About

I believe that opportunity carries responsibility. When we're fortunate enough to pursue something demanding, we owe it to ourselves, our families, and where we come from to take it seriously. Cycling is how I practice that belief: by choosing challenge consistently and letting it shape who I become.

I also believe this is my path. Not because I planned it perfectly, but because things tend to fall into place in ways that are hard to ignore. The right person appearing at the right moment. The right door opening before I thought to knock. These aren't coincidences I take lightly. They feel like reminders that something larger is at work, and that my job is simply to keep going.

Today, I am an Olympic hopeful with my eyes set on LA2028.
But to understand why that matters, you have to understand where this started.

My first memory of a bike is in Ouagadougou. A small bike with foam wheels and just enough freedom to explore the front of the house. As I got older, the radius grew. The bike was always nearby, always a way to move and discover. There’s something about Burkina Faso that shaped me early: Burkinabè people are resilient and resourceful. You learn to work with what you have and to recognize opportunity when it appears. That lesson traveled with me.

When I moved to the United States as a young child, fitting in was hard. I was different from the kids around me in ways I couldn't always explain. But as I moved through my teenage years, I began to see that difference as an advantage. I had a perspective that most people around me simply didn't have.

I kept moving my body in every way I could. Tae Kwon Do, soccer, triple and long jump, swimming, lifting weights, running, and always, the bike.
Through high school it became a commuter.
Through college it became a curiosity. At the end of my college years, I tried road cycling competitively for the first time. I struggled to keep up, but the challenge was fun nonetheless.

It started with a search. I was looking through race calendars and stumbled onto mentions of Tour du Faso. I learned more about it and eventually found trailers for a documentary by a German filmmaker, but couldn't find a way to watch it. So I emailed the production company directly, and they sent me a private link.

What I saw in those Burkinabè riders was grit, ambition, and pride. Even without the equipment their competitors had, they held their own. What pulled me even deeper was something more personal: footage of streets I recognized, places I had called home. Watching those riders push through familiar roads made it feel less like a film and more like a mirror. The realization built slowly throughout the documentary: if they can reach this level with limited means, then I should be doing at least the same, if not more, with the resources and opportunities available to me.

Weekend group road rides were fun, but I knew I wanted more. I just didn’t know where to look yet.

Then a local friend who had track racing experience in Colorado offered to take me to the Baton Rouge velodrome to ride in an intro class.

We almost didn't make it. Just before getting on the interstate, his car had trouble. I would've been fine turning around; I was more worried about his car than he was. But he pushed on.

We arrived late, and I had missed most of the instruction. The sun was already low, the sky orange, and the lights around the track beginning to brighten as the evening came in. I was told I could get on the track and ride. It felt like stepping into a coliseum. Other riders were well into their session, zipping around in a pace line on proper track bikes. I had my old city fixie, a commuter that had no business being there.

The first couple laps were slow. Then I found my way up into the banking. Going up into the banking and coming back down felt like a roller coaster: controlled but exhilarating and freeing. The same freedom I knew from riding fast on open roads, but multiplied. There were no cars to dodge, no traffic signals, no interruptions. I was hooked after the first lap.

I made trips back to Baton Rouge every so often, learning the track, gradually getting more appropriate equipment. With more confidence under my legs, I made the drive to Houston to compete for the first time. After that first race, a more experienced rider told me my times were impressive for someone new to the track. That was enough. I was ready for more.

One day I looked up the UCI Track Championship results for Africa and compared them to the times I was posting. The thought arrived simply: I could do this too. I then looked closer and saw no representation from my country. It felt like an opening. A chance to put my name and Burkina Faso's name somewhere they hadn't been before.

That chance became real at the 2025 African Continental Championships, where I earned two bronze medals in the Match Sprint and Kilo Time Trial. Standing on that podium, I felt proud. Not just of the results, but of what it had required.
From there, the Olympic goal stopped being distant. It became a plan.

The road to LA2028 is not glamorous. Hard days can look like a trainer session at 5am, a full work day from 8 to 4, and a gym session in the evening. Racing weekends in Houston sometimes mean a four-hour drive on Friday, racing Saturday and Sunday morning, and driving back Sunday afternoon to be ready for the work week. Track training weekends mean a ninety-minute drive to Baton Rouge, two to three hours on the track, and the drive home. Most weekend social invitations get declined. My coach is remote. Most training sessions are done alone.

I chose to invest in this myself before asking anyone else to believe in it.

These aren't complaints.

Opportunity carries responsibility, and this is what taking it seriously looks like from the inside.

Ride Your Path is the place where I document all of it. Training, racing, and the patterns I notice along the way. I share updates through the blog, and each week in my newsletter Pedal and Prosper, I translate what happens on the bike into something useful beyond it.

My long-term goal goes beyond the podium. I want to show that sprint talent exists in West Africa and is ready to be developed. When elite racing is behind me one day, I want to use everything I've learned to support the next generation of cyclists from the region.

But that's later. Right now, the story is being written.

Whether you're a cyclist, a builder, a creator, or someone in the middle of something hard - I believe the path toward mastery looks remarkably similar across every pursuit. What you're navigating is not unique to you, and you're not alone in navigating it. That's what I hope this platform reflects.

If any of this resonates, the best place to follow the journey is by subscribing to the newsletter below.