sexta-feira, 25 de janeiro de 2008
Poem (sort of): Party Dress and Carnaval Picture
Only today I have had faster access to the Internet. I can post! I wrote this poem from a conversation with Dulce Maria. The Carnaval picture has a title, "An image conveys more than a 1000 words" or "At least I can laugh about it" or, finally, "Brazilian culture at its best with humor". Finally, "Better laugh than cry."
Party Dress
Dulce Maria
Sweet Mary
does not know how to drive
Her husband never allowed it
through their marriage
“Never learned it.
I do not know why I was like that…”
Only after the divorce did she get her first job
Now she’s retired
with social security
receiving
a small pension every month
“My husband never allowed me to work,
he was jealous…”
She had a modest occupation
a friend with connections
helped her get
“It did not require a diploma.
My husband would not allow me to go to school.”
No studies for Dulce Maria
The husband
many years her senior
died from diabetes
soon after the divorce.
“A gentleman, during courtship.
But he drank,” she said.
“Driving drunk one day he almost killed us!
Four children, three boys, and a girl.
I told him to stop the car and ordered the children out.
We walked home.
The one with the mental problems today
refused to leave his daddy in the car by himself.
He never came with us.”
“Another time he drank so much
I took a cab home and saved my life.
He ended the night in the hospital,
banged up
his dream car totaled, smashed right on the
passenger’s side.
“He didn’t believe in insurance,”
…
Divorce and death freed Dulce Maria
Now she loves to design clothes
sending fabric and patterns for the seamstress
to sow her dreams:
details in crochet
lace to adorn
intricate designs with subtle twists,
weavings,
knots
like the lives of women.
“This used to be my wedding dress, the lace is French Chantilly.
It was white, of course.
I had it cut and dyed black
after the divorce.”
She clipped the top off,
bought some black taffeta
for the new skirt
inserted the dyed lace in the front
to resemble a Flamenco dancer’s.
From the virginal gown
Dulce Maria got herself a new party dress.
Party Dress
Dulce Maria
Sweet Mary
does not know how to drive
Her husband never allowed it
through their marriage
“Never learned it.
I do not know why I was like that…”
Only after the divorce did she get her first job
Now she’s retired
with social security
receiving
a small pension every month
“My husband never allowed me to work,
he was jealous…”
She had a modest occupation
a friend with connections
helped her get
“It did not require a diploma.
My husband would not allow me to go to school.”
No studies for Dulce Maria
The husband
many years her senior
died from diabetes
soon after the divorce.
“A gentleman, during courtship.
But he drank,” she said.
“Driving drunk one day he almost killed us!
Four children, three boys, and a girl.
I told him to stop the car and ordered the children out.
We walked home.
The one with the mental problems today
refused to leave his daddy in the car by himself.
He never came with us.”
“Another time he drank so much
I took a cab home and saved my life.
He ended the night in the hospital,
banged up
his dream car totaled, smashed right on the
passenger’s side.
“He didn’t believe in insurance,”
…
Divorce and death freed Dulce Maria
Now she loves to design clothes
sending fabric and patterns for the seamstress
to sow her dreams:
details in crochet
lace to adorn
intricate designs with subtle twists,
weavings,
knots
like the lives of women.
“This used to be my wedding dress, the lace is French Chantilly.
It was white, of course.
I had it cut and dyed black
after the divorce.”
She clipped the top off,
bought some black taffeta
for the new skirt
inserted the dyed lace in the front
to resemble a Flamenco dancer’s.
From the virginal gown
Dulce Maria got herself a new party dress.
sexta-feira, 11 de janeiro de 2008
Three Schools
Pilar County is located by a very large lagoon. (In fact, the name of the state, Alagoas, means lagoons; in the capital alone there are two huge ones that meet at the channel that connects them to the bright turquoise waters of the ocean.) To reach the town of Pilar, one takes a road that winds down into town from the top of a mountain. The view is magnificent with lots of coconut trees swaying in the wind. (The lagoon has been polluted and there is trash along the margins.)
Pilar has money from natural gas. This money has not reached the population yet. Most people are poor. Unemployment is high. One can guess from the number of people on the streets during the day who seem like they have nothing to do. There is a contingent of fishermen. People also sell food and trinkets on the streets. And there are simple stores, restaurants, and other service places.
During my first day in Pilar I was “given to” an officer of the Secretary of Education, a young woman named Simone. She was tall, fleshy and very curvaceous, with a beautiful tanned skin. She wore tights, a shirt, and high heels. Something! She was quiet and spoke a lot on the phone. She was very busy and left me to mind my own business until after lunch. She was in charge of ordering lunch for all teachers and for us, the presenters. When she came searching for me, we still sat doing nothing while we waited for the driver. It was an unusual situation but I did my best to be in good spirits. The driver came and we hopped on for a two block ride. We visited a K-1 school.
The ugliest Disney and other children’s characters were painted on the walls. All of the first graders were rehearsing for graduation the next day. There were about 50 of them, each one clean, dressed neatly, hair combed, and front baby teeth missing, a complete cutie pie of a group. A patio with dirt floor, dusty, separated the two buildings. The building on the left had classrooms, all with a few desks and chairs in terrible shape. Dirty walls. The building on the right had the principal’s office, a couple of classrooms, the kitchen and a storage room. The principal was proud of the food stored, ready for when classes start again.
The teachers were preparing paper baskets with goodies to give to the graduates. The principal, a woman in her forties, said to me that she absolutely loved her work.
After the visit, Simone and I walked to the church right in front of the school. She kneeled and prayed. I was respectful to Our Lady of Pilar. It is a very large church, 150 years old, painted bright sky blue, the color associated with Mary.
Back to the car and to school number two, a 5-8 school housed in a very old building, with tall ceilings and doors. The coordinator accompanied us. We looked into the also run down classrooms. The yard, also dirt, had lots of holes and left over construction material strewn about. I thought that kids could be hurt or hurt each other in such a place. Simone made sure to take me to the kitchen because she said it also has a good storage place. The cooks were serving chicken and rice soup to a group of kids.
Beside this school there was a covered gym. There were kids from another school rehearsing for a presentation that was going to take place. There were lots of posters about reading on the walls. I took pictures of a group of girls who were going to present about a very serious book of Brazilian literature, O Cortiço.
Back to the car, all the way up the mountain again into a part of town where the population at risk lives. The school had a huge entrance way with trees and patios. The doors were iron gates. There were three sectors of the school all separated by iron gates. There were iron gates outside the classrooms that opened to smaller inside patios closing the children in. There were also long, dark corridors. I really felt like I was in prison.
There are 3,200 children in this school from hell. Yes, I double checked the figures. They come in turns, morning, mid-day, afternoon. Three hundred in K-1, three hundred in 2-4, three hundred in 5-9 in each turn. With this level of usage you can imagine the state of the desks and chairs. (I started imagining a different kind of school desk for kids made from indestructible material such as the new materials made from recycled plastic and coconut fibers. Something that kids could not break and that would be truly comfortable.)
The principal was a very nice man with a beautiful brown skin color. He explained that his main problem was teachers missing work on a regular basis. There is no substitute teacher system. Children are distributed among other teachers or sent home when a teacher misses work. Public employees are allowed to miss up to 30 days with not consequence. After that, they can be fired. Of course some teachers miss 28 days, for example. There is no accountability. Nothing the principal can do except beg.
Yes, we went to the kitchen; Simone made sure that we visited the industrial grade kitchen. In fact the school was spacious and had many rooms, even a library (complete with iron gates) and cafeteria. It just had that drab feel to it, and the prison like atmosphere. At the very end of the compound there was also a covered gym.
The principal showed me the walls surrounding the school to separate it from the community. “People from the community would come and go through the school. We had to build the wall. It was very expensive.”
I talked to a girl who was playing with a friend in one of the rooms. I asked her what does she want to be when she grows up. She said, “A model.” I said, “Good. Do you have other options if it does not work?” (I was not very fortunate in this exchange…) She said no. Then I went on to say that models like the Brazilian Victoria Secret supermodel Giselle Bundchen studied a lot to be model, nutrition to know what to eat, clothes design to know how to choose what to wear, foreign languages, and that I hoped that she too would study a lot. I don’t think she believed me.
My heart was heavy after visiting these schools. When my co-presenters dropped me at the B&B, I left my bag and went for a walk along the beach. Had tapioca crepe with coconut for dinner and drank fresh coconut water while pondering about school desk material and design, and how important physical space is for young people who are learning to enjoy and believe they deserve beauty. Someday!
Pilar has money from natural gas. This money has not reached the population yet. Most people are poor. Unemployment is high. One can guess from the number of people on the streets during the day who seem like they have nothing to do. There is a contingent of fishermen. People also sell food and trinkets on the streets. And there are simple stores, restaurants, and other service places.
During my first day in Pilar I was “given to” an officer of the Secretary of Education, a young woman named Simone. She was tall, fleshy and very curvaceous, with a beautiful tanned skin. She wore tights, a shirt, and high heels. Something! She was quiet and spoke a lot on the phone. She was very busy and left me to mind my own business until after lunch. She was in charge of ordering lunch for all teachers and for us, the presenters. When she came searching for me, we still sat doing nothing while we waited for the driver. It was an unusual situation but I did my best to be in good spirits. The driver came and we hopped on for a two block ride. We visited a K-1 school.
The ugliest Disney and other children’s characters were painted on the walls. All of the first graders were rehearsing for graduation the next day. There were about 50 of them, each one clean, dressed neatly, hair combed, and front baby teeth missing, a complete cutie pie of a group. A patio with dirt floor, dusty, separated the two buildings. The building on the left had classrooms, all with a few desks and chairs in terrible shape. Dirty walls. The building on the right had the principal’s office, a couple of classrooms, the kitchen and a storage room. The principal was proud of the food stored, ready for when classes start again.
The teachers were preparing paper baskets with goodies to give to the graduates. The principal, a woman in her forties, said to me that she absolutely loved her work.
After the visit, Simone and I walked to the church right in front of the school. She kneeled and prayed. I was respectful to Our Lady of Pilar. It is a very large church, 150 years old, painted bright sky blue, the color associated with Mary.
Back to the car and to school number two, a 5-8 school housed in a very old building, with tall ceilings and doors. The coordinator accompanied us. We looked into the also run down classrooms. The yard, also dirt, had lots of holes and left over construction material strewn about. I thought that kids could be hurt or hurt each other in such a place. Simone made sure to take me to the kitchen because she said it also has a good storage place. The cooks were serving chicken and rice soup to a group of kids.
Beside this school there was a covered gym. There were kids from another school rehearsing for a presentation that was going to take place. There were lots of posters about reading on the walls. I took pictures of a group of girls who were going to present about a very serious book of Brazilian literature, O Cortiço.
Back to the car, all the way up the mountain again into a part of town where the population at risk lives. The school had a huge entrance way with trees and patios. The doors were iron gates. There were three sectors of the school all separated by iron gates. There were iron gates outside the classrooms that opened to smaller inside patios closing the children in. There were also long, dark corridors. I really felt like I was in prison.
There are 3,200 children in this school from hell. Yes, I double checked the figures. They come in turns, morning, mid-day, afternoon. Three hundred in K-1, three hundred in 2-4, three hundred in 5-9 in each turn. With this level of usage you can imagine the state of the desks and chairs. (I started imagining a different kind of school desk for kids made from indestructible material such as the new materials made from recycled plastic and coconut fibers. Something that kids could not break and that would be truly comfortable.)
The principal was a very nice man with a beautiful brown skin color. He explained that his main problem was teachers missing work on a regular basis. There is no substitute teacher system. Children are distributed among other teachers or sent home when a teacher misses work. Public employees are allowed to miss up to 30 days with not consequence. After that, they can be fired. Of course some teachers miss 28 days, for example. There is no accountability. Nothing the principal can do except beg.
Yes, we went to the kitchen; Simone made sure that we visited the industrial grade kitchen. In fact the school was spacious and had many rooms, even a library (complete with iron gates) and cafeteria. It just had that drab feel to it, and the prison like atmosphere. At the very end of the compound there was also a covered gym.
The principal showed me the walls surrounding the school to separate it from the community. “People from the community would come and go through the school. We had to build the wall. It was very expensive.”
I talked to a girl who was playing with a friend in one of the rooms. I asked her what does she want to be when she grows up. She said, “A model.” I said, “Good. Do you have other options if it does not work?” (I was not very fortunate in this exchange…) She said no. Then I went on to say that models like the Brazilian Victoria Secret supermodel Giselle Bundchen studied a lot to be model, nutrition to know what to eat, clothes design to know how to choose what to wear, foreign languages, and that I hoped that she too would study a lot. I don’t think she believed me.
My heart was heavy after visiting these schools. When my co-presenters dropped me at the B&B, I left my bag and went for a walk along the beach. Had tapioca crepe with coconut for dinner and drank fresh coconut water while pondering about school desk material and design, and how important physical space is for young people who are learning to enjoy and believe they deserve beauty. Someday!
quarta-feira, 9 de janeiro de 2008
Arrival in Arapiraca
We arrived in Maceió 3:30 a.m. local time. The Northeastern states do not adopt daylight savings so it was one hour earlier than Rio. Lima was waiting for me with a bag full of documents about the Future Scientists project, as he usually does. He introduced me to a man, the driver who would take me to the city of Arapiraca two hours away. He had brought his wife along to shop in the capital city, Maceió and keep him company during the trip. I thanked them for their sleepless night and followed them to the car. I did not expect to go on a trip right away, I thought I would stay in Maceió on Sunday.
I dozed most of the trip. Two lanes, two ways, dangerous road as I remembered travel conditions throughout Brazil generally speaking but more so in the poorest state and in the interior. He was an OK driver and I was too sleepy and tired to care.
They left me at the San Sebastian Hotel, right in the middle of town. Arapiraca is a large, typical crossroads town in the Northeast of Brazil. I am fascinated as I am able to see much more than before given the fact that I live in a different place. Everything is like new and much is interesting.
For example, the architecture of the houses is very simple. The brick houses are relatively small, built wall to wall, most with one floor, few with two floors. The rooms inside are dark because there are no windows; only the first and last rooms in the corridor-like setting has windows and doors to the outside. I miss light very much. I cannot imagine why houses are built like that, though I can think of two reasons: 1. They are built without a plan, things are just put together without much forethought, or following requirements; the builder, usually a man with very little education, if literate, even, will just work away in the space allotted. 2, Windows are expensive, so holes in the wall are better if the wall allows. 3. It is so hot that no windows will add to protection from the sun.
Whatever reason, the result are rows and rows of little houses, not very tall, one next to the other. Many houses in Arapiraca were painted in strong colors, oranges, blues, greens, purple, a veritable rainbow of colors. There was a lot of iron work as well, gates, protection for front windows and doors, with nice designs on them. A lot of simple tile work as well. In fact, everywhere I went the floors were in tile, simple to wash and keep clean. Much cheaper than wood, of course.
My hotel room was dark, no windows—what’s new? I had to use the air conditioning despite a very pleasant cool breeze blowing outside. When I stayed in my room Sunday evening, I opened the door to bring in the breeze…
I slept part of the morning and received a phone call informing that Professora Adriana would be picking me up to go out to lunch. I made plans to eat later in the afternoon and decided to go for a walk in search of the feira, the fair or street market. I found it about half a mile away. What a feast to the eyes to see the hundreds of booths selling everything, lots and lots of fruits of all kinds—fresh cashews, mangoes, oranges, acerola, pineapples, the sweetest and fleshiest bananas ever, nanica bananas that grow on short trees. And beans, cassava, pumpkins and squashes, meats, clothes, shoes, you name it you can find it in the feira, a Portuguese tradition. In fact, the names of the week days in Portuguese are first feira/fair (Monday), second feira, etc. till Friday, sixth fair. Only Saturday and Sunday are the same, sábado and domingo. I bought a bag of freshly roasted cashew nuts for about 2 dollars.
When I returned from my fair adventure I showered and waited for Professora Adriana, a spunky round 34 year old who came on a Honda motorcycle. A total hoot, Math teacher, Adriana is working on another degree in systems analysis. She told me her life story, including that she had her stomach stapled two years ago and has lost about 60 pounds since. “I was dying with diabetes, high blood pressure. I could not stop eating and decided to do this to save my life. My mother did not want me to do it, but the doctor convinced her!”
This was my first meal. I have to confess that I indulged in goat churrasco (barbecue), a specialty of the region that I am very fond of. Goat meat is drier, strong scented, and delicious. The meal comes with tropeiro beans, another specialty made with chick peas and farofa, a dried caçava flour, with parsley, cilantro and onions chopped into it. Also green salad, mayonnaise salad, rice, salsa. I had banana compote for dessert.
This food description is dedicated to all the friends who think I write too much about food. I did talk with Adriana a lot about eating habits and nutrition, mentioning my life long struggle with overeating and history of bad choices in food.
The evening ended with Adriana taking me to her house on her motorcycle to meet her mother, a retired teacher, Dona Berenice, her young sister Tatiana, and their yappy dog, Bali.
I dozed most of the trip. Two lanes, two ways, dangerous road as I remembered travel conditions throughout Brazil generally speaking but more so in the poorest state and in the interior. He was an OK driver and I was too sleepy and tired to care.
They left me at the San Sebastian Hotel, right in the middle of town. Arapiraca is a large, typical crossroads town in the Northeast of Brazil. I am fascinated as I am able to see much more than before given the fact that I live in a different place. Everything is like new and much is interesting.
For example, the architecture of the houses is very simple. The brick houses are relatively small, built wall to wall, most with one floor, few with two floors. The rooms inside are dark because there are no windows; only the first and last rooms in the corridor-like setting has windows and doors to the outside. I miss light very much. I cannot imagine why houses are built like that, though I can think of two reasons: 1. They are built without a plan, things are just put together without much forethought, or following requirements; the builder, usually a man with very little education, if literate, even, will just work away in the space allotted. 2, Windows are expensive, so holes in the wall are better if the wall allows. 3. It is so hot that no windows will add to protection from the sun.
Whatever reason, the result are rows and rows of little houses, not very tall, one next to the other. Many houses in Arapiraca were painted in strong colors, oranges, blues, greens, purple, a veritable rainbow of colors. There was a lot of iron work as well, gates, protection for front windows and doors, with nice designs on them. A lot of simple tile work as well. In fact, everywhere I went the floors were in tile, simple to wash and keep clean. Much cheaper than wood, of course.
My hotel room was dark, no windows—what’s new? I had to use the air conditioning despite a very pleasant cool breeze blowing outside. When I stayed in my room Sunday evening, I opened the door to bring in the breeze…
I slept part of the morning and received a phone call informing that Professora Adriana would be picking me up to go out to lunch. I made plans to eat later in the afternoon and decided to go for a walk in search of the feira, the fair or street market. I found it about half a mile away. What a feast to the eyes to see the hundreds of booths selling everything, lots and lots of fruits of all kinds—fresh cashews, mangoes, oranges, acerola, pineapples, the sweetest and fleshiest bananas ever, nanica bananas that grow on short trees. And beans, cassava, pumpkins and squashes, meats, clothes, shoes, you name it you can find it in the feira, a Portuguese tradition. In fact, the names of the week days in Portuguese are first feira/fair (Monday), second feira, etc. till Friday, sixth fair. Only Saturday and Sunday are the same, sábado and domingo. I bought a bag of freshly roasted cashew nuts for about 2 dollars.
When I returned from my fair adventure I showered and waited for Professora Adriana, a spunky round 34 year old who came on a Honda motorcycle. A total hoot, Math teacher, Adriana is working on another degree in systems analysis. She told me her life story, including that she had her stomach stapled two years ago and has lost about 60 pounds since. “I was dying with diabetes, high blood pressure. I could not stop eating and decided to do this to save my life. My mother did not want me to do it, but the doctor convinced her!”
This was my first meal. I have to confess that I indulged in goat churrasco (barbecue), a specialty of the region that I am very fond of. Goat meat is drier, strong scented, and delicious. The meal comes with tropeiro beans, another specialty made with chick peas and farofa, a dried caçava flour, with parsley, cilantro and onions chopped into it. Also green salad, mayonnaise salad, rice, salsa. I had banana compote for dessert.
This food description is dedicated to all the friends who think I write too much about food. I did talk with Adriana a lot about eating habits and nutrition, mentioning my life long struggle with overeating and history of bad choices in food.
The evening ended with Adriana taking me to her house on her motorcycle to meet her mother, a retired teacher, Dona Berenice, her young sister Tatiana, and their yappy dog, Bali.
segunda-feira, 7 de janeiro de 2008
Flying to Maceió, Alagoas
I was supposed to fly to the capital of the state of Alagoas in the Northeast of Brazil on January 6 at 1 according to Lima, who made the official arrangements through the Secretary of Science and Technology. I made my plans: I would wake up early, go to an 8 a.m. spiritual service near my dad’s house, return to be picked up by my friend Sueli who had volunteered for airport duty at 10 a.m.
Fortunately, in a second message, Lima wrote January 8 arrival date and, a bit confused, I was already dreaming with two more leisurely days before going to work when I decided to check to see if he had made a mistake. “Yes,” he said, “you are coming tomorrow at 1 and that means you get to the airport today at 11 p.m. to check in today. It is 1 in the morning, not 13:00, 1 p.m.”
Of course I am so conditioned to a.m. and p.m. and I would not have thought that a plane would take off domestically at one in the morning to take humans somewhere so I was going to miss my flight. But I did not, thanks to Lima. I had to rearrange my plans, pack in a hurry, and ask my brother to take me to the airport.
It seems simple but it is not. There’s family trouble. My brother and my sister had a big fight (details someday, but it involved my father and the maid). As we say it in Portuguese, “I got the leftovers” or “Something was left for me.” This is an interesting expression, meaning that one actually does not have anything to do with the fight directly but by extension one or both fighters involve you. My brother involved me, and has refused authentic communication since. He has also said hurtful things to me. He is very angry.
A complicating factor about going to the airport has to do with the fact that it is relatively far from the city. One has to take an urban highway know as Linha Vermelha or Red Line. This thruway is notorious for the number of assaults. Bandits come in cars armed to the teeth, stop traffic, and make drivers leave their cars to rob them under the guns. Then they jump into their cars and disappear into one of the roadside favelas or shanty towns. Late at night is one of their preferred times, though it happens in broad day light as well.
Only my brother could take me to the airport. I could not submit Sueli or any other woman to the dangerous duty. I also would not trust a cab; I did not know the details of when and where to take a bus. Just too complicated.
I called my brother. “Sergio, I did not want to do this, but I will have to ask.” I heard a couple of breaths before he responded: “You want to oppress me.” Acknowledging his critical, cynical tone I said, “Yes, sorry, I need you to take me to Galeão between 9 and 10 tonight.”
Truthfully I gave him an early time because the later it gets the greater the chance for violence on the road. I would not mind waiting for longer hours at the airport. He acknowledged the danger but said he would take me. I was relieved.
He picked me after the nightly soap opera, at 10. It rained cats and dogs, bats and elephants as well, a terrific summer storm after days of hot sun. We made it to the airport without problems, except of a zigzag of a drunk driver that he passed quickly. We had a great chat as we always have done when he is not this mad at life. He took me inside the airport, made sure I was OK; he gave me a big kiss goodbye, totally unexpectedly.
I am hoping his anger is melting. He has been such an important man in my life, a good friend, a sweet brother. I pray hard for him to be well. I love my brother.
I waited for the one a.m. flight. More of the trip, next time.
P.S. Yes, there were storms on the way, the plane shook all over but I was medicated!
Fortunately, in a second message, Lima wrote January 8 arrival date and, a bit confused, I was already dreaming with two more leisurely days before going to work when I decided to check to see if he had made a mistake. “Yes,” he said, “you are coming tomorrow at 1 and that means you get to the airport today at 11 p.m. to check in today. It is 1 in the morning, not 13:00, 1 p.m.”
Of course I am so conditioned to a.m. and p.m. and I would not have thought that a plane would take off domestically at one in the morning to take humans somewhere so I was going to miss my flight. But I did not, thanks to Lima. I had to rearrange my plans, pack in a hurry, and ask my brother to take me to the airport.
It seems simple but it is not. There’s family trouble. My brother and my sister had a big fight (details someday, but it involved my father and the maid). As we say it in Portuguese, “I got the leftovers” or “Something was left for me.” This is an interesting expression, meaning that one actually does not have anything to do with the fight directly but by extension one or both fighters involve you. My brother involved me, and has refused authentic communication since. He has also said hurtful things to me. He is very angry.
A complicating factor about going to the airport has to do with the fact that it is relatively far from the city. One has to take an urban highway know as Linha Vermelha or Red Line. This thruway is notorious for the number of assaults. Bandits come in cars armed to the teeth, stop traffic, and make drivers leave their cars to rob them under the guns. Then they jump into their cars and disappear into one of the roadside favelas or shanty towns. Late at night is one of their preferred times, though it happens in broad day light as well.
Only my brother could take me to the airport. I could not submit Sueli or any other woman to the dangerous duty. I also would not trust a cab; I did not know the details of when and where to take a bus. Just too complicated.
I called my brother. “Sergio, I did not want to do this, but I will have to ask.” I heard a couple of breaths before he responded: “You want to oppress me.” Acknowledging his critical, cynical tone I said, “Yes, sorry, I need you to take me to Galeão between 9 and 10 tonight.”
Truthfully I gave him an early time because the later it gets the greater the chance for violence on the road. I would not mind waiting for longer hours at the airport. He acknowledged the danger but said he would take me. I was relieved.
He picked me after the nightly soap opera, at 10. It rained cats and dogs, bats and elephants as well, a terrific summer storm after days of hot sun. We made it to the airport without problems, except of a zigzag of a drunk driver that he passed quickly. We had a great chat as we always have done when he is not this mad at life. He took me inside the airport, made sure I was OK; he gave me a big kiss goodbye, totally unexpectedly.
I am hoping his anger is melting. He has been such an important man in my life, a good friend, a sweet brother. I pray hard for him to be well. I love my brother.
I waited for the one a.m. flight. More of the trip, next time.
P.S. Yes, there were storms on the way, the plane shook all over but I was medicated!
quinta-feira, 3 de janeiro de 2008
Finally, the pictures
1. Flávia changes her high heels for Havaianas flip flops.
2. Carol is surrounded, from right to left, her grandmother Zélia; Nereida, Sergio's wife; Sergio, her grandfather; her uncle Fábio and his wife Dany.
3. Here Fábio helps Carol with her cap while Carol's boyfriend Rodrigo looks at her.
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