You Can Stall Me

by Delina Michael (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection Brazil

There was a familiar buzz in the air, that unmatched enchanting energy that was inviting yet intimidating at the same time. Getting off the plane felt like I’d forwarded though the dull Spring and emerged into a vibrant Summer. Score. Well to be honest, it would be naive to call what we have at home a ‘summer’; a great London summer could hardly compare to even an average Brazilian Spring. I immediately felt envious. I was situated in a beautifully designed top floor apartment; an open plan space stretched across the entire size of the building. The deep red, orange and mahogany hues were the theme stretched throughout the home, which radiated a warm and comforting ambiance - even more so when the lanterns glowed at night. The windows were wooden doors which opened outward; on the northside of the building you could to find a courtyard where neighbours often sat, smoked and joked, but the southside overlooked the street which led up to the square. No matter what time it would be, the reggae and jazz notes from the square would drift into our apartment. They were my lullaby and my pre-game pump; they were the background music to catch up calls to my friends back home and my shower playlist. It was both romantic and surreal. The square was a large part of the locality; locals would sit to pass the day, someone would drink, others would fight. There were young boys who would ask us for money and others would nod their head in acknowledgement when I walked past. It was clear that most of these boys had to work hard to support themselves– all with a story to tell and the fire to tell it. The square would be a large part of my experience in Salvador. In which were two stalls; one which sold Capirinhas – a delicacy which I frequently celebrated – and another with a woman selling small hand-crafted pieces of jewellery. They were both located on the opposite sides of the square, roughly the size of a football pitch. The Capirinhas were only five Brazilian Reals, roughly twenty pence – hence why I became a dedicated customer. Then one day, on our way out to the city I passed the second stall for the first time. It was clear that it was time to investigate. Picture a small lone stall comprised of a wooden bench structure with a small roof to shade, varying necklaces hanging from the supporting pieces of wood, in the middle of the square. I loved to collect handcrafted pieces when I travelled and was intrigued, but honestly, the real intrigue came from the woman behind the stall. Her skin was beyond a russet-brown and could be described as more like a rich, deep walnut colour with a glow of someone who had never known anything but sun. She was already smiling. I smiled back. She came towards the side of the stall and leaned on its frame as I look the final steps to greet her. “Oi” “Oi” That was as far as my Portuguese could take me. I pathetically tried to use a combination of gestures and expressions to indicate my appreciation of her stall and failed. There we stood like two toddlers trying to communicate with one another; our language being a combination of an awkward chuckle, a fair bit of mumbling and over-the-top-gestures. When it was my turn, she just shook her head and looked at me. There was an inviting maternal energy that radiated from this woman; she looked as if she was in her late thirties or early forties but looked good for her age – those type of women. We struggled to understand each other, but managed to indicate two pieces of her jewellery that I'd liked and purchased them. The intricately woven bracelet and white shell necklace I bought from her that day still sit in my jewellery box and every time I see the colourful green, red and yellow, it reminds me of that square, that woman and that precious moment that I’ll never forget. It was an exchange with few words, but the one which I treasure most. The language of two smiling strangers.