. . . That little boy and the penniless residents observed the breath-taking landscape day in, day out. It was always a beautiful place. Down below, the marina was busy with ships arriving from Lisbon and mainland Europe. That was the gateway to a bigger world. Life outside the island. They often wondered what it would be like to see beyond the land’s end. A dream for those that couldn’t get out.
The Eighties were a different time—straddling an optimistic future while dealing with issues of the old regime. Portugal was changing since the revolution but poverty was still an issue on autonomous regions like the island. As if they were forgotten before and after. However, unbeknownst to everyone, the world would come to eventually recognize the boy and his little village more than they ever thought possible. . .
. . . His life was a twist of fate from the jump. He was the fourth and last child to his parents. The mother was a professional cook already raising three kids with an alcoholic husband. That man descended from ancestors from Cape Verde and grew up in Câmara de Lobos. He was a city gardener but his demons took over his ambition, eventually forcing his wife to run the household. With so much on her plate at the time, she recognized that another baby was not ideal, but if not for the doctor’s refusal to perform an abortion, she would have avoided the child altogether. That’s how the boy was born to defy all the odds.
He was a typical kid from the neighbourhood; poor, neglected and hungry. Sharing a room with all his siblings, he dreamed of a better life for his family, for himself. That was a promise beyond the island. Futebol became the outlet for his aspirations. Inspired by the legends that proudly carried the Portuguese badge on their chest. Those that made a living playing the beautiful game. He was relentless, training everyday to become like them. . .
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