Photo by Student News
Agency at Wikimedia Commons.
“Let
me tell you how it happened …”
An
extended family member begins the story. They tell a lot of stories,
such is an islander trait, but this one stands out from the others. I
listened closely as they told me about a time when the island was
inconspicuous. A little wonderland that was discreet for so long.
Distant from its mainland counterpart, and the rest of the world, it
was compelled to make its own way. That’s the island way. That
tenacity and determination is where greatness emerged from:
"Christiano
Ronaldo, he
was just a boy. Unspectacular. Like any other child from a small
village. Winding upwards into the mountainous interior of the island,
he grew up in Santo António, a civil parish within the capital
city. From there, Pico Dos Barcelos, a special viewpoint, watches
Funchal like how a pigeon sits on a wire.
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.”
That’s
the same place where this particular family member originates from.
Of course, we are connected by wedlock—they are an elder figure
to my wife. We sat across from each other at a cafe as they spoke
about growing up around that time. They carry on about the boy:
“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.
Just
another kid, playing futebol on the poor streets but his dedication
was noticeably pervasive. He was loyal to the game. He played for a
youth team in the early nineties before entering a top flight
academy. That camp was situated on the other side of the city.
Teetering on the edge of another mountain that overlooked Funchal.
Close enough to touch the passing clouds, he trained among determined
players that dreamt of the same fantasy—playing in the first
division. They elevated each other to new heights unseen from down
below in the bay.
He
learned the principles of a game that could unite the world. Values
of solidarity, courage, and integrity were instilled in them. His
teammates were comrades on and off the pitch. Brothers in arms. They
became men together.
There
was one teammate in particular, his best friend, that changed his
life. A selfless act is what hoisted him to the next level. That’s
when he started to soar as if he earned a set of wings to leave the
island. Madeira and the people were always behind him. That moment
was one of the most inconsequential yet greatest in the island’s
modern history.”
The
storyteller takes a long pause for dramatic effect. It drives home
the magnitude of its importance. They emphatically speak about it.
This part seemed to mean a great deal to them. Without question, it
was the deciding factor for what was yet to come. They stepped away,
choking up for a brief instant, before getting an espresso to clear
their throat and returned to the story:
“One
day, there was a scout from the Primeira Liga watching a game. Those
agents have always been sharks on the hunt, searching for the next
big talent. They were seeking to fill a spot for a trial period in
Lisboa. It was at this game that the boy had his chance to shine but
not without serendipity.
The
scout set their sights on the boy and his best friend. They both
performed well in a tightly contested match until a foul inside the
box led to a penalty shot. That’s when it happened. The
opportunity to grab the brass ring was for the taking. Luckily, his
best friend was noble enough to step aside for him to take that shot.
He nailed it. Unflinchingly scoring the goal to secure the win for
his squad. That’s how the scout made their decision.
At
twelve years old, the boy went on a three-day trial with that top
flight team. He subsequently moved from Madeira to the mainland to
join that youth academy. They were committed to being the best. Their
skills grew everyday. That’s where he sharpened his teeth. So
much so that they could play semi-professionally at such a young age.
That was when he paused his education to focus entirely on futebol.
He never returned to the island unless to visit his family or to
support those that believed in him.
That’s
how it happened.”
The
significance of the boy has not been lost on the islanders.
Especially for this particular family member. They elaborate on a
personal connection to the boy, by way of distant relatives. Same
village and same last name, they are linked some generations ago, but
they explain that if you look far enough you can find connections to
nearly everyone on the island. It’s all in the family.
These
people had settled there for centuries. Only a select few moved there
after discovering its magnificence. Some never left. Others found
another way to forge a new path for their families. Those carried the
island mentality with them to distant regions. A diaspora of
Madeirense scattered the globe but the boy became the most well-known
of all of them.
“That
boy was the best in the world. He had an illustrious career playing
international futebol. He carried the Portuguese badge with honor and
respect, like the idols before him. It was on the island, Santo
António, that he was born and he never lost touch with his
roots. He came back for his mom. He took care of his siblings. He
bought a round for his neighbours. He gave back to the island.
As
time elapsed, it was not the same as he remembered. The island had
changed since he rose to prominence. No longer was it a scanty
destination. Its glory was highlighted with a new industry that
emerged for the islanders. Quality of life was improved, a far cry
from the days of his upbringing. People were happier. Searching for a
way out was not the dream anymore. Instead, tourists seeked its
brilliance. There were enough resources for the people to thrive. The
progress was palpable.
Even
still, there was a familiarity that can never be lost. Within the
beautiful escarpment, the streets and homes remained as they were,
traditions preserved, and the culture as strong as ever. That’s
what makes it special. That’s what made him special. He carried
every aspect of the heritage with him, wearing it like a heart on his
sleeve. He put the island on the map. His contributions were like a
beacon of light for the world. To commemorate what he did, they named
the academy after him, they erected a statue, and named the airport
in his honour. His legacy will stand for generations to come.”
