In my mother's Bahia

by Francileide Araujo (Brazil)

I didn't expect to find Brazil

I moved from São Paulo to Salvador in early 2017 to start my higher education course. Bahia, despite never having gone, was a very familiar place for me because of my parents who were born and raised in the interior of the state. Chapada da Diamantina is the identity territory where my parents lived, the place is known as a natural paradise full of rivers with dark waters and trails that take us to true natural paradises and the history of Brazil's exploration, a past very dark in which it is difficult to pass even in history classes, but necessary to understand the individual processes of my ancestors. Living in the family story scene was something very special and strong for me, mainly to understand how it was for my parents' childhood and to understand how some brands still hurt for them. However, my main goal was to re-signify and try to soften their image of pain and suffering. It had been almost 40 years since they had gone to their homeland and the image that haunted them was that of hunger, child labor and exploitation. From the capital there are approximately 8 hours by bus, I started to feel excited when I started to see the mountains, I saw some springs and a light drizzle in the most closed places. With a look of nostalgia my mother whispered in my ear that it was at that point that she sought water every day for almost 18 years of her life. With each step I discovered more stories and knowing that the protagonists of these stories were women in my family only made them more exciting. We passed waterfalls, springs, rivers of water and darkness with an absurdly untouchable sky that was so artistic. Colorful houses, people on the streets and ladies at their doors was the most recurring image through the bus window. Arriving in Palmeiras, I stepped for the first time on the tile floor that pushed me to know my history. Between hills and descents I arrived at my aunt's house, which was very close to the bus station. After breakfast, I started to explore the city through the eyes of my mother, who was traveling through its history and the changes in scenery that the weather caused. Children and teenagers were in schools, what was a “roça” now had asphalt, the traditional Saturday market was bigger, but instead of family farming products, they now had clothes and electronics. Curious, she stood in a corner watching the aged faces of those people who shared her youth with her. It was just nostalgia, as good as she said. I asked her to take me to the trails, I wanted to feel my feet in that cold, dark water strengthened like iron and ancestry. She then told me to prepare to go up. Our destination was Cachoeira da Fumaça, the name given by the place being so high that when you look at the waterfall you can see it evaporating before reaching the ground. Lay me down on the highest stone and look down. I felt small in the face of all that extremely conserved nature. My mother, who was holding my legs as a safety measure, looked at me with eyes full of water, a sweet and nostalgic water just like the one that evaporated, and told me about her happiness in being finally living that moment with her daughter and that she never imagined taking that route for leisure. We recorded the moment with several photos, all the way back, she told me a different story, only this time I felt part of it, I was no longer just a listener, I was living that story in the tone that she relived her own. We arrived at a flatter point and had a waterfall, without thinking twice we jumped. As I emerged to the surface, I absorbed everything that was happening, I felt welcomed and mainly revered by the whole scenario. I expected to re-signify the city for my mother, but she ended up reshaping life for me and reinforcing the feeling that my mother is the strongest woman in the world.