Courtyard Reflections

Written Sunday, August 10, 2008:

I’m sitting on my 1 ½- by 4-foot balcony (I like to call it “the courtyard”) listening to the sounds of the city – cars honking, buses whizzing by, the music from the bar across the street.  Nothing like what I would hear in Albuquerque.  I often have reminders that I am not in the 505.  Take yesterday for example…

 

I ventured downtown yesterday morning to finish up some souvenir/gift shopping.  In the heart of downtown is the street “treze de maio” (May 13^th).  As usual for a Saturday morning, the street was packed.  A sea of people making their way up and down the half-mile stretch of stores.  As I walked in search of a good store, I saw two men along the way, in different spots.  Both were working, their task the same.  Both men were blind, and, with their boxes in front of them, they sat on the ground playing the accordion, hoping to earn a good day’s pay.  I found a great store, and braved the masses of people that crowded it.  After making my selection, I headed up to the fourth floor where the cash registers were.  Mission accomplished, I left the store and headed back down 13 de maio, passing the two blind men on the way.  By now, the crowd was dotted with political flags.  With elections coming up, campaigning floods the streets, intersections, billboards, and media.  A 15-foot “puppet” made in the likeness of one of the candidates caught my attention.  It was complete with an entourage of people waving flags and handing out fliers.  Before long, I came upon a stage in one of the plaza openings along the street.  A group had been setting up and was just about to begin, so I stopped to listen for a minute.   It was church group, singing praise to the Lord.  As the music blared into the day, and the group on stage clapped and dance, the street continued to hum with the movement of mass amounts of people.  Some people stopped to clap and sing along, some just to listen, some continued on their way.  But above all, praises to the Lord were being sung out for all to hear.  As the first song came to a close, I decided to move on.  The next plaza I came to, right in front of the Catholic cathedral, hosted another crowd.  The crowd’s attention was fixed on one man.  He only had one leg, the other having been severed just below the knee.  When I walked up, one leg, up to the knee, was standing by itself, nicely dressed with a soccer cleat and bright red sock, the pair and its owner, crutches in hand, standing about 20 feet away.  Between the man and his leg were two soccer balls and a box with a hole in it, all evenly spaced.  I watched the show, as he picked up the balls and volleyed them as one would a hacky sack.  He was very talented.  Before the show was over, he told the crowd he had suffered an accident, lost his leg, but today he is happy.  He then asked for the whole crowd to give a great round of applause to the Lord Jesus Christ.  By now, I was hungry, so I stopped at Habib’s, a Mediterranean fast food joint.  As I ate, I sat down to enjoy the Brazilian forro music a band was playing in the plaza.  A man, presumably homeless, came and sat next to me.  I smiled but did not say anything.  A few minutes passed, and he leaned over and said, “Bon apatite!”  I smiled and said thank you, then offered him some of my lunch.  He graciously accepted and put it in his bag, explaining he was going to save it for later.  We talked a little bit, both agreeing that the man with one leg was very good with the soccer ball.  He shared that he used to play soccer, but was too old now.  The conversation didn’t last long, and I wished him a good weekend, said “God bless you,” and was on my way home. 

 

Just when I thought life here was pretty “normal,” I was reminded, it may be normal – but it’s not the normal I’m used to.