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Snapshots are on the ground reports from our editorial department, field notes offering context, perspective, and a sharp lens on the cultures shaping the game.
Editorials
Members
Commissions
Think Tank
Image Licensing
About
Snapshots are on the ground reports from our editorial department, field notes offering context, perspective, and a sharp lens on the cultures shaping the game.
Ben Katz — August 28, 2025
MUNDA, Solomon Islands —I have been a soccer fan for as long as I can remember. Growing up, it was all I thought about. The rhythm of the game, the drama of penalties, the way an entire community could hold its breath together in a single moment. Manchester United was my team, and eventually, the game carried me all the way to playing at Tufts University.
But Tufts also gave me something else: an introduction to global health. What started as a curiosity quickly became a second passion, one that has taken me to Thailand, Rwanda and the Solomon Islands. Everywhere I go, soccer finds me again. I lived in Solomon Islands for 6 weeks this past summer and was based in Munda, a remote town in the Western Province, for part of my time. My days were devoted to diabetic limb amputation research, and in the afternoons, I traveled into villages with a local nurse to meet amputees, listen to their stories and document their experiences through portraits on my film camera. It was serious, often heavy work; conversations about pain, resilience and survival in places where healthcare was often hours or even days away.
One afternoon, walking between homes, I stumbled upon something completely different: an inter-island soccer tournament. Music, laughter, shouting, the smell of food and the sound of cleats scraping on dusty grass pulled me in immediately. Teams from across the islands had gathered and the entire community had turned out to watch. I was the only foreigner there, clearly out of place, and yet the familiarity of soccer felt like a homecoming.
As penalties began, I slipped behind a group of children standing at the end line. At first they stared at me, giggled and whispered. But as the tension built and the shots came faster, they forgot I was there. I lifted my camera quietly, trying to disappear into the moment. Then came the final kick. A hush fell over the field, the shot rang out, and the goalie stretched full length, somehow pushing the ball away. For an instant there was silence, then the entire place erupted. Players sprinted, fans screamed, children leapt into the air, an explosion of joy that seemed to ripple across the entire island. And there I was, caught in the middle, camera in hand, capturing a fleeting second of pure celebration.
That photograph is one of my favorites. Not because of technical perfection, but because of what it represents: a reminder that no matter where I go, whether in clinics, villages, or crowded fields, soccer remains a thread that ties me to others. It’s the game I grew up with, and it’s the game that still connects me to communities half a world away.