Dance Lest We All Fall Down - Margaret Willson [74]
I will be going to Salvador during the Christmas break to give support to Rita and Madalena. Eduardo, Rita, and I are realizing that several short trips work much better than fewer long trips. Those in Salvador who are on the front line, dealing with the daily problems and issues that arise, need our support. The major problem is the cost of flights to Brazil. We desperately need an airline or company to donate flights. We will go stand-by or via Calcutta (did I actually say that?); we just need some way to visit Salvador frequently. Anyone with ideas or contacts with airlines or travel agencies, please, please let us know.
We also wish to thank Aaron for the two terms he worked as an intern for us and to congratulate him on the scholarship he won to the University of Washington and for an educational trip to South Africa winter term. Our new intern this year is Karey, who has been a valued volunteer since we began. And welcome to Joyce, a professional grant writer who is donating invaluable advice and assistance.
As a part of this, I am making a plea again: we need an office. Some people on Vashon very generously offered office space, but we really need an office in Seattle. I, myself, will be moving to Seattle soon.
I close with a quick thanks to SENDEX, the Brazilian store in Seattle, for their continual support. And to Pat, our Vashon treasurer, who celebrated his sixtieth birthday by trying to slice off his index finger while cleaning salmon and required sixty stitches (to equal his sixty years—I didn’t realize a hand could take sixty stitches...)—HAPPY BIRTHDAY. And to everyone else, I wish you well in this season of pungent smells, of fallen leaves, husks of chestnuts, green walnuts, overripe apples being pressed for cider, and the scattering of new rain.
Um abraço,
Margaret
seventeen
more sides of bahia
I was staying at a small Italian-owned hotel in Salvador because Rita said she didn’t want me to stay with her right then. She said it was fine to come and visit, but that her neighborhood was just too violent at the moment, that she would feel concerned about me coming home alone at night. Everyone now seemed to have guns, Rita said. She heard gunfire daily.
I had been at the hotel only a few days when, at breakfast, I met some Americans. They told me they were bird specialists. They had been tracking certain birds, trying to determine why the birds were disappearing.
“We stand on a sand spit in the sun all day, watching, counting birds,” one of the scientists said with a laugh. “We wear big hats.”
“So why are the birds disappearing?”
“Could be pollution. We want to know exactly their diet. These birds are rare. We want to get the Bahian government to protect them.”
“So, why don’t you ask some local people? They might know.” The scientist didn’t manage to conceal the disdain that touched the corners of her lips. “We do have scientists here with whom we have discussed this.”
“No, I mean local fishermen. They might know something.”
“Well, I don’t speak Portuguese, but I’m not sure we could trust anything they might say anyway. The poor in this city are like peasants, anything they’d tell you would just be folklore anyway.”
After breakfast, they all left for their boat, science equipment and food hampers in hand. Doing research by spending all day in boats and on the beach sounded fun. Perhaps I should have been a bird specialist instead of an anthropologist, I thought.
I had lunch with Rita that afternoon at her house, and while walking through the remnants of her neighborhood market, which was still surviving I noticed, I asked her about the birds. I didn’t know their name in English or Portuguese, so I described them as the scientist had described them to me.
“Oh, yes,” Rita said, and she gave me a name I didn’t know.
“There used to be thousands when I was a child. You don’t see them much anymore.”
“Why not? I mean why are they disappearing?