplace behind the stadium.

The Festival That Follows the Game

By midweek, the tone shifts. It’s no longer just about who advances from the group stage. The host city begins to transform into a festival: food vendors line the walkways, stalls brim with traditional crafts and jewelry, DJs mix Amharic tracks while dancers gather circles around them. What begins as a football tournament transforms into something larger: a celebration of culture, family, and belonging.

As the festival springs to life, it doesn’t distract from the football — it amplifies it, weaving energy and spirit to the activities both on and off the pitch.

“The better your team does, the later in the night you play—and of course, the bigger the crowd,” Eyoel says, describing the excitement from his squad, the reigning champions, being scheduled under the lights. “There’s a rhythm to it,” he adds. “Once the tournament picks up, the whole community starts orbiting around the games. The matches, the meals, the dancing and conversations all become intertwined.”

Eyoel and Zack both agreed that the pull of the ESFNA tournament is equal parts football and festival. Some people might show up for the music, others to witness the skill on display, but no matter the original reason, everyone eventually gets swept into both worlds. By the time the final rolls around, even those who came just to dance find themselves in the stands cheering.

That energy peaks on “Ethiopian Day,” the Friday before the final, when the whole community shows out ready to celebrate. The main stage stays alive with performers all night: dancers, singers, and sometimes one of Ethiopia’s breakout stars, turning the evening into something unforgettable. All of it unfolds on the same field that, just hours earlier, hosted a full day of competitive semi-final matches. At night, the space transforms. Some people linger in the stands, others gather at the front of the stage, drawn by the music. Kids roam freely, juggling footballs and playing small sided games in the back. Together it’s a living archive passed between generations.

Brotherhood: Built in a Week, Lasting a Year

By the time the tournament concludes, few leave unchanged. For players, the week is often as much about relationships as it is about results.

“Some of my closest friendships came from this tournament,” says Zack. “Even if we don’t talk all year, once we see each other on the field, it’s like no time has passed. After seeing each other year after year, these guys become brothers.”

That bond, forged in hotel hallways, post-match dinners, and sideline celebrations, builds a kind of diasporic kinship that’s hard to replicate.

Even for those who are newcomers or find themselves switching between clubs, the tournament has a way of folding you into its fabric. A few years ago, Zack found himself without a team—he wanted to play in the first division, but didn’t have a spot. That’s when a teammate’s father reached out and brought him in, no questions asked. From there, the bond deepened. Older players looked out for him, teammates became family. Over time, these relationships evolve into a brotherhood where everyone supports each other, where no one gets left behind.

That familial dynamic also extends to the next generation, as the tournament becomes a space for legacy. Eyoel recalls walking around their hotel after a match when a group of kids ran up, asking for pictures. In that moment, he realized the role he had unknowingly stepped into. He laughs, “We’re not celebrities or professionals”, but to those kids, the players are heroes. They see reflections of themselves in the jerseys, the joy, the pride. What begins as a game becomes a stage for inspiration. For Eyoel, it was a reminder that he’s part of something much larger: a story being watched, admired, and carried forward by the next generation.

Change, Growth and the Road Ahead

No institution endures for over four decades without evolving. ESFNA has weathered its share of growing pains and experienced its share of growth spurts. One of the most significant recent changes has been a rule regarding the rosters of each team: each roster may now include only two professionals from Ethiopia and two foreign-based players. Both Zack and Eyoel support the decision, seeing it as a step toward preserving the tournament’s identity as a community-rooted event.

“With these regulations, it makes the tournament feel more local,” Zack explains. “You’re really representing your city, taking the field with the guys you’ve trained with all year. And that’s what it’s all about.”

Other challenges stem not from the structure of play but from the tournament’s rising popularity and ever-changing host venues. In Seattle this year, an estimated 2,000 fans were turned away at the gates due to venue limitations. Zack, whose Las Vegas team earned promotion to the first division, recalled how even his own teammates weren’t immune as their goalie stepped out to grab food before the trophy ceremony but wasn’t let back in due to the venue being at capacity.

The year prior, the tournament was held at the University of Maryland’s stadium. Despite a strong Ethiopian and Eritrean community in the DMV area, the region encompassing Washington, D.C., Maryland, and Virginia, the 50,000-seat venue proved too large — its vastness diluted the atmosphere that gives the tournament its soul.

Still, for all the logistical tweaks and format changes, one thing remains constant: the tournament’s spirit. The rules may shift, the cities may change, but the energy, that feeling of community, pride, and belonging, never fades.

Where Culture and Sport Speak the Same Language

By the end of the week, it’s no longer just a tournament, it’s a tapestry. Stitched together by meals and matches, by laughter echoing through hotel lobbies and music pulsing from vendor stalls to dance floors. It becomes a memory, a moment, and the future all at once — bound by cleats and conversation, by lineage and longing. Generations converge, those who grew up in Ethiopia and those who’ve never set foot on its soil, all carried by the same current of heritage, pride, and belonging.

Eyoel, who only visited Ethiopia for the first time last summer, says it was the tournament — not the trip — that made him first feel connected to his heritage. That sense of belonging didn’t arrive through language or geography, but through the emotional muscle memory of a community brought together by something they all loved: football.

In a world where distance often fragments identity, ESFNA remains a rare and constant bridge to home. One that reaffirms, each July, that home isn’t always a place. Sometimes, it’s a pitch. Sometimes, it’s a meal. But always, it’s a feeling.

A feeling that football, in all its simplicity and spirit, will never fail to conjure up. —

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