Pierre Johannessen doesn’t come off as arrogant when he explains different cultures. He simply uses analogies people can relate to. He’s well practiced, having spent a large portion of his childhood around the globe.

His father’s work for the United Nations took the family through Iran, America, Greece, Australia and the Pacific Islands.

It was one of these analogies Johannessen explained to me two years ago over the phone from Phoenix, Arizona – a three-hour flight from his new home in Austin, Texas. He spoke about life in Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh. A city that changed his life forever.

Picture the nicest person you know, he told me. Maybe they melt over puppies, adore children, and are always willing to help a friend. They’re likely smiling whenever you see them and speak poorly of no one. Take that person and lock them in a car with five mosquitoes. See how long those mozzies last.

“That mosquito, it’s a living creature,” he said, adding that in some places people place significant emphasis on that little creature’s life. “Nevertheless, the nicest, most loving person that you know, locked in a car with five mosquitoes, is going to take a swipe. It doesn’t make them a bad person. Somehow, someway, that mosquito is more of a nuisance than something to be treasured. That’s how it is for most kids in most developing countries.”

When you stuff a population like Bangladesh’s – almost seven times Australia’s – into a country just over half the size of Victoria, it results in street kids everywhere.

“The very best people,” said Johannessen. “The people that have kids of their own that they love and they treasure, that they would lay their lives down for, those very same people won’t think twice about stepping over a kid that got hit by a car in the street. There are just that many kids. There are just that many people.”

As a teenager at Canberra Grammar, Johannessen may not have played basketball the same way his Dream Team idols did. In local leagues as a University of Canberra law student he didn’t fly like Michael Jordan. Slightly stocky and just scraping six foot, he didn’t fit the physical mould of an NBA All-Star. But he did recognise basketball was more than just a sport – his view of the game wasn't confined by lines on the hardwood floor. Basketball was special. It gave those with little hope two hoops to shoot towards.

Johannessen first saw Bangladesh in September 2007 as a 25-year-old Habitat for Humanity Youth Ambassador. He emailed the western world seeking aid from a four floor residential apartment turned office space in Dhaka. The office had a brick-walled courtyard on the ground floor filled with a garden. Three young pet deer frolicked together amongst the plants. The building backed onto Banani Lake, which was often filled with small wooden paddle boats. Across the water Johannessen could see the tinned-roofed slums.

On November 15, Cyclone Sidr swept in off the North Indian Ocean, snatching 5,000 lives and decimating coastal districts. One hundred and ninety kilometer per hour winds whipped schools and houses into the air, trees ripped from the earth, and rice crops were lost just weeks before harvest. Dhaka lost power and access to water services. Flooding and famine followed.

“I had a very Disney-like view of the world until 2008 – until I went to Bangladesh,” he says. “I always just had this positive outlook on everyone and everything and that everything can be solved, everything can be fixed, and that everyone is basically good.”

Wading through knee-high mud, Johannessen and a team of volunteers waited for a small plane to land. It had been sent to drop tools, organised by a not for profit to help rebuild villages. As the plane carrying the tools came in to land an argument started between the people controlling the plane and the people on the ground.

Confused, Johannessen asked someone what was happening. Those in charge of the plane were complaining the group of aid workers weren’t paying tax to bring tools into the country. After a long debate, the plane was rerouted to a private airport nearby where a smaller bribe was accepted in place of the massive unjust tax. The tools arrived.

As a kid and a uni student, Johannessen had always turned to his favourite game when he was stressed. That weekend he grabbed the basketball he bought at Singapore airport in transit and found a hoop.

The cracked cement court at Gulshan Youth Club is weathered. Faded white lines and a chain mesh fence separate Johannessen from attached football and cricket fields in the outdoor complex where others play.

The ball leaves his fingertips, drifting towards the basket and he exhales. Familiarity in a foreign place is welcoming. He grabs the ball and takes another shot. Watching that backspin on the ball, holding his follow through. Repeating the same process. Clarity.

As he continues shooting, Johannessen notices kids walking over to hang on the fence and watch. Ten kids, then twenty. Fifty. One hundred. The kids are unbathed and in tattered t-shirts and shorts.

He gestures to come on the court. A braver boy steps out from behind the fence and Johannessen tosses him the ball. Others join him, confused but accepting access to the court.

Suddenly a hundred street kids are running, laughing, and playing with Johannessen - a refreshing contrast from the bureaucratic debates halting help. He grins and high-fives a kid. Then another. Smiles shine across scarred faces as play replaces searching for survival.

Then a kid’s scream jolts across the court. Johannessen turns, expecting to see an injury or bickering boys.

A youth club security guard strikes a child with his baton repeatedly. The boy cowers on the ground, but he doesn’t stop. More security guards come running. Johannessen yells at them, but nothing changes. Kids scatter out of arm's reach. Johannessen grabs his bag, walks to his rickshaw driver and heads home.

“You can get caught up with the vision of saving the world,” he tells me, reflecting on that day. “There are always points that remind you not to get too far ahead of yourself.”

A few weeks later, Johannessen met two Frenchmen. One working for the economic commission, building trade partnerships and relationships between Bangladeshi and French firms, the other a telecommunications manager overseeing his team putting up towers in Bangladesh to improve reception. They discovered a shared passion for basketball and started shooting hoops together regularly. They also often discussed how to further help a community which has already received aid.

In a rickshaw coming home from the courts one day, the guys spoke about the number of street kids watching them play who weren’t allowed to join in. They decided to run a basketball mini-camp at the Gulshan Youth Club. They had met a local high school student who played on the national team and asked his help rounding up kids.

There was no emphasis on specific skills at the camp, just an opportunity for street kids to play. Nearly 100 showed up with smiles, receiving a small emergency pack at the camp’s conclusion full of oil, rice, and other necessities to survive for a week.

The quartet ran several more mini-camps. It continued to catch on, and they decided to run a three-on-three tournament with local players to raise more money for the camps.

The first tournament had 10 teams in an open division. Teens and adults from poor parts of Dhaka took to the same court as those from high rise apartments. It was the first time many of them had crossed paths with someone from the other side of the wealth divide.

Johannessen and the others entered a team too. At the registration desk they were asked for a team name.

Local television was tough for foreigners who didn't speak the language. After work or coaching the guys often sat together in an apartment falling asleep in the living room to the only DVD they had – a burnt copy of the Big Bang Theory.

“There was four of them and four of us,” says Johannessen. “We all kind of matched up to one of the characters.”

‘We are the Big Bang Ballers,’ they told the registration people.

*Big Bangs founders: Pierre Johannessen (left), Julien Kerdoncuf (middle), Rodrigue Monfort (right), and Raja Siddique (crouching) at the first camp.*

Street kids watched on cheering as some of Dhaka’s top players competed on the court and Big Bang Ballers won the comp.

After a successful first tournament, Johannessen and his team planned another with a women’s division. Locals cautioned against the idea, telling them women won’t play basketball. Over 10 women’s teams entered.

What simply started as an idea in Dhaka has now evolved into a charity based in 12 countries with 80 full-time volunteers supporting over 65,000 kids. NBA head coach Brett Brown is one of several high-profile ambassadors for a charity that began a decade ago with no business plan. Using the game he worshipped since watching the ’92 Olympics on TV, Johannessen and his team of like-minded hoops fans founded Big Bang Ballers.

“We all thought what a great image,” he tells me, explaining why they kept the name. “Even when it seems like there’s nothing, even when it looks like there’s nothing there, all it takes is a little spark for something incredible to happen to set off a sequence of events that make something extraordinary come alive.”

Johannessen founded an Australian chapter in Canberra and Sydney, while his French teammates took it home to Lyon. The group managed the Bangladeshi chapter externally, while local players took responsibility for running camps.

In Australia “Big Bangs” started Night Hoops, which included a free feed, team building activities, guest speakers from local police and other mentoring programs, and of course, basketball games.

“No matter where we are, no matter what country we are in, Australia included, boys especially have the exact same issues,” says Johannessen. “Confidence, finding their place in the world, and being responsible.”

Big Bangs continued to grow, catering to kids of all races and religions. In particular, Canberra and Sydney’s South Sudanese teens took to the court in Big Bangs t-shirts as teams entered tournaments with trademark height and athleticism.

People heard the Big Bangs story and wanted to be a part of it. Chapters were founded in Pakistan, the Philippines, Afghanistan, Nepal, Senegal, Uganda, Papua New Guinea, Canada, and the United States.

In 2010, Johannesen was awarded ACT Young Australian of the Year.

“I could lecture and teach in 100 different ways, but basketball is what I know the most,” he says. “Basketball doesn’t mess around.”

Kids line up on a court in rows as Big Bangs coaches teach basketball skills. Dribbling, shooting, defensive slides. But the real lessons are learnt without many kids realising it. When games begin it becomes clear quickly that all five players can’t score a single basketball at the same time. Not everyone is the best shooter, but the coaches encourage players to own their own qualities.

Kids discover their ability as a passer sets up a teammate to score. Defending hard helps your team get the ball back. Leading your teammates helps you win.

“You are not alone in this world,” says Johannessen. “You are surrounded by community after community. If you learn to understand your role, if you learn to identify what your strengths are, the potential of where you can reach with others is limitless.”

“Not everyone is going to be president, but everyone has a shot to contribute to the person that will be president,” he continues. “You may not be able to speak well, but you may be able to write well. You may not be able to write well, but you may be able to research well. You may not be able to research well, but you may be able to convince people of something specific. There’s all kinds of roles for you.”

“We have yet to find a kid who we can’t inspire to see their potential.”

Big Bangs players get to meet with local council workers, mayors, ministers, and other people of influence. Dressed in team t-shirts, the wealth gap is eliminated, and people just see a united front.

There’s not a lot of time for reflection in Johannessen’s days, which often begin at sunrise and finish well after midnight. Since that first phone call with him a lot has changed. He’s moved from the States home to Canberra to run his family’s law firm, specialising in litigation. He assists many young start-up founders with legal and entrepreneurial advice. He coaches two local men’s basketball teams - including mine. But a decade of Big Bangs brings smiles, laughs, and silent pauses to a guy that rarely struggles finding words.

Recently, Johannessen found himself in the States at a San Antonio Spurs vs. New York Knicks NBA game. He posted an Instagram story of the teams warming up, which was met quickly with a message from another Big Bangs worker.

That’s one of our guys, the message read, referring to French Knicks guard Frank Ntilikina who volunteers in France.

In Nepal, a couple of Big Bang Ballers are now on the national team. In Bangladesh, men and women have come through Big Bangs and represented their nation. In France, a division 1 professional team helps run camps and fundraise. In Australia, Canberra’s Chima Moneke is set to play in the NBA Summer League after an outstanding college career, while Bul Kuol is currently playing at Division 1 California Baptist University.

“It feels like yesterday we were running up and down those courts,” recalls Johannessen. “Having to stop the tournament halfway through because a dust storm picked up and taking refuge in a local shop for an hour-and-a-half until it quieted down.”

“It’s been ten years and we’ve just grown steadily,” he adds. “We’ve proven the concept.”

Big Bangs now run programs in 18 countries, with headquarters in 12 and are beginning to look at employing full-time staff.

“It’s really humbling and it’s really incredible to see the connections that we have all around the world,” he says. “We can get through anything together. We don’t need to always win because there are lessons in losses, but we’re definitely strong all the time when we’re a team.”

A Decade of Big Bang Ballers