The country that grew up on my back

Luis Munguambe Junior"

I was born believing the world was a long street where people walked in a hurry, somewhat shy about dreaming big. I grew up realizing that, in the end, the hurry was just disguised fear, and the shyness was a form of survival. Today, I carry this earth like someone carrying a backpack full of stones: some are inheritances, others are mistakes made by others that fell upon me without warning. I wake up every day with the feeling that I live in a place where the future is habitually delayed. Some call it destiny, I call it institutional weariness. Here, routine is made of improvisation and faith, but faith is already cracked, like an old roof that insists on letting in the rain. Even so, we carry on. Because stopping is a luxury that has never been granted to us. In the midst of all this, there are young people trying to be decent people. They go to interviews where they are asked for experience they've never been given, they smile at bosses who only see them as numbers, and they put up with political promises so empty that even the wind is ashamed to carry them away. But they keep going—not out of hope, but because giving up doesn't pay the bills. Even I, in my early twenties, already feel my spine bending under the weight of expectations I didn't choose. They tell me to be strong, to accept, to be patient. But patience isn't a virtue when it only serves to postpone what should be inevitable: dignity. And dignity, around here, is treated as an extravagant request, almost a whim. There are days when I walk through the city and notice the tired faces, the defeated rush, the youth kept in a box. I realize that I am not the only one carrying this country on my shoulders—there are many of us, pushed by an invisible force that demands premature maturity from us. They made us adults before our time, and then they call us irresponsible for not smiling enough. I'm writing this column for those who are tired of political niceties, showy speeches, and recycled illusions. For those who know that the crisis isn't just in the numbers—it's on our shoulders. On mine, on yours, on the shoulders of everyone who still tries to believe that, despite the delays and the cracks, something can still emerge from this. And it can. But only when we stop accepting that weight is normal. Because it isn't. The country grew on our backs. Now it's our turn to force it to grow forward.

2025/12/3