I was born in a land where the banana plants can reach the line in
which the sunset and the see become one, a place which has the smell of the sea
salt and the freshly cut wood …that smell between humid wood and plant resin. The
roads leading to this land are cover by grey stones and puddles that remains
after the rains or simply water that comes from the mountain, surrounded by green
ferns and heliconia flowers may you see lizards and frogs on you way, and why
not? Hear stories about the “Moaning”, a woman who cries desperately on the
full moon nights looking for her children drowned disturbing drunk or tired drivers
who find her on their path and are dazzled by her beauty, or hear anecdotes
about terrorist groups that kill or kidnap people putting fire on buses and the
survivor are lost in the thick tropical jungle.
My land is a mixture of natives, colonizers and slaves: Those who didn’t
have alphabet but language, who lived in harmony with their nature among the
mosquitos and snakes embroidering basic colorful figures with artisanal fabrics;
those people, who came to conquer and take our wealth, our gold, women and our culture
with mirror and basic tools; and those black who bring the sound of the drums
and the hot and strong blood in their veins, a mixture that made our women to
have the color of the cinnamon, the sweetness of the unrefined whole sugarcane
and the strength of a worker.
In a small village I was born, many memories come into my mind,
some sad, some happy… My house was not a luxury house but was big and close enough
to the beach to move the boats that my father used to build with the help of
some guys who lived close, away of the village my mom was always at home, I can
remember clearly the smell of her sweets coming from the second floor of the
house while she was with her ferns saying to the housemaid to turn the oven
off, my mother had a lot of friend who were buying things that she was brining
from the city. We were three children, my eldest brother, me and my little
brother, like cotton, wood and coal, in color and personality. Although my
father was too tough with my eldest brother I think we had a happy life, always
in vacations we were wearing our swimsuit and my parents were screaming “clean
the garden! then you will go to the beach”, we were so excited to finish fast
and go to have fun fishing and swimming, my little brother learnt fast how to
fish small fishes, while I was making sand castles or my eldest brother was burying
my in sand drawing funny things.
Kids in this village they go to school before seven at morning, at
that time you will see all the kids going by the seaside with their bags
usually bigger than them, some in bicycle carrying one or two or more, you will
hear them talking about their street games, because when I was a child few
people had TV or telephone on their houses, our school was poor school, many
kids they had theirs clothes ripped and they had to share the shoes for school
with their sibling at the midday, at that age you may not recognize poorness. I
can remember one of my teachers, he was dark and very tall, I remember him writing
in the green board with the white chalk and complaining of its dust, at the end
of the sessions shinny reflects from the sea were starting to appear on the
board, they were moving up to down disappearing, the sound of the waves
crashing against rocks cooed me until the bell started and was time for our
break, kids running and jumping with ropes, others playing with crystal balls, the
smell of eggs and milk from the lunchboxes kept me away from the park, on the
garden close to the beach I used to see the clouds through the wiring I was
wondering always why they were like squares and not like bubbles like on the
cartoons, in the wonder land that is possible!, I used to pay attention scared to the girls
who were washing the mops on the seawall, I think because I heard stories about
drowned girls who were doing the same and they never appeared again, I used to
spend my break eating caramel or jelly with mango and banana that my mother
used to make for us. Before to leave school we had to clean our classroom and
in some cases the toilets of the whole school, I don’t know I always choose the
sweeper.
Going back to home was like victory, I was very good student, I
was one of the bests, on the way back all the kids had their uniforms dirty
with glue and snots, I remember all them crossing the street from one side to
other yelling it seemed they were so happy, some of them stoning mango trees or
coconut palms and then running when the owner discovered them, I remember a lot
the teacher Doris, she was teaching on the highschool, she and her husband the mathematics
teacher were well-known and a respectful family, she used to made the best
homemade ice creams, I loved to stop on her house and buy one or two with few
coins and enjoy them under the hot sun and the fresh breeze from the sea.
In our home were some lizards and frogs, I never felt disgusted
from them until I grew up and I found that my eldest brother put a tale of lizard
on my hair and it was moving after being cutted… at the nights sometimes used
to rain or be storms, we were always worried that one strong wind took the roof
of the house or a flood from the sea invaded the first floor, I was a child and
one day in my room I asked to my mother “those lights from where they come from?”
she said “there is a big man there outside who is taking pictures of you” now that
man have a lot of sense to me and when I remember myself posing for the pictures
I think how cute and innocent may I was. I remember sometimes I messed all my
room up, fall sleep angry and my father waking me up saying “do you want to eat
ice cream” I just jumping from the bed and in our motorbike we were going to
the village to eat those melted ice creams that made me so happy.
Like in any fairy tale there is good and bad people, in the
wonderland sometimes murmurs about
dangerous people coming to the village were heard, people at the sunset were
running to their houses afraid to be shoot or caught by them, many night my
parents heard the sound of the guns coming from the village, my mother say she
used to hide us in small places because they were scared someday those people
came to our place, many time they cut the electricity and we remain days and
days among candles and wood stoves, some
people had power generators but if they were discovered they would be killed,
my father many times turned it on to have ice on the refrigerator and to see
the news on the television… other nights we spent them hearing stories about
adventures and witches from my parents and relatives, even though they were
always the same tales was exciting for me hear them on the darkness of the
night among the mosquitos hearing the sound of the waves.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario