I woke up this morning, (as I often do), and headed straight downstairs to breakfast in the youth hostel.
On the way, I bumped into two French guys who were in my dorm room, and who knew of my footballing passions due to a conversation we had had the night before.
“There’s one of yours down there,” one of them told me, happily.
(Except in French, of course).
I had no idea what he meant, but soon understood when, arriving on the ground floor, I was greeted by this guy:
The sheer ridiculousness of travelling halfway around the world to meet a Benfica supporter was added to by the fact that he was from Angola, (a former Portuguese colony).
And also that he, the African, was wearing a European jersey whilst I, the European, was wearing my Cameroon jersey, (my favourite African team due to the fact that I once, very briefly and very unofficially, worked for them).
This is football.
This is Benfica.
This is my life.