September 28, 2007
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Lixao
Went to the lixao (the dump) today. I have been wanting to for some time now. i guess i sorta thought if i went there something would fall into place. something that was missing. it didn’t really happen like that. This trip back to Brasil i really wanted to go and look for opportunities. just that. opportunities. i figured maybe if i went, i would find my opportunity. not really. i feel stuck. you can’t live your life ignoring things like the lixao. So then you go and are like “now what?” I mean…i don’t really have any skills to help them with. i could go teach them a song or cut their hair, i guess. And really, the only thing that would really impact them would be cultivating real relationships. And i don’t have the transportation or the time to do that. to really really make an impact, i would need to live there, eat there, work there…then maybe.
so there are gazillions of needs out there, and only one me. Which one has my name on it? i am not really sure yet.
So places like the lixao. Piles and piles of trash, with a community down the road of people who work at the dump, sorting trash and selling what can be sold. for some reason, all i could keep saying was how the birds were supposed to be black. you know those pretty white birds you see on National Geographic that hang out with water buffalo? yep. Those birds were everywhere at the lixao. no crows or buzzards. The trash went on for awhile, but the backdrop was gorgeous hills. Like paradise with a big gauge. The smoke covered up the stench, and the flies covered up everything else. Kel brought some food, because he is good and remembers things like that, and we saw these three kids run and hide as we came. The oldest girl smiled at me, but as soon as i said hello, her brother Lucas ran away and said i was weird (my accent…) I tried to make a little conversation and we soon traded names…the little girl was Danielle. I wonder how often they play in the dump. I wonder if they ever go to school. We gave them the food and they ran off to give it to their mother.
I felt like a tourist. Like a tourist that could visit whenever i wanted, but would never be a part of it. Tolerated, but never accepted. But i wasn’t visiting an exhibit, i was visiting lives. so now i have been there. now i know. now what?
