I’m sailing up the Amazonas River. In the distance the slowly falling asleep Belém can still be seen. Its buildings reflect the sun that sets in the west in between the clouds and the water. This immense mass of water, which flows tirelessly to the sea, is being sailed in a sort of bazaar where scents and people elbow each other, where everyone fights to find a place to hang its hammock, their private nook for the next 3, 5, 8, 10 days, depending on where life is taking them. Sailing this boat is like living inside a floating bazaar where hammocks, blankets, towels and all sorts of cloths fall from the ceiling, hanging over suitcases, bags, backpacks, boxes, all sorts of packages that pile up in the floor. This living bazaar sails through the night, which hides the river’s margins, the forest and its people. The morning sun starts to disclose the scenery while waking up the bazaar and the growing hubbub. The cloths gain life and its wingless inhabitants start to come out of their cocoons. Unable to fly but filled with dreams, they look at the spectacle presented by the river and the countless trees that fill the immense forest. Here and there a house, a village, from where the indigenous come to meet us. Some come just to say hello, others to collect the food people throw them from the boat, some others, like pirates, approach the boat in order to sell food or just to catch a ride upriver. Inside the boat people run to check out who arrived, breaking up the monotony of a trip that repeats itself every minute. Here the space is limited and the huge lines faced everywhere limits it even more. Only patience and smiles are immense, the indispensable companions in this epic journey, which is a necessity for many and an adventure that will most probably never be repeated for only a few. Bonding them all only a dream, the dream of going up river, because going up this river is and always will be a dream.
Lô and Janderson
A smile like no other is the most beautiful image of the whole journey. Sorry, two of them, the smiles of my two favorite neighbors: Lô and Janderson. Brother and sister, cousins, friends, who cares... I didn’t ask their age either, maybe by stupidity, maybe because it simply didn’t matter. They welcomed me in the boat with a smile, most probably answering to my own, which I couldn’t see. The whole time they were around, smiling with the naivety their age around 10 to 12 and their humble origin gave them. They smiled the whole time, despite the journey’s many difficulties, despite having to take care of their many brothers and sisters. Smiling for no reason and for them all at the same time, they were living the dream of moving to a new city and the excitement of what most probably was their first big journey. Even if I had the temptation of complaining about the lack of comfort, the lines to buy food, to use the toilet, the smelly surroundings, the heat, the people bumping against me and waking me up during the night, of so many different annoying things, I just couldn’t because their smile was always there, remembering me about life’s relativity, of how everything can me a blessing or a curse. It only depends on ourselves, of how we want to look at the situation. And their eyes see it all as a new discovery, as a new reason to smile...
What are you looking at Lô, where to? What thoughts, ideas, dreams, ambitions, what crosses your mind while you stare at the horizon? What sort of future will your beautiful smile have in 5, 10, 15 years from now? How will your life be? What future is in store for you, in this country of yours where you were born in the wrong “half”, in the “half” where the difficulties far outweigh the opportunities given to you? But in the end that doesn’t matter, with your smile you’ll always be happier than many others who have it all... My boat journey ended, yours carried on, but your smile will always be in my mind, to remind me of how everything is so much easier with a smile, a simple smile.
Amazónia, Brasil, Janeiro 2009
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