I ended up getting the bus into Fortaleza this afternoon. It was a chilled hour-long bus ride and some of roads we took brought back memories of the 13 years I have known this city. I remember back in 1998 when I would take the bus into town with my “Year For God” team and we’d get off the bus at Avenida Domigos Olimpios and walk up to “Igreja Coraçāo de Jesus” which was our point of reference. And I remember how the city centre at that time seemed so big and confusing, where now it doesn’t seem big or confusing. I love this city.
I got off the bus at Rua Assunçāo and walked to “Darling” one of the (many) beauty salons in the city. Brazil is the place to get cheap manicures and pedicures. I went in and had my nails done while thinking about how great it is to be in a place where taking care of oneself is valued in a different way than in Europe. Here no-one thinks it’s a waste of time or money to have your nails done. It’s almost like it’s a natural part of life. And it’s so relaxing. And I remembered how it was one of the few things that helped me look out for myself when I lived here. My theory was that if I wasn’t able to take one hour every two weeks to do my nails I was way too busy. As I was paying at the salon I met a friend who volunteered at “Casa de Meu Pai” (My Father’s House, the street kid project I worked with) which was also lovely. Nice to be remembered after so many years.
From there I walked into the core of the city centre. I felt such peace, even if it was busy with people and cars and life everywhere. I love the city! The smells, the people on their way somewhere or nowhere, street vendors everywhere selling everything from corn on the cob and chips, to cell phones, handbags, toys, underwear, fruit, tapioca, cashew nuts… you can get anything in the city of Fortaleza if you know where to look. Walking along I recognized shops I used to shop in, street names, and noticed new shops and even small shopping malls along the way as I strolled along.
At “Dudas” (a bakery/snack bar) I stopped and got a rosca da canela which is kind of like a cinnamon doughnut. Very nice and yet another thing I can tick of my list of things I wanted to do and eat while here. I got a little bit confused with where the streets were going and ended up at Praça José de Alencar and was amazed at how nice it looked and how peaceful it is. I wanted to stop and take it all in, but still had a few errands to complete before closing time.
In a little gallery I found and old man with a small wooden table who fixed watches and sharpened scissors and things like that. I gave him my “alicate” (special scissors used when doing pedicures) to sharpen. As I was stood there waiting some kind of demonstration passed by on the streets and of course everyone was looking and commenting. I love how the Brazilians so often are so blatant about these kinds of things. Where I usually will discreetly look or even pretend to not notice, on many occasions the culture is to stop and just stare. Sometimes it can seem maybe rude or even unpleasant, but in a sense it’s so honest. Anyways, the demonstration got many stares, which probably was the purpose it to start with. It was practically over when the little old man was done with my alicate so I never did find out what it was all about.
From the little old man I headed to what I call “Bible street”, which is this little gallery with probably like 10 Christian bookshops in it. Sometimes it gets very overwhelming to enter them as the people who work there are incredibly friendly, and for an introverted Norwegian it can get a bit much. (Although I do appreciate the heart behind the friendliness.) Today it was refreshingly different. I choose to enter one of the smaller bookshops and told the lady what I was looking for, and was in and out of the shop in about 15 minutes which is not bad.
I was meeting a friend of mine at 5:30pm, and with a little while to spare I popped into a little snack place and had an acerola juice. It was so good and refreshing. Sitting at that counter in that little typical Brazilian snack bar, on an old wooden stool, drinking my juice from an old fashioned glass cup with a straw I felt so at peace. Like I was feeling at “home” again. It all felt so “normal” and right. I love the city.
I headed over to the theater where I was meeting my friend, and as I stood there waiting I rested in the peace I was feeling and just looked at people. The heavily pregnant lady rushing ahead holding the little boy by his hand. The short guy looking after parked cars. The chubby young man who was singing his heart out as he pushed a wooden cart around. The cart was blasting some music I think he was selling the CD of coz the cart was covered in CDs. People living lives in the city. Some rushing along, others more at ease. Each with a live they’re living. Each with joys and struggles.
I found myself searching as I looked. Searching for familiar faces. Looking for an older version of a boy or girl I’d once known on the streets. Hoping to find them, yet not. Hoping to hear one of them say “tia Elisabeth” and come up to me unrecognizable because they are doing so well. Hoping and feeling God’s heart. Even if I’m not working with the street people anymore, God is always at work. And even if I am starting to forget some of them, He never forgets and never will forget them.