World Cup in the Refugee Camp

The World Cup is, shall we say, a really big deal here. Brazil, or
Argentina. No one else matters. I met an isolated Germany fan, and she
boasted her victory the other day against Australia, but she is more
or less alone. The streets are decorated with strings of green and
yellow soda bottles, flags fly behind motor cycles. Children without
pants sport Brazil jerseys or tie their braids with green ribbon.
Yesterday in Camp Trazelie, the camp inhabitants worked together to
find a way to watch the game. People pooled together crumpled bills to
purchase gas for a generator that would power the television someone
brought into the 'church', a large open tent shaded with blue tarps.
Children while others people set up a bench with cinder blocks and a
plank, other people brought in chairs or pieces of burlap to lay over
the ground. When the television finally flickered on, people cheered
"BRAZIL! BRAZIL!" and pressed together around the screen. Ten, then
twenty, then thirty people. Lillian, an older woman who had told me
the day before about losing four of her children in the earthquake,
showed off her jersey and green skirt. The image on the screen faded
in and out, but we caught all of the important moments. Every time
Brazil got close to the Korean goal the crowded held its collective
breath, fingers gripping knees. And then, Goal!!! Joy exploded in the
tent, beads of sweat flying everywhere, with children dancing and men
punching the air. The whole tent vibrated with a vivacity and
happiness. Women held their babies up in the air, dancing. Brazil's
victory is their victory, which is a beautiful thing in a place where
large victories are rare. Out in the street cars and tap-taps honked
vigorously, people hollering at one another with pride. The camp has
more than its share of misery, but misery does not define the
everyday. There is still occasion to celebrate life and solidarity, to
forget for a while hunger and illness.