Respite

a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant.

Bukayo means ‘God has added joy to my life.’

This is England.

It’s a nation that will soak you through if you’re in a pub-garden when the team is playing.

A nation where you’ll find yourself clinging to a complete stranger, whooping with glee, with similar scenes surrounding you because somebody you’ve never met has just kicked a ball into the back of the net.

A nation who will flock to a comment section of somebody expressing pride over the five black penalty takers to tell you that, actually, Cole Palmer isn’t black – so it only makes four. Even if a quick google search will show you that Cole Palmer’s father is, in fact, a man of colour.

A nation where the commentator on the game will translate Yoruba to you – teaching you what the hero of the hour’s name means back in his family’s country of origin.

A nation of collective held breath – some people simply because they want to win, others because they’ve seen this scene go so terribly wrong before.

A nation where a split second is the difference between a monkey and a hero, alcohol showers and smashed up pubs, slurs and screams of joy.

A nation in denial, a nation who allow politics to become a discussion of who’s stealing whose jobs, who needs to be ‘sent back’, instead of questioning who is responsible for the gap between the wealthy and the rest being in a constant state of growth.

A nation whose police officers beat up and harassed Caribbean migrants from the second they arrived, but will throw their pints in the air the second one of their descendants hits the back of the net at the right time.

A nation that should see that, in one of the closest things we have to a meritocratic profession, products of migration are over-represented and thriving.

A nation who should see that today’s heroes are yesterday’s unwanted.

A nation who should see that the rivers of blood did not flow – that this nation benefits from diversity, and that a collective embrace among differently coloured compatriots is a beautiful thing.

Still, we are a country where anti-immigration sentiment gets you 14% of the popular vote.

A country where stopping boats trumps caring for the most vulnerable.

A country who wreaked death and destruction across the globe, profited from it, but now looks around, bemused, when those from destabilized regions want the oppurtunity to find safety within its borders.

Despite all this,

This is a nation where, regardless of what those with malicious ulterior motives will tell you – multiculturalism is a beautiful thing.

It’s a nation where Pakistan and India play in front of vacated seats at Edgebaston because their supporting fans have gone inside to instead follow the England game on the TVs.

It’s a nation where you can find those of every colour and origin jumping, screaming, laughing and celebrating among friends and strangers who too have completely different complexions, histories, religions  – all rejoicing in the success of The Three Lions.

It’s a nation where you look across the room at a fellow minority, exhale in relief, and know that who you’re looking at knows exactly what you are feeling.

Their success belongs to us all, but their failure is a different matter entirely.

Because while some race to social media to celebrate the bravery of the penalty takers,

And others dance on the tables and sing about sweet Caroline.

We know Bukayo has not only added joy to our lives.

He has brought us respite.