WHAT PHOTOS CAN NEVER CAPTURE
After a quick trip down to the clinic in Rio Veijo this morning, confirmed that our miserable little Lucy does indeed again have an ear infection and is headed for pneumonia, Jude and I left her in the care of her capable and far more patient father and headed off for an adventure. Usually, I would have put off any scheduled activity to hold and nebulize my ailing daughter, but alas – immigration waits for no one and lost memories can never be regained.
Shortly after arriving here, one of our dearest little friends tried his best - through language barrier upon language barrier - to explain that – he lives with his aunt – his mother lives in Spain – he hasn't seen her in 3 years – she is coming to get him sometime and take him to Barcelona. I have gotten more bits and pieces of the story from his two aunts who have become close friends, but no one seems to be quiet sure --- if it is going to happen, when, the legalities involved, how permanent it is, and what will happen to the rest of the 12 people who she supports here in Urraco, if and when her children move to Europe. Perhaps they will have to sell their land, perhaps move to SP and get a factory job, maybe wait for their ticket to Europe... maybe... “we'll see when Doris gets here... we'll see what she says... we'll see” – and that happens Tuesday.
But the one thing I know is that if our 12 year old little river swimming, soccer playing, tree climbing, squash planting, lying, laughing Kendi gets on a plane for another world. There is no return ticket. End of life one. Game over.
And until I came into the circle of this family and the tensions involving imminent “upward” immigration I had never given a second thought to the lost memories of the immigrants searching for a “better life.” They don't usually come with an iphoto cache. No way to explain the exotic fruits of which they are accustomed, or a tutorial from which to demonstrate how they spent vast amounts of time beating out their corn or carefully drying their beans. If they can even find someone who is willing to listen.
And so, to know that our vivacious unstoppable Kendi will be “surviving” in the jungles of Barcelona, saddens me in a way I never would have expected. Because he and his family do not survive here – they thrive. His aunt cooks delicious meals every day, having not gone to the grocery store in 3 years. He is as accustomed to catching fish by hand and walking jungle paths in the dark as an New Yorker is accustomed to hailing a cab. How long will he be stuck in survival mode? How much will it transform his character? Only God knows. I know I have been in survival mode for one year – and it has changed me – in ways I will never be able to explain.
But I know, that if I take a few photos, let him take a few photos, maybe in 10 years when he has been fully “in-technicated” - he'll be able to open his lap top and show his fiance, “My home – this is me where I thrived.”
At least he'll have soccer in Barcelona – and now he'll have a photo cache... even if it cannot capture 'home.'
I am particularly fond of this photo Kendi shot of me trying out Tita's new outhouse... They'll put up the walls just as soon as they get the money for wood.
Exodus 23:9
Do not oppress an alien; you yourselves know how it feels to be aliens, because you were aliens in Egypt.
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