De onde você vem?”

I was on the taxi to my hotel in Sao Paul, Brazil, and, with my limited Portuguese, did not understand what my taxi driver was saying. Seeing my confusion, he added inquisitively, “Angola?”

That is when I figured he was trying to figure out where I was from. “Uganda,” I replied. The amused driver then said something about the World Cup in South Africa in 2010, which, again, I did not quite understand.

That was my welcome to Brazil, the cradle of football.  After all, this Latin American country has won the World Cup a record five times, not to mention a high number of phenomenal football players in the world it has produced.

From what my little Portuguese let me understand out of my driver’s conversation, it was clear he was brimming in anticipation of the World Cup and the prospects for his country not only showcasing its talent but reclaiming the trophy from the current holders, Italy. Winning the football World Cup many times has bred a sense among Brazilians that it belongs to them.

There is simply too much football in Brazil to miss its presence. It is just so strong there’s no way to feign ignorance about it. At street corners and shopping malls you cannot help but marvel at the football atmosphere, from shirts and jackets to watches bearing the names of Brazil’s famous players like Kaka, Ronaldinho Gaucho and Ronaldo. The small football pitches next to a bar or a restaurant where kids can play as their parents watch show the country’s love for football.

My best Brazilian football moment came out of sheer luck.

I was visiting the Museu do Futebol (Museum of Football) located in the same complex as the Estádio do Pacaembu, one of the most historical stadia in Brazil. It is in this stadium, way back in 1950, that Brazil hosted some of that year’s World Cup final games where they lost the final to their southerly neighbours, Uruguay.

As I approached the stadium, I saw a swarm of youth, some lining up while others tried to fight their way into the stadium. I quickly asked what was going on and I learned the World Cup trophy was on its world tour and had stopped here as one of its scheduled display points. This was real surprise and I was excited. I learnt too that the great Pele had been picked as the chief witness of the World Cup on Brazilian soil. I never dreamt that I would ever get to see him.

As I walked past the stage to get a good view, the helicopter carrying Pele landed at the stadium together with the golden World Cup trophy and other Brazilian football officials.

I saw Pele step onto the podium carrying one of many trophies he won in his typical sky blue Kaunda suit. For a moment I could not believe it. The excitement with which he arrived certainly befitted the legend that he is.

He was still very well respected as if it was just yesterday when he helped Brazil win three World Cups. Now at 68, King Pele’s athleticism is still visible. Even with no idea of what he was talking about in his speech in Portuguese, I listened attentively and wondered over and over how he made it; how he had done those runs and whether football will ever have another Pele.

I marvelled because Pele, whose real name is Edison Arantes do Nascimento, is one man that even many Brazilians would do anything to meet, and indeed few have met or had a glimpse of him.  I felt overwhelmed I was such a short distance from the Athlete of the 20th Century, a title bestowed on him by the International Olympic Committee. The cup display did not last long and soon Pele was off.

After the ceremony I went ahead to the museum where memorabilia dating back to the early 20th century is on display. Here you see excellent goals from Pele and the rest of the stars both in pictures and on video.

The Museum of Football was inaugurated in 2008 to “tell the history of Brazilian football” as my guide told me.  It reminds Brazilians of their happy and bad times throughout World Cup history. The video of the most heart-breaking defeat to Uruguay in 1950 is played over and over and the expressions on faces of those Brazilians in the room remain those of total disbelief; just like those of the wailing fans at that game. Most still wonder, almost 60 years later, how this happened on their ground in Rio de Janeiro. It’s a scar that will not easily disappear.

Not long after, I travelled to Salvador, a city two hour flight away from Sao Paulo, in the state of Bahia. Salvador is well known not only as the first capital of Brazil but also the place with the highest concentration of black people in the whole country. Here every part of the culture ranging from food and dressing to religion has an African touch to it. The city has a high number of temples devoted to “African religions”. 

But there was no English premier league. Instead, most places show the Campeonato Brasileiro Série A (Brazilian top football league) games and only a few foreign games like UEFA Champions League are shown. While I was frustrated at not being able to watch the FA Cup semi final game, I was envious of Brazilians for the pride in their own game and frustrated by our – Ugandans’ – fanatical support of foreign leagues, especially the English Premier League.

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