He Found Us

 

Months ago I wrote about a chimpanzee, but then I lost the text and felt too lazy to put it together again. The chimp I am talking about used to live in the local zoo, where he reigned as its main attraction ever. Actually, he ended up as a victim of that attraction. Another case of fatal attraction. Being extremely clever, he mimicked and learned everything people taught him, including heavy smoking.

 

One day we returned home and found Andy sitting in front of the television. He looked worried and said: “It’s done, they are taking Joao to South Africa from where he is not returning for sure…” We looked at him totally puzzled. It happens we know closely a person called Joao and our first reaction was thinking about that person. Why on earth would someone take Joao to South Africa forever?

 

After the evident laugh caused by the confusion, Andy explained that Joao-chimp was so sick due to his cigarettes addiction that he had to be rescued from the adoring crowd that kept feeding his deadly habit. He had a nasty temper and showed other manifestations of dependency.

 

Andy, who always had a special interest for any kind of monkey or ape, kept coming with the subject. “What could have happened to Joao?” he usually wondered, and we always thought first of Joao-person before we could realize it was about Joao-chimp. Last time he came up with the subject, we decided to satisfy Andy’s curiosity and start looking for Joao-chimp. And I wrote about this intention, so that we didn’t forget it. The text was lost and the intention could follow the same destiny, but then it happened that thing between Andy and monkeys. If there’s a monkey, he cannot be too far from where Andy is. We went to Nelspruit and accidently discovered where to Joao was taken. The old chimp is still very much alive and an attraction at Chimp Eden. We immediately set a date to visit Joao. And I am sure I shall have another good reason to write about in here.

Dogs and Teeth

 

During one of my last Miradouro walks, right before I committed myself to my dogs’ health and entertainment, I overheard a conversation between two little girls:

 

“Do you love dogs?” one of them asked.

 

“I love dogs very much,” the other answered in a serious, thoughtful manner, “but I don’t love their teeth.”

 

At the time those words made me smile and I knew I would write something about them. This week my Staffie Keket celebrated six months, five of them spent with us. I remembered that conversation and found it a good subject for my weekly post.

 

In reality, I was left wondering if it’s possible to love something or someone if we have doubts. I repeatedly asked myself that same question and always got the same answer.

 

I admit that, for some, love can exist and subsist despite buts. Fortunately or unfortunately, we don’t all accept them. I am sure the love that girl could ever experience for dogs is undermined by fear. That love doesn’t have a practical existence, because teeth overshadow any possible action or feeling towards the loved one.

 

I think the same happens to me and to many others. Suppose you have to sit and study this possibility: “Sometimes I have teeth and sometimes I don’t”. And suppose words hurt a lot more than teeth. Do you accept the fact and peacefully live with it? My answer is no and nothing is going to change it. Wanted or not, love has commercial nuances. You have this to offer. Do I accept it? I don’t. Life goes on.

 

And maybe when we don’t accept teeth we start to unveil so many other unwanted aspects about dogs. Ambiguity, for instance. Crafted messages that fit more than one context and keep us unaware of teeth. Pleasing Greeks and Trojans never worked. At some point, one or both walk away. Because some day we are going to stop saying that we love dogs except for their teeth and conclude that our love is no love after all. Admiration dies. Feelings crumble. Love vanishes.

 

(I have to say that I personally love dogs, teeth included.)

Sunglasses Urgently Needed

 

Men like to stare. It’s in their nature. I can’t find a better explanation. When a discreet look turns into staring, politeness goes on holidays and an awkward situation is created.

 

I think men have two staring processes: 1) The quick general check up. 2) The aimed look.

 

Days ago I was caught by surprise while walking my dogs. A man coming from the opposite direction frontally looked into my eyes. I think I never had the experience of having a completely strange looking deep into my eyes and that upset me.

 

At the same time, I was surprised to feel so exposed until I realized that I had forgotten my sunglasses. I never leave the house without them, mainly to protect me from dust. Wearing contact lenses turns eyes sensitive to dust and light.

 

I never thought about other kind of exterior aggressions. I never thought of wearing sunglasses to protect me from eye to eye contacts, but now I think I found another good reason for not forgetting them in the future.

Writing Pause

 

I’ve been writing a book. I am sure that I’ll finish it and maybe write some more, but I felt like stopping for a while. The reason making me stop is puzzlement. I don’t know if writer puzzlement exists, but I am sure simple human puzzlement is common.

 

I was writing under the impression that a polluted and smelly river was a bad thing from any possible point of view. I needed information, so I started to read a local blog and discovered a few disturbing aspects: 1) Local people don’t seem to bother that much. 2) They get offended if a stranger points at the river condition and the fetid stench, being stranger any person who doesn’t live there. It’s like they are saying: “If you don’t smell it, you are not allowed to touch the subject.”

 

As a person and as someone trying to write, I’ve just discovered that my truth never is absolute. I am sure this puzzlement is a learning process that will change the way I write and maybe the way I live. For now, I absolutely need this assessment pause.

One Night Read

 

Cooking books that show a bit of the author’s private life must be trendy. I received two, not so long ago, and read both in two consecutive nights. It didn’t take me long, so no sleepless nights were required. I just read the non-cooking texts and glanced at the recipes, picking a few I would like to try.

 

One of the books is very cosmopolitan, both in terms of the author’s lifestyle and food, while the other is definitively country. In the second one I met a family that moved from the big city to a farm and learned to live differently.

 

Two aspects stood out from this second book. Real country people seem to live basically on salads and veggies, reserving the meat for special occasions – very much the idea I had from old descriptions of how people used to live. I also found interesting the author’s contradiction when firstly I read that they would never eat their own farm chickens, while they do eat the farm pigs and admit that producing their own meat is part of the country life scheme.

 

The next day I still felt puzzled, but then I remembered that in terms of eating we are authentic walking contradictions. At least, I am. I wouldn’t be capable to eat any animal I saw alive and the list of meat that I don’t eat is long enough to step on it. Despite all that, I do eat some meat and that is a major contradiction I have to live with.

Arrogance vs Aggressiveness

 

A powerful country decided to bring 40 doctors to work in Mozambique. There’s no question they are needed. For reasons that only the reason knows, the Ministra do Trabalho (labour minister) decided to impose a few conditions. Being one of them the proof of their qualifications, I think Mozambican authorities suspect they could be only basic technicians, cashing most of the promised aid as if they were real doctors. Whatever the motives, the storm is over our heads.

 

The other part didn’t like and has been producing all sorts of menaces. The debate is on fire. That powerful country is threatening to cut all the aid (USD300 millions-year), while most Mozambicans are taking the minister side with two arguments: 1) They are sick and tired to be told. 2) It’s time Mozambique stops begging and starts to live on the existing resources. I kind of agree, but I’m afraid there’s more arrogance in such declarations than feasibility.

 

Nobody knows how animosities could escalate to such extremes or when they are going to end. And I won’t give you a genial insight (I don’t have one, anyway), except for the above title and maybe tell you something less political and hopefully more entertaining.

 

Over the years I could feel a big difference between Northern and Southern mentality. Maybe because of the weather, Northern people tend to be more active and aggressive. I don’t think they are well aware of that aggressiveness and I even believe most of them regard it as a quality. On the other side, people living in regions where the weather is less severe seem to develop equal doses of laziness and gentleness. It should be good if both parts could take those differences in consideration. At least I try.

 

From time to time I have to read texts coming from people not aware that their words can offend people with a different sensibility. I always try to soften the edges, because I do believe that we can say what we have to say with politeness and diplomacy. Recently, I had to change the words of someone in a way to fit the local mentality. We all know that people are poor, naked and starving, but they don’t need or want an outsider pointing at it. They know too. We all know that governments perform badly, but they don’t want to hear it from an outsider. The same way Europeans wouldn’t like to hear a visiting African criticizing their endless social and political problems, come to that, environmental too.

 

As soon as I finished reading that text I send it to the author saying: “I respected the original, as usual, and only introduced a few subtle changes.” For an average intelligent person I wouldn’t have to explain that, besides mistakes and inappropriate language, I had to soften the criticism. Instead of pointing the finger at this and that, why not just say that there are pressing questions to be addressed – especially when the publishing objective is neither social nor political?

 

I suppose you are guessing what happened next. That person sent back the text reintroducing all the negativity I had erased. I cannot tell you how furious I was… In my opinion, there’s only one thing as bad as aggressiveness: stupid arrogance. Not knowing your own place is a sad way to be.

 

Yes, I protested. Paul advice was: “Chill out and stop worrying… You know what happened when that person was working on a project in Mozambique? One day, tired of demands and aggressiveness, Mozambican workers locked that person in a room and told they would only open the door when good mood and manners returned…” Imagine how I laughed!

2

 

 

 

 

Do you have two faces
To indulge in two sort of tears?

 

Do you have two places

To hide two shuddering fears?

 

Do you?

 

Do you have 2 arts?

 

2 parts

 

          2 lines

          2 mimes

 

                    2 files

                    2 smiles

 

                              2 lives

                              2 wives

 

                                        2 names

                                        2 games

 

                                                  2 seasons

                                                  2 reasons

 

                                                            2 treasures

                                                            2 measures

 

                                                                                                                  Do you?

                                                                                                      Do you have 2?

Almonds Blood

 

I am currently reading an author who explains the bad red wine hangover of one character with the supposition that she might have whisky in her blood. That’s an interesting theory.

Then, the possibility that our blood could reject some stuff just because it’s programmed to accept a different kind hopped from fiction into my reality.

Over the last weeks I’ve been using and abusing of almonds, mainly in the form of homemade marzipan. I was expecting migraines, allergies and other side effects but I could get away with it. If it were peanuts or cashew I would be pretty sick. So I jumped to the conclusion that I, like that novel character, might have almonds in my blood. If that’s so, almonds are an unmistakable sign of my almost forgotten Mediterranean roots.

Two days ago I could perceive a slight note of urgency in TD’s voice when he asked: “Is the marzipan finished?”

I guess I am not the only one in this family with almonds blood type…

Short & Bitter

 

I was glad to read that I am not the only one deeply unimpressed by the new way of messaging. A dating female journalist complained, in an article, about the shortening of words and even the wrong spelling of those short words. In brief, she admits we have sometimes to opt for short, but when it’s about romance, and a few other circumstances, we (women) still want complete sentences and preferably poetry.

 

I totally agree. Sometimes I found myself guessing what someone is trying to say. If I learned to write complete words and sentences, why on earth should I have to learn new languages within languages I’m still trying to master?

 

When I write in Portuguese I am sometimes inclined to use abbreviations, like tb instead of também (also) or bjs instead of beijos (kisses), but I hate the idea of reducing our written communication to stenography.

 

My father has a way with words. I’ll always remember his joy and playfulness saying words he was fond of. I like words too. Thankfully, a significant number of people like words.

 

I think Paul is amused with odd words I use from time to time, words he doesn’t know. Even speaking the same language, we came from different regions. Recently I called him azevia and had to explain why and the meaning of the word. So, I told him how his belly sometimes reminds me of the shape of a delicious pastry my grandmother used to prepare called azevia. It’s a folded pie, filled with a heavenly sweet chickpea cream.

 

Paul is also delighted with words like gasganeiro (voracious), lorpa (rapacious) or papa-açorda (mashed bread eater, meaning a lazy person). Evidently, Paul likes words too and he seems to have taken the azevia comparison with humor. Maybe he still remembers that my father would say, under the same circumstances, something like barriga de almeice (curd belly). And that sounds a lot worse than a delicious azevia!

The Mechanism of Change

 

My grandparents led a life different from their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. Nevertheless, all our lives have undeniable similarities too. The way technology touched the last generations, obviously in different forms and degrees, is one of them.

 

But at the same time we all fit into the same technological pocket, that same technology is admittedly compartmenting us. I can say, for instance, that my grandparents were radio people; my parents, telephone and television people; my own generation is somewhere between TV and computer; my children definitively belong to a computer generation and I can only guess what kind of people my grandchildren would one day be.

 

I don’t like to see people defined by technological gadgets, but I have to recognize that they are changing the way we live and relate with others. Recently, an article underlining some passages of James Harkin’s book “The Dangerous Idea that’s Changing How We Live and Who We Are” captivated me. Accordingly to the columnist, this is the book to read if we want to understand the way we are communicating today. A now book. Maybe I should read it or maybe I should take the columnist words for granted when he writes that such a contemporaneous book will soon be past.

 

Harkin is not against networking (“two, four, six, eight, Facebook must disintegrate”), but someone worried with the way people are communicating. The author points out that the sense of social common action is being substituted by the option of staying at home “hopping from one blog to another, having heated and often inspiring debates with people they cannot see or hear, who could be next door or in the Outer Hebrides.”

 

“The danger is that when you spend all your time deciphering what other people are up to, you never get around to doing something original on your own…” writes Harkin.

 

And he adds: “People have always been nosy and voyeuristic, but now you can be nosy, not just about the person next door, but about millions of people around the world…”

 

This capacity (along with the consequent distortion of the power hierarchy) is the dangerous idea that’s changing our lives. It’s a dangerous idea because it only happens in your head and “that’s not always the best place to live”.

 

We all have reasons to be or not to be somewhere. Personally I decided to open a Facebook account only if I could find 3 or 4 friends I won’t mind to keep in touch with. Unfortunately, it seems the handful of friends that I have are still enjoying television lives. I decided against and so did the columnist I’ve been quoting. For different reasons, we reached the same conclusion. He stopped since he read about a Newsweek journalist who opened a Facebook account for a potato. Twenty-four hours later that same potato had already 23 friends. In fact, makes one wonder.