31°c degrees maybe 32°c
Red slippers, a plastic bag, that rasta hat – to cover the pealing and those permanent smiles.
Salvador, Bahia.
Boa tarde
Hours of walking, could have been the beach or the market. Consumed with pre-carnaval bliss, we ambled on.
The once icy water from a forgotten street vendor near Boa Viagem had done the unthinkable. Sizzling and on the hunt for a shade and a Guarana Antarctica.
There.
That plastic chair stood tall and defiant, as if it wobbled out of the cafe unattended. Quietly guarding it, yet calling us in. We caved.
A brother preparing to leave sat on the left and a man with a large smile appeared.
Note: After weeks we had begun to realise that that large smile was not uncommon. In fact, each person out smiled and out warmed the last, with Antoniette’s friend (Grandad) being the premier.
Upon realising our Português did not advance Obrigada, his smile widened, ushering us to the table on the right. Behind him was Vovó. Her smile too was larger than the room, only her eyes glowed. As her Grandson wiped the patterned flowery table mat, she impatiently gestured for us to sit.
Muscles resting
Dried throats forgiving
Antarctica’s dominating the table
Grandma and son returned to the back. Now hidden by the gigantic metal pans.
2 or 3 of them.
Fiercely holding a wooden spoon she proceeds to stir one of the mysterious pots. To which we soon discovered was rice, beans and all sorts of veggies. Suddenly her toned arms make total sense, as she continues
with a smile.
Muscles relaxed, thoats moist and Guarana Antarctica a thing of the past, the guy approaches. Hands full with cute mini patterned plates
And that smile.
Fuck tomorrow
Forget the tears,
the sweats
the yelling.
Forget Michele’s worries,
her extra pillows,
water and care
The now.
Just smile back at them and grab a fork
Zara Tewolde-Berhan 