August is the holiday month here, which means that most establishments
close at 3 p.m. Monday through Friday and don't open on Saturday. This translates
to a mass exodus to the beaches, neighborhood cookouts and of course, music,
music, music. The festivities started on my corner Friday evening with grilled
fish and beer, continued with music at a neighbor's courtyard and ended, at
least for me, at a beachside venue with more music and, of course, more beer,
served by the greatest bartender this side of Nick-A-Nee's.
I wrote that it hardly ever rains in Sao Vicente, remember?
For the first time in a dog's age, it rained all day Saturday. Not torrential,
but heavy enough to make off-road driving hazardous. Sunday the sun came up
blazing hot, so, for health and safety reasons, I passed on a swine-slaying,
a traditional neighborhood activity that takes place on the edge of an extinct
volcano crater. Instead, I started rereading "Ä Fan's Notes"
by Frederick Exley, a great read especially when accompanied by a tall Havana
Club and Perrier.
I'd like to tell you a little bit about how an expatriate's
house functions at maximum efficiency.
First and foremost there is Maria, 36, a single parent of
four, who lives in a one-room palm-leaf thatched house with no running water
or gas. Cooking is done on a single burner Coleman stove and water comes in
ten-gallon cans.
I first met Maria when we were here in February. Her oldest
daughter, Nelida, literally saved my life when I was caught by an undertow.
She introduced me to her family and when we came back in May, Maria was the
first person I looked for.
She comes at 8 a.m. and makes breakfast. On Mondays, she brings
her younger daughter, Patricia, 15, to do the wash and general housecleaning.
Patricia is in her second year in high school, goalkeeper on a championship
soccer team and extremely devoted to her family and to us. In the early afternoon,
Maria does the shopping (remember, everything is fresh), prepares dinner and
leaves. Patricia often stays to practice on the computer (learning English
and computer science are the two main educational goals here). Maria knows
how to brew the teas, create the rubbing oils and keep us away from traditional
medicines as much as possible.
My "capo" is Tio, Jean Batista Fortes. He is 44,
an army veteran, and appears to know everybody in town. He is married and
the father of three. His wife. Eloisa, a certfied teacher, emigrated to France
where she earns approximately five times more as a domestic than she could
earn in Cape Verde. Tio has done everything from building a table for the
courtyard to introducing me to the chief of police. He can get my phone hooked
up in a day when it usually takes a week. He is the last of a breed of "negociantes
de bordo" (boat traders) who can get anything from a carton of Winstons
(in a country where Marlboro holds a virtual monopoly) to a 45-inch Sony TV.
I've known Tio for three years since we first visited Cesaria
Evora in 1999. He is honest, reliable and on top of any situation. He
takes care of his children who are spread throughout his extended family.
We have an unspoken arrangement that we eat together, drink together and hang
out together. His 11-year old son, Kevin, stays with us on weekends. I pick
up the tab and Tio watches my back, keeps an eye on the Jeep and, in general,
get things done for us.
Tomorrow, Cesaria arrives and preparations for the Festival
at Baia das Gatas begin. The town is already filling up with tourists
and the international press. The immediate effect is there is no small change
or parking places. There's a real cosmopolitan feel as the Italian and French
are all about (Haven't run into any yanks yet). I'll keep you updated on the
happenings.
