This story was produced as part of our Writing Heals program, in which we first hire a family member of the deceased to write the story of the loved one they lost. Then they can choose to write about more victims. For more information or to sign up to write about someone you lost to gun violence, click here.
_____________________________________________________
By David Bratcher, who first wrote about his brother, Tyrek Dunn
Sadiq Dove’s love for basketball was more than a pastime. It was the language he spoke best. Constantly shouting “ball is life” from his favorite YouTube subscription, he arrived at the YMCA gym every afternoon, bag on one shoulder, headphones blasting and ready to lace up.
He idolized LeBron James, mimicking his drives, his fadeaways, even his celebratory fist pumps. When the Sixers faced LeBron’s team, Sadiq refused to take no for an answer, begging his mom, Nikki Nicole, day after day until she scored tickets. To Sadiq, seeing LeBron live was a dream he wouldn’t pass on.
Sadiq grew up in South Philadelphia, where he was always seen as a bright ball of energy. The oldest brother of two, Sadiq always found solace in making sure his little brother was ok. Even at a young age, it was clear that Sadiq’s energy was just magnetic.
“He never was sad,” said his friend, James Thorpe. “I don’t know if he had a superpower to hide it, but it was always good energy.”
When the court lights dimmed, Sadiq’s world shifted to melodies and raw verses. His bedroom became a makeshift studio with his laptop on the desk, headphones around his neck, notebooks full of rhymes. Music came as naturally as breathing.
He went by the name DeekLoko. He studied flows from old-school rap to modern trap, spitting bars that spoke of triumph, struggle and love. Late into the night, he layered beats over his vocals, chasing the perfect take. His dream was to stand under the spotlights of Summer jam for the whole city to see how hot he was.
From his broad smile to his easy laugh, Sadiq radiated a confidence that drew people in. He never hesitated to strike up a conversation with strangers, often leaving them feeling seen and appreciated. Whether he was warming up under the basket or freestyling over a looped beat, he carried himself with the poise of someone who knew his worth.
His mother Nikki recalls one time when she went to pick up his report card.
“Everyone just kept running up to him to say hi,” Nikki said. “He turned me and said he was the man, smirking.” That confidence wasn’t arrogance, it was a belief that everyone felt his presence.
Sadiq made it a point to look good, never skipping his routine to get ready or keep a fresh haircut. “He would get one then ask if he can get another the next week,” his mom said. He learned his appreciation for looking good from his uncle, who always said, “Neph, don’t nothing feel better than looking good.”
Sadiq’s talent was only half the story. “He was the friend who kept up and made sure you felt noticed and who picked you up when you were down,” James said. He celebrated every assist as if it were his own. If you faced a rough patch, Sadiq was guaranteed to lift your spirits, whether he recited a comforting verse he’d written or challenged you to a one-on-one game or a dance off to clear your head.
On July 26, 2023, after leaving the basketball courts, Sadiq was with five friends but was killed after a shooting near 17th and Christian St.
A few moments capture Sadiq perfectly. Once, after a late-night cipher session in his driveway, he climbed atop his car and announced a spontaneous rap battle. Friends gathered on porches, cheering as teenage talent spilled onto the streets.
On another occasion, after a grueling three-hour practice, he and his friends were waiting for one of their parents to come back from work and surprise his mom with her favorite meal: “Thank you for believing.”
When he wasn’t on the court, Sadiq was always found surrounded by loved ones. He had a radiant energy where you just had to see what he was up to. Whether dancing on TikTok, coming up creative flows, or just making jokes. “Sadiq was always someone you wanted to be around. He just had a good energy always,” said his friend Amir Johnson.
By the summer of 2023, Sadiq had recorded a couple tracks that were lean, honest and brimming with potential. Snippets posted to social media drew buzz and caught the attention of locals. On the court, he’d just led a community league team deep into the playoffs, hitting game-winning shots that became legendary among local fans.
Yet, both his mixtape and that championship run remain unfinished chapters, bittersweet reminders of a future cut short. Friends still press play on his unfinished tracks, imagining the next verse, while teammates talk about the buzzer-beater he never got to take.
Leave a Reply