On a warm Saturday afternoon in March, Fabrice Fablo exchanges banter with his teammates as they cruise down the interstate. He puts on Miley Cyrus's "Party in the USA", with a grin and a point toward classmate Bukuru Lubunga.

"Hey, man, turn that off," Bukuru says. Fabrice turns up the volume.

The team is on their way to a soccer match in Louisville, caravanning in Bukuru’s car to meet up with a bus of twenty other refugee students. All are members of Bowling Green, KY’s Refuge soccer team, a community league made primarily of students at the city’s new GEO International High School. Despite coming to the United States over several different years from varying parts of Africa, they all coalesce over one thing: the sport’s role as a universal source of relaxation and unity.

Since 2017, over 1,200 Tanzanian immigrants have arrived in Bowling Green, fleeing geopolitical instability in the Congo. Despite their high numbers and the city's reputation as a small-town cultural haven for immigrants, though, Tanzanians rarely make noise on Bowling Green's most prominent refugee stages. Most of the city's native-born residents, asked about the notion of an international city, point to Bosnian neighbors that arrived in the 90s with tales of fleeing in the beds of trucks or the Burmese citizens that have hosted frequent cultural events for decades. The neighborhoods that host Tanzanian populations are as unrecorded as they are unassuming; their most attended churches and schools are, broadly, linguistic oases.

Still, African refugees carry a hyperlocal sports culture within the city. What started with backyard soccer games hosted by one Burkina Faso immigrant, Daniel Tarnagda, has turned into a sprawling group of refugee soccer clubs around the city in recent years: car-sticker banners for Leopards, Elites, and Golden Lions touted by Burmese, Tanzanians, and Ugandans. The city's west-end Lampkin Park can be found hosting a practice on any sun-gilded evening. In any of the city's Tanzanian-majority neighborhoods, a careful drive through will have you skirt around mass groups of children and teenagers kicking soccer balls in the street.

Bukuru and his brother Toyi have beena part of Refuge since soon after their arrival in Kentucky. The twins were born in a refugee camp in Tanzania, where they lived up until age 12. Their family--mother, father, and seven, now eight, siblings--moved to the United States in April of 2019. The family shares a small, quiet space in an apartment complex on the city’s west end.

The two lead lives that, compared to their peers at the neighboring Warren Central High School, are altogether normal. Bukuru arrives late at prom, squabbles with his teammates on drives to matches, matches his brother’s uniform-black attire for New Beginnings Christian Ministries every other Sunday, and keeps top-of-class grades in dual credit chemistry. It's the sort of life that any high school suburbanite could be expected to carry, with perfect adaptation to the notch of America carved out for them.

Still, language barriers in the city with few Swahili translators employed in government means that the soccer field is a perfect refuge for Tanzanian-Americans like Bukuru to commune in. It’s a reminder of back home, where their father, who now departs in the evenings for a graveyard shift at a local factory to support the family, racked up medals in soccer leagues. The two describe him as their hero.

As seniors in high school, Bukuru and Toyi are now facing down the prospect of moving forward in life. Asked about their aspirations for the future, both twins beam and list “soccer player” first. Sparing that goal, Bukuru says, he wants to be a nurse—to “help people”. Toyi gives the same response about becoming a lawyer.

When the end of the night comes and the final goal is scored, the team erupts in cheers, rushing each other on the side of the field. They hoist their winning players into the air and record videos of themselves dancing under field lights. The jubilation lasts for minutes.

"You all are celebrating too much," coach James Carr warns. "We only won a game, not a championship. We still have several teams to beat.”

The spirit that accompanies this victory, though, will carry them through a near-undefeated season. And at its heart, it will join them together in a common cause—refuge.