Boxing offers hope for the youth of Rio's Vidigal favela

“Dois Imaos” — the Two Brothers peaks — house the Vidigal favela and some stunning views of Ipanema beach. EPA/ALEJANDRO ERNESTO

Gonzalo Aguirregomezcorta
ESPN Deportes

Gonzalo Aguirregomezcorta is a reporter for ESPNDeportes.com. The reporting for this piece was done in Spanish and Portuguese. The story was originally written in Spanish.

RIO DE JANEIRO — Vidigal favela has some stunning views.

It’s steep and narrow streets wind upward toward the sky. It is only from up there that you can clearly appreciate the beauty of a unique landscape. The mountains lie to the left, their peaks temporarily shrouded in rainless clouds. The vast Atlantic Ocean stretches out in front and, to the right, a number of small islands make the view even more beautiful. In the middle, a cluster of colorful, overlapping houses that, from this height, appear to be made from paper mâché. In the background, the beach, where the sea laps the sand, and the sand gives way to asphalt which in turn gives way to tall glass buildings, in this place far from the favela.

Up here, some people with torn shirts and weathered skin rest their forearms on the wooden balconies and cannot help but be taken in by the view every time they look out. A couple of kilometers away, the same views enjoyed by one of Rio de Janeiro’s more than 700 favelas will set you back 1,000 reais per night (around $300). In Brazil, luxury and poverty are close neighbors separated by nothing more than air. Down below, the haves; above, the have nots. They all share the same beauty.
Filgueira is a military policeman who prefers not to admit how badly things are going for the federal police, who continue to make headlines thanks to protests in which they are campaigning for higher wages in line with the risks they face. Filgueira avoids the issue and, when he explains the main reason he enjoys his work in Vidigal, he points his finger and nods toward the landscape. As if this visual spectacle provides him with enough satisfaction while he does his job in one of Rio’s drug trafficking hot spots. “Vidigal is better now”, he told me, with some diplomacy.

Near the entrance to the favela, a blue building is daubed with graffiti including a phrase that reads, “All In | The Fight Institute.” As if it were the slogan for everyday life in the community, Raff Giglio chose this name for the school he founded 20 years ago. Today, it is the cradle of Brazilian Olympic boxing. At the entrance, six little girls are trying to dodge a worn-out old ball. They burst out laughing. Giglio spends a little time with them while inside one of the volunteers from his academy teaches the boys. His mission is to offer them a solution to the difficult reality of life in Vidigal through free boxing lessons.

He complains loudly, “the government does nothing for the kids in the favelas.” Alternately, his speech is interspersed with a genuine gratitude that comes from the pleasure of his work. “The satisfaction of accomplishment, to receive a mission to one day go to the favela and be able to help the kids. That’s what I’m doing. They pay me by winning a medal. ‘Here, profe, there’s the Olympic medal.’ ”

Giglio has plenty to say on the subject of Esquiva Falcão, whom he spotted as a youngster at a championship in São Paulo. Upon hearing shortly after that Falcão had stopped competing, he took charge of the situation.

“He lived in the state of Espirito Santo. I brought him to Rio de Janeiro at the age of 17 to live in my gym,” Giglio said. “I gave him food, a shower, training so that he could continue boxing. In 2007, he took part in his first national championship where he won the silver medal. In 2008, he was called up to Brazil’s senior team, and from there things just continued upwards.”
Esquiva Falcao, now a professional boxer, is looked up to by the youth of Vidigal favela. Alex Menendez/Getty Images
Three Olympians, hundreds of lives cut short

Falcão’s journey took him up beyond the heights from where you can contemplate Vidigal’s stunning views. He won the silver medal at the 2012 Summer Olympics in London, where he lost to the Japanese fighter, Ryota Murata, by one point.

“When Esquiva arrived back from London, his first stop was Brasilia for a reception with the president of the Republic. Before going to Espirito Santo he came to Vidigal and headed to my gym: ‘Hey man, the medal.’ I almost fell over,” boasted Giglio. “I produce champions, the national team doesn’t create athletes. When the athlete becomes national champion, they get picked. Patrick [Lourenço] and Michel [Borges] are two examples,” he added.

Lourenço and Borges are set to compete in this edition of the Olympic Games on home soil, in front of their fans, a few kilometers from the place where they first honed their footwork before being selected for the national team. Giglio plays a crucial role in the chain of developing boxers. He sows the seed and waters it for years so that it is ready to change hands once it blooms. At the “All in the Fight Institute” they learn to be disciplined, to work hard, to disconnect from extremely difficult situations that often require them to set their passion aside in order to earn a living for their families.

“They are hard lives because they are all living in the favelas. They experienced very bad situations when there was drug trafficking and all those things,” Giglio said. “They are poor kids with no money who cannot afford a gym. Everything here is free and we give them an opportunity to pursue a better life. Here we work to educate through sport so that the kids have an opportunity that the government does not give them. We work to ensure they have a chance to continue as a good person, a person who is a good son, a good father, a person who can walk down the street with their head held high. They could also be a great boxer.”

The younger ones look up to Falcão, Borges and Lourenço. The latter will compete in this edition of the Games in the 49-kilogram light flyweight class, while Borges will compete in the 81-kg heavyweight class.

The volunteer who is observing the boys’ technique stops for a moment and hands Giglio two pairs of gloves. He looks at them from every angle, turns them around, puts them on his wrong hands and sets them aside … all this while smiling from ear to ear.

“This donation came from São Paulo,” he says.

The fact that someone shares his altruistic cause is another battle won in his solitary work. The revenue to maintain the gym and the equipment used by the youngsters comes from donations by individuals or companies. They currently have no sponsor and any help is welcome for Giglio, who describes himself as a dreamer who came close to throwing in the towel.
“I went through some very tough times when I thought about quitting,” he says. “I have a family, I have daughters, four daughters, and several times I thought I had to look for work, I had to earn money for my family. Something told me not to stop, to keep going: ‘work and things will turn out well.’

“I carried on and carried on some more, and the lesson was just that, to believe in the dream and continue working with discipline.”

The discipline he learned in judo, he passes on to his boys. The intense stubbornness that has earned him a name not only in Vidigal but outside the favela he made his home two decades ago. He used to have his gym in Leblon, closer to Copacabana. He lost it as a result of problems with the local authorities and settled in this community where he has rebuilt his emotional and professional life.

The sun sets in the west, but looking from the east it has been hidden behind the mountains for some time. The lights come on at the foot of Vidigal. Darkness descends, but not before delivering a festival of colors beneath the illuminated mantle of those overlapping houses. Another day draws to a close and some people sit and watch the women’s soccer match between Brazil and China (3-0) with a cheap beer.

Others head home with bags in hands while some cars give way to others due to the narrow road. The motorcycles do their own thing. Giglio closes the doors of his gym. There are no girls playing at the entrance now, just a constant stream of adults. Filgueira, the military policeman, insists on jumping in our car and escorting us to the exit of the favela.