Curaçao: An Island Born of Fire and Perseverance

The Island That Never Stopped Moving

🎵 Mama Wa’ (The Blue Wave) — Jeon

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🎵 Nos Ta Bria — Jada van Dijk

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“Mama wak, unda nos a yega?”

Mom, look where we have arrived.

Tonight, an island is awake.

Not London.

Not Berlin.

Not Buenos Aires.

Curaçao.

Tomorrow, our national team will step onto football’s greatest stage and face Germany, one of the giants of world football.

For much of the world, it is simply another match.

For us, it is something else entirely.

Because tomorrow is not merely about football.

It is about arrival.

An arrival nearly 88 million years in the making.

Before There Was Curaçao

Most nations begin their stories with people.

Curaçao begins with fire.

Long before there were footballers.

Long before there were baseball players.

Long before there were fishermen, merchants, teachers, engineers, artists, entrepreneurs, scientists, or petroleum geologists.

Long before Alonso de Ojeda sighted the island in 1499.

Long before the first words of Papiamentu were spoken.

There was only an ancient ocean.

And beneath that ocean, volcanoes.

Around 88 million years ago, submarine volcanoes erupted above what geologists recognize as the ancient Galápagos hotspot system. Layer upon layer of basaltic lava accumulated on the ocean floor, creating the volcanic foundations of what would eventually become Curaçao.

Our island was born in darkness.

It was born in fire.

And then it began to move.

Carried eastward on the Caribbean Plate, Curaçao embarked on a geological voyage that would last tens of millions of years.

Long before airplanes existed, Curaçao was already moving.

The Island That Became a Crossroads

For centuries, this small island became something remarkable.

A crossroads.

Europe met Africa.

Africa met the Americas.

The Caribbean met the wider world.

Languages blended.

Cultures intertwined.

Traditions merged.

Out of this fusion emerged a society unlike any other in the Caribbean: multilingual, multicultural, outward-looking, yet fiercely proud of its own identity.

Papiamentu became its voice.

Resilience became its character.

Curiosity became one of its greatest strengths.

And perhaps that curiosity explains why so many Curaçaoans have always looked beyond the horizon while never forgetting home.

My Own Journey

I know this because I was fortunate and most privileged enough to be born and to grow up there.

As a real Yu di Kòrsou child, I became fascinated by the stories hidden beneath the ground. While others saw hills, cliffs and rocks, I saw chapters of an ancient book waiting to be read.

That fascination eventually led me down a path few Curaçaoans had travelled before.

I eventually became the first native Curaçaoan petroleum geologist since Alonso de Ojeda first sighted the island more than five centuries ago.

Like Curaçao itself, my life became a journey.

Geology carried me far beyond the Caribbean.

Across continents.

Across cultures.

Across petroleum provinces.

I had the privilege of participating in the discovery and development of giant hydrocarbon accumulations, including the Ceuta Giant Field in Venezuela’s Maracaibo Basin, while working alongside extraordinary professionals from Venezuela, PDVSA and from around the world.

Yet wherever geology took me, Curaçao never left me.

Because every geological story somehow reminded me of home.

In some ways, my own journey mirrored that of Curaçao itself.

The island travelled across oceans through geological time.

I travelled across petroleum basins through a professional lifetime.

The island carried the memory of its volcanic origins.

I carried the memory of the island that first taught me to look at rocks and ask questions.

The island’s journey lasted 88 million years.

Mine has lasted a lifetime.

Yet both journeys always pointed toward the same destination.

Home.

The Miracle of a Small Island

But perhaps Curaçao’s greatest story is not geological.

Perhaps it is human.

Again and again, this tiny island has achieved things that defy logic, statistics and probability.

Nowhere is this more visible than in baseball.

With a population of roughly 140,000 people, Curaçao has produced one of the highest concentrations of Major League Baseball talent on Earth. By any reasonable measure, it is one of the great sporting miracles of the modern world.

Think about that for a moment.

Not one player.

Not two.

An entire constellation.

Hensley “Bam-Bam” Meulens helped open the door.

Then came Andruw Jones, one of the greatest defensive center fielders in baseball history.

Kenley Jansen.

Ozzie Albies.

Jurickson Profar.

Andrelton Simmons.

Jonathan Schoop.

Didi Gregorius.

Ceddanne Rafaela.

And many others.

Again and again, a tiny Caribbean island produced athletes capable of competing with the best in the world.

Little League World Champions.

European Champions.

International stars.

Time after time, Curaçao defeated opponents who appeared larger, wealthier and stronger.

The impossible became routine.

The extraordinary became expected.

Running Beyond the Horizon

The same story unfolded on the athletics track.

Churandy Martina, born in Willemstad, became one of the fastest men ever produced by the Kingdom of the Netherlands. With his infectious smile and extraordinary speed, he carried the name of Curaçao around the globe, such as on the Olympics.

When Churandy Martina sprinted before a global audience, millions saw an athlete.

Curaçao saw one of its own.

Again the world asked the same question:

How can such a small island produce so much talent?

Perhaps the answer lies beyond the horizon.

Because when you grow up on an island, you learn early that the world is larger than what you can see.

You learn to dream beyond the horizon.

You learn that geography does not determine destiny.

You learn that size and significance are not the same thing.

Mama Wak. Nos Ta Bria.

And now football has become the latest chapter in that story.

The songs of this extraordinary moment capture it perfectly.

Jeon’s anthem asks the question every Curaçaoan is asking:

“Mama wak, unda nos a yega?”

Mom, look where we have arrived.

And Jada van Dijk’s anthem provides the answer:

“Nos ta bria.”

We shine.

Together, those two songs tell the story of Curaçao better than any statistics ever could.

An island born from fire.

An island that crossed an ocean.

An island that welcomed the world.

An island that produced Hall of Famers, Olympians, scientists, artists, engineers, teachers, entrepreneurs, explorers and dreamers.

An island that repeatedly refused to be defined by its size.

An island born from fire beneath the sea became a cultural miracle above it.

Tomorrow, Curaçao may or may not defeat Germany.

That is football.

But some victories transcend scoreboards.

Some victories happen long before the referee blows the whistle.

For many Curaçaoans, that victory has already been achieved.

The flag is there.

The anthem is there.

The people are there.

The dream is there.

And when our players walk onto the field tomorrow, I will not simply see eleven footballers.

I will see an island born beneath the sea.

I will see 88 million years of movement.

I will see generations of perseverance.

I will see baseball diamonds and athletics tracks.

I will see classrooms and neighborhoods.

I will see parents who sacrificed.

Teachers who inspired.

Coaches who believed.

Children who dared to dream.

I will see a geological migrant that became a cultural miracle.

Tomorrow, Germany may see eleven footballers.

We will see 88 million years of perseverance walking onto the field.

And I will hear the voice of an entire people asking a question that extends far beyond football.

” Mama wak, unda nos a yega? “

The answer is simple.

We arrived exactly where we were meant to be.

We arrived here.

Together.

Proud.

Grateful.

Still dreaming.

Still moving.

Still shining.

Nos ta bria.

Marcel Chin-A-Lien

Petroleum Geologist

Yu di Kòrsou

Mi Dushi Kòrsou, unda mi lombrishi ta derà.

Nos ta bria.

Kòrsou no a bira speshal pa motibu ku e ta grandi.

Kòrsou a bira speshal pasobra su pueblo no a laga limitashonnan defini nan futuro.

For di un isla nasé den kandela bou di laman, a lanta un pueblo ku a siña papia ku su propio bos, soña ku su propio kurashi i sigui move dilanti sin lubidá di unda e a bini.

Awe nos ta mira futbòl.

Pero mas importante ainda:

nos ta mira un pueblo ku a yega.