Dec. 9, 2005 was a miraculous day. Manuel Farrusco calls it "the miracle" of Angola. On that Friday, about 60 guests had gathered at Farrusco's dimly lit pub. Every single eye in the room was focused on old color TV -- one of only two television sets in the entire village. You can feel the passion in his voice as he tells the story of how Johan Cruyff reached into the World Cup draw pot and put Angola in the Portuguese group. "It was as if the entire country stopped breathing for a minute," he says. "P-O-R-T-U-G-A-L vs. A-N-G-O-L-A," he says once again, spelling out every single letter to add emphasis to the words.

That was in December. But even now, months after the draw in Leipzig, his voice still trembles. Enthusiasm for the match is enormous. Even in the most remote corners of the country. Oncocua is located in the middle of nowhere in Angola, almost entirely cut of from any kind of civilization, but everyone here is waiting in suspense for the kickoff of what Farrusco describes as "the most important game in our entire history." No one here thought the Angola team -- known here as the "Palancas Negras," or black antilopes -- had even the remotest chance of qualifying to play at the World Cup. And then, of all countries to be pitted against: Portugal? For more than 400 years, the colonial Portuguese ruled over the Angolans. The Portuguese, who abandoned the Angolans and Angola as the colony fell into civil war in the 1970s. The Portuguese, who still continue to profit today from the resources of their former colony.

Not to far away from the pub, a barefoot boy is playing with a football on a field covered with glass shards. There are about 44 players with t-shirts and about 52 who are playing topless. Hundreds of bats fly over the small playing field like little vampires. Men and boys can be found here playing soccer at all times of the day. In the morning, before work. Even at lunch, no matter how hot it is. And even at night, no matter how hard it might be raining.

Like everybody else here, 11-year-old João is a child of the war. His father was killed when he was six. His mother survived, but he has no idea where she is. Sometimes the flashbacks of his memories come like a blitz. It's in those moments that the smile on his face disappears for a few seconds and, suddenly, he looks like person who has already lived an entire life. João wears a jersey for the Portuguese team FC Porto that has been worn to the threads and his shoes, which are far too big for him, are filled with holes. Still, he's a good soccer player. He could have been much better, too, if only he had been more careful.

In Angola, the main rule in life is to "never veer from the path." It's a rule that parents try to hammer into their children everyday; siblings are constantly appealing to each other's conscience and friends are always warning each other. If that's not enough, there are signs posted throughout the land to remind people of the first rule of life in Angola: "Nunca sai estrada" never leave the street. But one night three years ago, on his way home, he forgot the rule that he had been told for years. "I just wanted to take a short cut one time," he recalls, "just one time." He only veered two or three meters off the path, but that was enough. João was eight years old when he stepped on a land mine and lost his right leg.

More than a million people were killed in the Angolan civil war, which raged from 1975 to 2002 as rebels from Unita, the National Union for the Total Independence of Angola, fought against the troops of the country's Marxist government. An estimated 8 million mines were laid on Angolan land. In the four years since the war's end, more than 33,000 mines have been cleared.

Having only been free of its colonial master for 31 years, Angola still a very young country. The majority of the population is no older than 25. And they live with little hope. The infant mortality rate is extremely high and few adults ever live long enough to become senior citizens. Life is no different in Oncocua, which with its population of about 1,000, exists like a lost island in the souther province of Cunene.

João is sad today. He likes to tell people he has a "bad foot." His crutches are laying next to him. He sits with others on the edge of the football pitch and plays with faded cards that show pictures of football stars that, sitting in this destitute place, seem like they are from another planet. They include two Germans -- Lothar Matthäus (a six of spades) and Oliver Kahn (a seven of diamonds). But the real stars are the Portuguese: Deco (a heart) or Luis Figo (king of clubs).

Back in Farrusco's pub, a dozen men are crowded around the old color television. The first half of the top contest of the first-Angolan league -- Athlético Sport Aviação against Athlético Petróleos de Lunada. Angola is a rich country. Some clubs are sponsored by oil companies and they wear their names or they place an oil rig in their team's coat of arms. Each day almost half the number of barrels of oil is pumped in the oil fields near the Angolan coast as in Kuwait. The potential is enormous. The problem is that this wealth isn't distributed properly and billions of dollars land in the pockets of a corrupt elite. Oncocua, located far, far away from the capital city of Luanda, will never see a dime of it.

The village's bars are often full. People come to them to escape the eternal doldrums of village life. Generous amounts of alcohol and the images flickering on the television screen help to transport them into another world. But suddenly the screen goes dark. Heavy wind is disrupting the satellite dish's reception. Imperturbed, the men leave the dark room and continue drinking, on wooden benches outside the door. Two days later the people of the village still haven't learned the game's final score. This isn't the first time the TV crapped out. During qualification matches for the World Cup and during the Africa Cup, the power generated failed several times, Farrusco explains. "But that better not happen during the World Cup."