“My dad told me I was the one who was going to lift the family up,” Eduardo Camavinga says. He was 11 then; he is 20 now and he is smiling. He is always smiling.
He was in the fifth year at school and can picture the fire engines going past. Born in a refugee camp in Miconge, Angola, to Congolese parents, the third of six children, he was a toddler when they moved to France: first Lille, then Fougères, a pretty little town of 20,000 in Brittany where they made a home. That day, it burned down. They had been in it a year.
They live in Madrid now and he is looking for the word: in French first, then English, which he speaks with Antonio Rüdiger and occasionally helps out here, then Spanish. At least he hopes it’s Spanish. “Orgulloso? That is it, isn’t it? Or is that Portuguese? Proud? They’re proud of me.”
That smile again. “I’m happy my family are happy,” he says.
The youngest footballer to play for Rennes, at 16 years four months, the youngest to make his debut for France since the second world war, aged 17. He joined Madrid at 18 and was a European champion at 19. “I live life as it happens,” he says. “I’ll think about where I came from years from now.”
Through patio doors, the sun shines on the pitch at Valdebebas. In the distance, four giant towers built on Madrid’s old training ground look over the city. On the shelves are photos, medals, old boots, shirts, tickets, ID cards: Alfredo Di Stéfano, Ferenc Puskas, Zinedine Zidane. There are posters from the club’s 14 European Cups, even a giant, elaborately embroidered sombrero with Carlo Ancelotti’s name stitched in gold thread.
“I’m not going to say it’s normal, but I’m here,” Camavinga says. “I wouldn’t say it’s normal to win the Champions League, but I just enjoyed the moment. I’ll think about it more when I’m older: my first year and we won the Champions League. But there’s a culture here that you win many of them.
“I wasn’t even two when we went to France: I don’t remember anything about it and we haven’t talked about it much. When I ask …” There is a pause.
“Things were difficult in Angola; my family came to France to make a better life. There were lots of wars: that’s the only thing my dad tells me. I’ve seen pictures from when we arrived in France, some of me still a baby in Angola. My first memory is Lille, then Fougères, then Rennes.”
Camavinga describes football as an escape; he believes the difficulties the family faced made them stronger, giving him purpose, a place. “Football is my life,” he says. “All the friends I have made in life have been made through football. I got my school diploma thanks to football too. I’ve got so much to thank football for. My mum and dad are proud of me. In part I’m who I am thanks to football.
“I started young. But I didn’t want to play. At first I just wanted to do judo. My brother did judo and I wanted to be like him. I liked to fight a bit too.”
He starts laughing, which he does a lot, and then he brings up his mum, Sofia, and his dad, Celestino, which he does a lot too. “I never fought at school, but at home. My mum wouldn’t let me do judo. She wanted me to play football. What do you call it? Destiny? It’s thanks to my mum – and a woman at school called Fatima.”
“There was this competition against another school and I did this roulette and my team won the competition. Fatima spoke to my mum and said: ‘You need to get him into football: he can play.’ The next week, she had me in the team.
“When I was kid it would be: YouTube, ‘Zidane skills’. I was Madrid; my brother was Barcelona. And my father tells me if he thinks I play badly. I know that when I get home he’s going to be waiting, wanting to talk about it. My mum too. But my dad always speaks his mind.”
Celestino’s guidance appears often as he speaks. When Camavinga is talking about the riches that come with the game, cars and watches and things, he says: “It’s not for me and my dad’s close by. If I buy too many things he’s going to kill me.”
When he addresses how he never seems to tire, he says: “It’s a mental thing: I don’t think I’m dead on my feet and so I’m not. I can hear my dad’s voice saying: ‘It’s not your body, it’s your mind.’”
So does he really know the game? Camavinga cracks up. “Depends,” he says. “He played in Africa and France. I used to go with him on Sundays in Fougères. He played everywhere: midfield, right‑wing, forward, every position …”
Left-back, like you? “Like me?” Camavinga giggles. He has been called upon to fill in there for club and country, but being good at it doesn’t mean wanting to end up there. “I can play at the back, but he couldn’t. He likes to attack.”
He lacks your discipline? Another burst of laughter. “I can’t say that, he’ll kill me. Maybe he can, but I’ve never seen it.
“They tell me the truth. On more than one occasion I’ve not had a good game and thought my mother would say: ‘Don’t worry, it’s normal: you can’t always play well.’ But my mum looks at me like that …” He pulls a face and cracks up. “Oh, man, I’m dead today.
“But it’s good that they tell me the truth: that’s how I’m going to get better. I don’t like it at the time. At first I’m angry, but then all my anger comes out on the pitch in a positive way.”
Camavinga says that when Ancelotti sent him on against Paris Saint-Germain in last season’s Champions League, he asked for energy, making a gesture that said run at them, carry us forward.
It was 57 minutes in, the first change with Madrid 1-0 down, 2-0 on aggregate and he was transformative, the impact immediate. He was also everywhere, common to that collection of comebacks. Last season’s run felt ridiculous. But if you’re looking for logic, an explanation, it makes sense to linger a little on Camavinga.
In their three home games against PSG, Chelsea and Manchester City, he came on with Madrid looking into the abyss; by the time he went off they had done it.
Here’s a stat, Eduardo. Without you on the pitch: three defeats. 0-1, 0-2 and 0-1. With you on the pitch: three wins. 3-0, 2-1, 3-0. From an aggregate score of 0-4 to an aggregate score of 8-1. He laughs. “I don’t know what to say. It’s good, it’s good.”
“But it’s only a statistic and I’m only worried about the team. We won, that’s what makes me happy. I’m there [on the bench], it’s to play. When I go on it’s to help, so I’m glad.
“What happened will stay with me for ever. If there’s a moment for me, it’s Vini’s [Vinícius Júnior’s] goal in the final, but it’s the whole season, a very, very, very good season.
“People said we were dead. I saw a stat on the television later. It’s in the [Manchester] City game and it comes on the screen: 99% City are through, 1% Madrid. People think Madrid are dead, but Madrid are never, never dead.”
The other stat was this: 89:20, 0-1, 3-5 on aggregate. And then this: 94:14, 3-1, 6-5 on aggregate. Into the last minute Madrid didn’t just need one; they needed three. But that one, from a move started by Camavinga, was all they needed, like the place suddenly knew.
“The story starts against PSG and after that there’s a belief that no matter what happens we can turn things around. Against City, we’re losing, but when Rodrygo scored, we believed. Things can happen.”
A photo is handed over: the fans waiting before the PSG game, huge crowds lining the route to the Bernabéu. Halfway up a lamp-post is a supporter with “Camavinga” on his back. “That’s me,” he says, laughing.
“I’ve never seen so many people in my life. I felt like the whole world was there. It doesn’t make me nervous – I’m quite relaxed – but it makes you feel that you have to give everything. Anfield is a special ground, mythical, and it’s good to be able to play there at least once in your life. But there’s nothing like ours.
“Afterwards, there’s a party in the dressing room – Karim [Benzema] does the music – and then the [formal] celebrations [at the cathedral, with the local council, at Cibeles]. It was my first time so really enjoyed it. Maybe players who have won it five times are a bit bored of it, but I was asking Karim: ‘Where do we go now? What do we do next?’
“Karim is special for me. Ferland [Mendy] as well. When I first arrived, he was the first to give advice. And they tell me straight if I play badly. Then Ancelotti is very close to us. He’s played, makes things fun.”
As for that midfield, one to emulate and succeed, Camavinga says: “I’d love to have a mix of what they have. I love the way Case [Casemiro] defends, the way Luka [Modric] runs with the ball, and Toni’s [Kroos’s] passes.” And the lungs of Fede Valverde? “He’s incredible. We were doing these physical tests and he’s the only one left, running all alone.
“The relationship is good: we’re young and we know we are here to learn and the legends know that too. They help us and we young players have huge respect for them.”
Ancelotti has described this season as one of transition. “We have to ask the older players for understanding and the younger players for patience,” he said.
Is that hard? “It can be because I’m not someone who likes to spend too much time on the bench,” Camavinga says. “That’s normal. Players want to play. I don’t have mucha, mucha patience. But I know I have to. You watch, wait, be ready.”
You could always hand Ancelotti those stats. 0-4, 8-1, remember? Camavinga cracks up. “No, no. I have so much respect for him. I’m not saying that to him. I’m not going to do that. I have to keep calm and when he puts me on the pitch do everything I can to play more.”
Besides, last season he was decisive and now Camavinga is increasingly involved, set to start at Liverpool on Tuesday in the first leg of the last-16 tie. He has started 12 games in a row and played every minute of the past 10, although some have been at full-back.
At 20, time is on his side, even if everything has happened so fast he has barely had the chance to contemplate how far he has come. He been too busy living his life, enthusiasm unbound.
“When I am on the pitch I want to win, but football is my passion so I also want to enjoy it. If I’m not having fun, I’m not going to play well. You have to enjoy it,” he says. The smile says more.
