From the Miami heat to the mexico streets: A journey beyond the game

I’ve always believed basketball is less about hoops and more about heart. When I stepped onto a court in Mérida, Mexico for the first time, I felt that heat, not just from the game, but from the way this city embraced me, like a long-lost friend. This year, on November 2nd, 2024, the NBA brings the Heat and the Wizards to Arena Ciudad de México, and I can’t help but feel a connection deeper than the game itself. Moving from the U.S. to Mérida was a leap into the unknown, but basketball became my bridge, helping me forge connections in a land that strangely feels like home. La magia de encontrar tu lugar en un mundo que parece olvidarte. The magic of finding your place in a world that seems to forget you flows through these courts and streets. It’s a bit chaotic, a little unpredictable, just like my journey, but that’s what makes it all the more real.

You ever get that itch, that cosmic nudge telling you to move, to break free from the chains of the familiar? A college friend dropped the idea like a secret too heavy to hold. “We’re moving to Mexico, Dez,” he said. Not just anywhere, but Mérida, a place his wife had meticulously researched, a city humming with history and possibility. My lady and I were itching for change ourselves; Miami had lost its luster, feeling more like a transient hotel than a home. The stars were aligning, or maybe I was just tired of the same old grind. Either way, Mérida was whispering, and I was all ears. 

Also, around the time Black Panther 2 hit the screens, with its rich infusion of Latin culture and glimpses of the Yucatán, I sensed the universe dropping hints. Seeing the places I would soon walk featured in the movie felt surreal, almost as if it was a message meant for me. Was it coincidence or destiny? Hell if I know, but I’m not one to ignore the signs.

Landing in a foreign land will really show what you are made of. New faces, new streets, new rhythms. But on the court? That’s something that doesn’t change. Doesn’t matter if you’re in New York or the Yucatán, the ball bounces the same, the rim stands ten feet tall, and the sound of a perfect shot is a universal hymn. I hit the courts heavy those first few months in Mérida, not just to keep my fitness up but to dive headfirst into the local heartbeat. I didn’t need words. Besides, my Spanish was shaky at best, and many of the locals spoke rapid-fire slang that danced right past me. But the beauty of the game is that it doesn’t give a damn about language barriers. We’d exchange nods, gestures, a pass here, a pick there. The nonverbal camaraderie was electric and warming. I saw them and they saw me.

You were really in the streets playing with the locals? Isn't it dangerous? They paint Mexico with broad strokes of danger and chaos, a canvas splattered with media-fueled fear mongering. But let me tell you, the real danger lies in believing the lies spoon-fed to us. Mexico embraced me with open arms and a sense of peace I haven’t felt in years. Safety isn’t just about low crime stats or well-lit streets; it’s a state of mind, a feeling of belonging that wraps around you like a hug from your abuela. Walking these streets, I don’t clutch my keys between my fingers or keep my head on a swivel. I move with the rhythm of the city, not against it. The smiles are genuine, the greetings heartfelt. It’s a stark contrast to the subtle paranoia that was etched into my bones back in the States, where the eyes of suspicion follow you like shadows. Here, I am seen not as a threat, not as an outsider, but as part of the community.

Basketball taught me early on about roles, knowing when to lead, when to support, when to take the shot, and when to pass the damn ball. Life isn’t so different. Making the move to Mérida with my lady required us to redefine our roles, to communicate without ego, to trust in the flow of our shared journey. Just like a well-seasoned team, we had to sync up, anticipate each other’s moves, and cover each other’s blind spots. On the court, I might be the one dishing out assists one day and sinking threes the next. Off the court, sometimes I’m the navigator, other times the translator, but most times just the observer. Mérida has taught me the importance of adapting and pushing past my comfort zone until I find that new groove.

Before touching down in Mexico, I delved into Horace Butler’s When Rocks Cry Out. The book flipped my understanding of history on its head, suggesting that the roots of African civilization might just run through the very land I was about to call home. Mind blown doesn’t even begin to cover it. It was as if I was retracing ancestral steps, reconnecting with a lineage obscured by centuries of manipulation and deceit. When we began exploring the ancient sites and feeling the energy pulsing from the earth, the lines between African and American blurred, not in a loss of identity but in a richer, more profound connection. I was finally giving voice to a rhythm that had pulsed within me all along.

So here we are, on the eve of the Miami Heat and the Washington Wizards squaring off in Mexico City. It’s the NBA’s 33rd in Mexico since 1992, the most outside the U.S. and Canada—and it beautifully coincides with Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. The arena will be alive with vibrant celebrations, a specially themed court, and tributes that weave together tradition and sport. 

The Heat brings stars like Jimmy Butler and Bam Adebayo, while the Wizards showcase talents like Kyle Kuzma and Jordan Poole. Even more significant is Jaime Jaquez Jr., a rising star with ties to Mexico, embodying the very bridge between cultures that this game represents. The NBA isn’t just staging a game; it’s acknowledging the deep-rooted passion for basketball that thrives here. The matchup will reach fans in over 200 countries, but for those of us on the ground, it’s deeply personal. Basketball becomes the conduit through which we see our shared humanity, a recognition that the love of the game transcends borders, languages, and politics.

Being African American in Mexico is a trip, a blend of familiar and foreign, comfort and challenge. I don’t feel the weight of the stereotypes that shadowed me back in the States. Here, my Blackness isn’t a label slapped on by others but a vibrant part of who I am. The locals don’t see me as an oddity or an outsider. There’s a mutual curiosity, a respect. Maybe they sense the shared histories, the intertwined roots that Butler wrote about. Maybe it’s just the universal language of kindness. Either way, I navigate this space with a newfound ease, a sense of belonging that was elusive back home.

So what does it mean to find your place? It’s like hitting that perfect shot, if you hoop you know what I mean. The moment it leaves your fingertips and you just know its going in. That alignment, that synergy, that slice of  momentary perfection in an imperfect world. Today, Mérida isn’t just where I live, it’s where I am alive.

Basketball’s evolution in Mexico reflects this journey. The sport has grown, adapted, and is finding its own flavor here, much like I have. We’re both outsiders who’ve become insiders, contributors to a larger narrative that’s still unfolding.

As the Heat and Wizards tip-off in Mexico City, it’s more than a game; it’s a celebration of connection, of the bridges we build through shared passions. It’s a reminder that borders are just lines on a map, easily crossed when we let down our guard and open up to possibilities. Basketball has been my compass, guiding me through uncharted territories both external and internal. It’s shown me that home isn’t a static place but a feeling, a resonance. And sometimes, you have to step into the unknown to find the rhythm that’s been waiting for you all along.

La magia de encontrar tu lugar en un mundo que parece olvidarte—the magic isn’t in being remembered; it' s in remembering yourself.