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Brasil, heart with wings

Written by  Ana Bernardo

Joy, samba, sun. Violence, blood, shots. So is Brazil. But this fascinating country is also Mary *. With 52 years, has saved the lives of several children. A clear example of how we can elevate the soul to heaven.

Salvador da Bahia, 13:00. The sun kisses violently the afternoon. The heat is suffocating. The humidity intolerable. Stranger to tropical temperatures, my white skin is covered with beads of sweat. On the brink of dehydration, I let myself be seduced by a refreshing caipirinha. For the guitar sound that echoes in the walls of Bahia Market Model (with numerous shops of handicrafts, is an amazing intoxication of the senses). And relaxing by the blue sea. Extraordinary profusion of cultures, colors and smells, the first capital of Brazil dazzles every tourist with its beautiful Creole face .
But the true beauty of this, find it out of town. After a short journey by car to a friend. In the village of Mary. Nestled in the woods, has no electricity or asphalt. However, it has insects and spiders. As destitute homes. The inhabitants are numerous. All with darker skin, worn by the sun. And a wide smile that never ends. It is then that I spot Maria. I remember like it was today. The thin face furrowed with wrinkles. The contagious laugh. And the eyes carved by the intense battles of life. As the mysterious disappearance of her husband.
- "Good afternoon. Come in, come. In this house, there is always room for one more. "
Confused, I signal my friend to refuse the invitation. Room for one more? In what location? Only in the patio. The 'crowd' that fills the narrow divisions - three in all - can hardly move. My look of disbelief does not go unnoticed.
- "My dear, the size of a house is not important when the worm is larger than the universe. Sit at the table. There is food for everyone. "

Sublime paradox
As if hypnotized, let me drive to my 'place' - one of the few free points from the floor. A feast worthy of a king in modest table covers. Smells like palm oil. The black-eyed beans. Tropical fruit. The coconut water. And, above all, love.
- "Do you like manga? I look around me. Two unforgettable dark eyes stare at me with tenderness.
- "I love it. Is the sun and the summer. What is your name? "
- "Clotilde. I am 14 years old. My parents died when he was very tiny. Mary met me on the street. It was then that I came to live with her. Come, I'll show you my room. "
Clotilde's room is no more than a small bed. At the same time displaying their ' traveling doll ' ("you know, she traveled to Rio!"), Explains to me that divides the room with seven sisters and brothers. Between four and 20 years, faces and have totally different personalities. Sandra, for example. With its mature 15 years, would be a lawyer. Pedro. Without hesitation, announces that he wants to be a sailor. To "embrace the globe." Fabio. Violet eyes and long golden hair, dreams of becoming the new Caetano. As he drink his coconut water, takes a few chords on the guitar. And sings. His velvet voice spreads happiness.
Inspired by the music, I turn to the courtyard. Lying on a hammock, Maria stops to embrace the seductive light of the sun Bahia. With her eyes sparkling with affection, the children quietly contemplate.
- "Are all your children?"
- "Yes. But only the older two are biological. "
- "How? Adopted six? And he can take care of everyone? Alone? "
- "I can do it. I saved them from poverty in the city. Loneliness, orphanhood, thirst for love. Bad companies, crime, I don't no. In Salvador you see everything. Shots, bandits, knives, blood. Life can be very ugly. Live here in peace. "
I still do not understand. How does a lady of 52 years old can educate eight children without assistance? My skepticism is to be perceptive. With a smile disentangle, notes:
- "Sometimes it is not easy, no. But everything in life becomes meaningful when we act with love. Humans are all my brothers. Whenever I help one, my heart takes a wing. My children give me so much, girl. They are my courage, intelligence, sensitivity. They are who I am. "
What a mirror of altruism! Yes these are words of gold. Pronounced in a remote village in the middle of nowhere. Water insists rolling down my face. But the worst is the voice of tears. A hen clucks suddenly. I am forever grateful to her.
Back in Salvador, I think in this chameleon country. Here you find the story of an exemplary life. I am Mary and eight children. I watch a show of samba. I'm color, joy. I hear gunshots I see blood and face injuries. Am violence, instability. So is Brazil, a sublime paradox. As aptly summarizes Gilberto Gil, this musical genius in "The Human Race":
"The human race is the burning wound / A beauty, a rot / The eternal fire and the death / Death and Resurrection."

* Name of Mary and the children are fictitious.

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