Journeyman, Part 4: More Than a Game
- Olu Ashaolu
- Aug 26
- 4 min read
What does it mean to be a journeyman? In basketball, it’s a player who travels from team to team, or even country to country, chasing the game they love. But being a journeyman is more than that; it’s about resilience, adaptation, and finding a sense of home no matter where life, or in this case, basketball, takes you.
Olu Ashaolu’s story is one of movement, across continents, cultures, and courts. From his early years in Nigeria to his family’s transition to Canada, from the grind of college basketball to the realities of playing professionally around the world, this series dives into the highs, the lows, and the lessons learned along the way.
This is Journeyman, a look inside the life of an athlete who has seen it all.
In a Nigerian household, there was only ever one way out of struggle: school.
Not just going to school, but excelling at it. Degrees weren’t optional; they were currency. Respect. Identity. Among Nigerian immigrants, academic success is part of the DNA; many Nigerians hold a master’s, doctorate, or advanced degree. So when we came to Canada, my parents carried that same expectation with them. New country or not, the message was clear: books first. Always.
So you can imagine how strange it sounded to them when someone mentioned a thing called a scholarship. That you could go to school for free just by putting a ball through a hoop? That sounded like a scam until my older brothers, John and Sam, started getting real scholarship offers.
That changed everything for her, and for us.
My mom, who worked early morning shifts and came home too tired to do anything but rest her eyes, eventually became a believer. The economics made sense, college was expensive, and feeding four boys in one of the world’s most heavily taxed countries left little room to put money away for college tuition.
My dad? Not so much. To him, basketball was just a game. A distraction from what mattered. He couldn’t understand how a game could offer a future.
But after watching John succeed at the University of New Orleans and Sam begin his prep school journey, even he had to admit, maybe there was something to this.
And for me? I was the youngest and still figuring it all out. But I was next in line.
Early on, I dominated mostly because I was taller than the other kids. Local tournaments, rec leagues, I was doing well. But deep down, I knew I hadn’t really been tested yet. I was hooked on And1 Mixtapes, reading every copy of SLAM magazine my brothers left around. I knew the game was bigger than what I’d been exposed to at that point. I wanted to see more. I wanted to see it all.
With John back in New Orleans and Sam off at prep school, I didn’t have my big brothers around to guide me anymore. I had to figure things out on my own.
So when in doubt, what did I do?
What my parents always taught me: put your head down and work.
I got in the gym.
Every Saturday, from sunrise to sundown, I’d be at the YMCA. There was a crew of us who showed up religiously, some older, some better, but regardless, I always found my way into a run. When we weren’t hooping, one of the staff members would break down the game for us, teach us footwork, ball-handling, and how to read the floor. Those lessons stuck with me.
That quiet grind I was putting in day after day ultimately changed the course of my life. What started as casual turned serious. I began to chase excellence, not recognition. No cameras, no crowds. Just reps. I didn’t know where it would lead, but I knew this much: if I could just keep stacking the days, something would come of it.
Then came my first real break.
I was 14, and I had emailed Ro Russell, the legendary godfather of AAU hoops in Toronto. I’d heard stories. Seen the names he helped send south of the border. I knew if I wanted to be taken seriously, Ro had to see me play.
After watching me play, he gave me a shot.
He invited me to a U17 tournament in Buffalo, NY, with older kids and real competition. I had no idea what I was walking into, only that I was leaving Canada for the first time to chase a dream. Was I ready? I wasn’t sure, but I was going for it.
Ro had his own way of developing players. He did skill work with his teams, sure, but he was known for running practices that were like grind sessions, straight 5-on-5, open play, read and react. Instead of calling plays and controlling things, he allowed his teams to play with freedom. Motion and rhythm. The problem was, I didn’t have rhythm yet. I had no creativity in my game. I hadn’t played in any real system. I’d just been training with my brothers and running drills at the Y.
So, when the games in Buffalo started, I leaned into what I did have: hustle and hard work.
I chased every loose ball. Crashed every rebound. Finished every dump-off. Putback dunks, tip-ins, rim runs, I think I had a double-double just off my energy.
That effort got Ro’s attention. He called my family the following week and told them, “There’s something here.” He believed I could play college basketball.
That was it. That’s all I needed to hear.
I wasn’t polished. I wasn’t ranked. But I had a motor, and I knew if I worked hard, good things would happen. If I kept pushing, kept showing up, kept learning, who knows? Maybe this game really could take me somewhere.
That was the first domino. From local gyms to AAU exposure. From Saturday runs at the YMCA to tournaments in the States.
Basketball wasn’t just a game anymore.
It was becoming a way forward.
My way out.
But here’s the thing, I was just getting started.
