Wilson's morning begins with cautious optimism—a mode he's learned under Seguro's presidency. Not the celebration some hoped for, not the fear others threatened. Just... careful forward movement.
The president speaks about integration regularly. Wilson has heard the speeches: CPLP heritage, multicultural Portugal, immigrants as contributors. The words are right. Whether they reach his neighborhood is another question.
At the hotel kitchen, work proceeds normally. No deportation scares like under the Ventura threat scenario; no dramatic reforms either. The Brazilian cook got his renewal without extra scrutiny. The Nepali dishwasher is still waiting, six months and counting. The system continues its arbitrary rhythms.
Lunch brings news that a community center in Amadora received funding—a Seguro-backed initiative for integration programs. Wilson's skeptical; he's seen initiatives come and go. But some funds will reach real people. Portuguese language classes, job training, cultural programming. Something.
The afternoon conversation with his sister reveals the complexity. She's a nurse, still passed over for promotion, still facing subtle barriers. "Seguro talks about us," she says, "but who listens?" The presidency can shift discourse; it can't change every workplace, every hiring manager, every accumulated prejudice. Systems are stubborn.
After work, Wilson attends a PALOP community event. The mood is calmer than 2026, when Ventura's potential victory created existential anxiety. People can plan now, sort of. Buy apartments, start businesses, imagine futures. The terror has receded. What remains is ordinary discrimination—better than extraordinary, but still discrimination.
His son Dany, eighteen, has applied to universities. Portuguese universities, his first choice. "Why not study abroad?" Wilson asks, surprised. "Because this is home," Dany answers. Something has shifted in the younger generation—or maybe just in Dany. The possibility of belonging feels less contested than it did for Wilson at that age.
Dinner conversation turns to politics. Wilson's wife mentions PS might win the next legislative election—Seguro's presidency has rebuilt party credibility. "Would it be better with PS government?" Wilson wonders. Maybe. Probably. The cohabitation with AD limits everything. A aligned government could actually implement the integration policies Seguro proposes.
The evening news shows the president at a CPLP summit, speaking about lusophone unity, shared heritage, common future. Wilson watches with complicated feelings. Portugal's colonial past isn't heritage to celebrate without critique. But the recognition that Cape Verdean-Portuguese are Portuguese—this matters. Even if imperfectly expressed.
Before bed, Wilson thinks about the four years since 2026. No transformation. No catastrophe. The gradual improvement of not being attacked, of being occasionally recognized, of existing without constant threat. Is this progress? By some measures. Is it enough? Never.
But his son is applying to university as a Portuguese citizen without questioning his right to exist in Portugal. That's something. Maybe everything.