How Cape Verde Turned Migration Into an Economic Strength

In Cape Verde, education is often less a degree than a ticket to a new life abroad, writes Akhil Bakshi.

The qualities that carried the Cape Verde onto the world stage—resilience, self-belief, adaptability, and an ability to thrive against the odds—are evident everywhere on Santiago Island.

(Photo: Kamran Akhter/The Quint)

(This is Part II of a two-part series on Cape Verde, a small African nation which defied expectations at 2026 FIFA World Cup. Read the first part here.)

On the drive back, the east coast offered sterner company: volcanic cliffs to our right, the Atlantic raging to our left, as if both wanted to see which one of them could frighten us first. We passed banana plantations—green, orderly, and optimistic—before rolling through another township so quiet that even the herd of goats parading in black, brown, and white, their long wears flapping lazily with each step, seemed to whisper. The sea grew wilder, battering the rocks with fury. 

Passing a village school, I asked Lindo how many of his countrymen were educated.

“You see, my friend, Cape Verde is a country where everyone lines up for schooling. But the clever ones don’t stay. We educate them, polish them, and then—poof!—they are gone. By some counts, two-thirds of our highly educated people live abroad. Doctors, teachers, engineers—America is full of Cape Verdeans with diplomas.”

The Boarding Pass Economy

He grinned, not ruefully but almost proudly. “And you know what? That makes the rest of us study harder. If a young person thinks he has a chance to escape to Boston or Providence, he will stay in school. There was even a study about it—which said if you raise a young person’s belief that they can emigrate by 10 percent, their chance of finishing school rises by eight percent. We don’t call it education; we call it a boarding pass.”

The road curved past a banana plantation, and he gestured at the green leaves. “It’s been this way for centuries. Back in the 19th century, New England whaling ships stopped here for crew. That’s how Cape Verdeans first ended up in America. Boston, Providence—you still find us there. Go to a bar in Providence, and you’ll hear Creole louder than English.”

He giggled, eyes flicking back to the road. “Now we are everywhere. Since the 1980s, more and more Africans have joined us in America. Washington, DC, has its Ethiopians and Eritreans. New York has Egyptians and Ghanaians. Houston is full of Nigerians. Minneapolis belongs to the Somalis. But in Boston? In Providence? That’s Cape Verdean turf.”

Then, lowering his voice like a conspirator, he added, “And here’s the thing: when our migrants come home for a visit, they don’t just bring hugs. They bring fat wallets and shiny shoes. They walk through the villages looking like kings. Suddenly everyone says, ‘See? If João can do it, why not me?’ That is why Cape Verde keeps educating its children. Not for diplomas, but for departure.”

He laughed again, as though he had just explained the island’s most successful export industry.

The Music That Travels Home

As we rolled along the coast, Lindo turned up the radio, letting a slow, mournful melody fill the air. “This,” he said, tapping the steering wheel in time, “is our soul—morna. Cesária Évora, the ‘barefoot diva,’ made the world listen to it. It mixes Portuguese fado with African rhythms, born from our history of slavery and longing. Sad, yes, but beautiful. We Cape Verdeans have few things to export—no oil, no diamonds—but we have music. Thanks to José da Silva in Paris, who launched Cesária’s career, and festivals like Kriol Jazz here in Praia, our songs travel even farther than our people. Some say our politics keep us honest, but I tell you, it’s our music that makes us unforgettable.”

By the time we rolled back into Praia, it was clear that the receptionist at our hotel had been right: there was indeed not much to see in Praia itself. But on Santiago Island, the roads, mountains, ocean, monkeys, goats, children, music and coconuts conspired to prove that sometimes the journey is the attraction—and the capital is merely the starting line.

Looking back, it is easier to understand how a nation of barely 600,000 people could stand toe-to-toe with football's giants. The qualities that carried the Blue Sharks onto the world stage—resilience, self-belief, adaptability, and an ability to thrive against the odds—were evident everywhere on Santiago Island, from Lindo's stories to the villages clinging to volcanic slopes above the Atlantic.

Cape Verde may be small in size, but as the world discovered at the 2026 FIFA World Cup, it possesses a spirit far larger than its geography.

(Akhil Bakshi, an author and explorer, is a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and Explorers Club USA, and Editor of ‘Indian Mountaineer’. He tweets @AkhilBakshi1.This is an opinion piece and the views expressed are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)