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Old Time Lo!

Rio de Janeiro - a Piccadilly circus of the 1900s!

By Justice WilliamPublished 3 years ago 11 min read
3

The tessellated floor reverberated as the rumba music cascaded over my ears. The chill of the wintry atmosphere blew over my face from the wooden window while the shutters shook rhythmically to the wind. It was winter here in Saguenay, Quebec.

At a point, the shutters flung open and I spotlighted some teenagers wading their way through the snow-clogged pathway. As I watched from the comfort of my chaise longue, I remembered my youth, my time of strength. I remembered the days of yore, my days of scuba diving, snorkelling and tenpin bowling. I remembered Brazil and the 1900s!

I knew I was not too old, I was 85 years and very strong. I could do bowls and hike ardently. However, the rigour and swankiness of youth had divorced my frame and left me to cuddle old age. Thus, as the smiles of the teenagers widened, I surged through into a height of ecstasy. The memories came back and I swooned with joy.

Rio de Janeiro, the place I grew up in, was a pizzazzy place, and if I remember well, the razzmatazz was healthy with no malign influence. On many occasions outside the borders of this beautiful region, in the Balneario beaches, I would relish the feijoada and caipirinhas.

Beautiful samba music – the bossa nova – never stopped stirring up my youthful fire, especially in the Barra da Tijuca and Copacabana. I had a penchant for the maracatu music too and would traverse the streets of Avenida Brasil to share in its concord at Antonio's bar club.

Antonio, my friend, was never a maverick. His high spiritedness gave him out as a people person all over the land of the Amazon, and so it was until he was pulled onto the boat of death.

My travel down memory lane was cut short by a touch on my shoulder. I turned in a reflex to see Jack, my grandson holding out a pack of cards.

'Can we play cards, grandpa?' He asked in a timid voice shedding innocence. I smiled at him, he was a fine young fellow. Scanning his frame I noticed how fitting his anorak was on him and the pulchritude of his visage, I saw myself in him for he was me.

It was getting cold and so I had to pull down the venetian blind before I sat back with Jack to play cards. I could not help but peep into the window of wonder over how quick the journey to grey hairs was. I remembered, many years back when I also had the alacrity of Jack. Like a mouse in a rouse, I was swanky in my teens.

Jack dropped a deck of cards on the peroba wood table after carefully shuffling them and threw me a smirk. Having gotten my player's hand, I proceeded to fan my card just in case I had corner indices.

Of course, I was the elder hand, and could possibly beat him in this game of chance given the age difference, yet, I knew that he was very smart.

'Grandpa, what was life like when you were my age?' Jack asked, immediately I placed my card on the starter pile. He drew a card from the facedown pile and continued,

'Dad said Rio de Janeiro was a Piccadilly circus in the 1900s. Is that so?'

'Oh my! Come sit, let me tell you about life in Rio de Janeiro when I was young and my strength was full.' I said pulling him onto the chaise longue just next to me.

He buttoned his crepe cardigan and wore his emotions on his sleeves. I began my tales with the most resonating voice I had ever used. Somehow, memories of long ago had a way of pulling me down to my knees.

My eyes pierced into the bizarre cold outside through the spaces in between the shutters. It was a bit askew compared to the mild winters of my birthplace. I noticed a tractor-trailer dragging along on a snow shovelled path. It looked exactly like the tractor-trailers that adorned the streets of my homeland with a bow-wow.

I ambulated around the fireplace for a while before throwing in more kindling.

'Rio de Janeiro, it was even more boisterous before your father's birth,' I gave Jack a glance and he caught my eyes.

I began,

'I was born in the street of Avenida Rodrigues Alves in the summer of 1936. However, I was raised in the Rocinha Favela till I turned 16. My father used to work in a mill somewhere along the same road I was born in. As devout Christians, we would pray every sunday and read the bible too.

My father, Dominico, enjoyed peteca, it was his best sport particularly when played on the sand or grass with dances and songs. He and my mother had once gone to an Olympic game with some shuttlecocks just for fun. And then he also liked futebol and admired the players particularly because he could not play.

On several occasions, he would ride his unicycle from the Mill to a sports ground near the Avenida Vieira Souto just to watch a game of futebol.

For as much as I remember, we didn't have much but we were never hungry. My parents used to sleep on a low bed while I slept on a mat on the floor. We were not rich, but we were content and happy.'

'Grandpa, Favelas are slums, right? Wasn't it a dangerous place to grow up?'

'Rocinhas Favela may have been a slum, but it brings me beautiful memories. During that time, the neighbourhood was an epitome of unity. The energy was jocund but never malevolent. Above all, it taught us to raise our heads above the mud and protect our very own. That was our Lema,' I said and rose as I strode towards a hanging portrait.

I walked so firmly on the floorboard that Jack directed his gaze to my feet. I touched the portrait gently as I would a woman's cheek. A tear trickled down my face and the pillars holding my masculinity afire collapsed. My knees weakened and a subjugating sadness surged through my inside.

Like though he peeped into the crevasse of my emotions, Jack also wallowed in the ambience. His visage turned blue and the rumba music began to sound even sorrowful.

'How old were you then, Grandpa?' Jack asked as we both looked dejectedly at my portrait.

'I was 16 and very broken.'

'From your countenance, you looked unhappy. What happened, grandpa?'

'A lot happened. My parents left one evening to watch a peteca game and never returned.

'They ran away? Caring parents would never do that!'

'No Jack, they didn't run away. Let's just say they were drowned in tragedy. Days Later their corpses were discovered at the Copacabana beachside and no one knew what happened. That was when I followed uncle Mario, my father's friend, to Africa, Nigeria precisely.'

'So sorry grandpa. It must have been difficult for you,' He sympathized and gave me a hug, 'Was Nigeria anything like Brazil?'

'Yes. The region now called the state of Akwa Ibom was more like a countryside and the Ibibio people were very hospitable. It was beautiful and very rural; the farmyards, the sacred groves, and the streams all suggested a certain level of naturalness. In fact, my adventure began in a small village called Afaha.'

'Afa…,' Jacked struggled with an accent.

'Afaha, a village of love.' I said and twisted my lips into a jaunty smile.

'I'd love to visit Nigerian soon, grandpa. What did you do in Nigeria with Uncle Mario?'

"Yeah…you sure will. Uncle Mario had a big farm in Afaha where the villagers cultivated happily for him and got paid in cash and in crops. He made me the farm supervisor and I sure did enjoy my job there. In fact, when the villagers learnt that I was an orphan, I became everyone's favourite. They all called me a distinct name - 'mbakara', a name I felt comfortable with."

'What does mba...kra mean, grandpa? It sure sounds like a nice name. As nice as the name my grade teacher calls me,' Jack pressed.

'And what name is that?'

'Most endeared Jack,'

"That sounds nice indeed! Uncle Mario had said it meant 'white kid', but the villagers said it connoted 'adorable one'. They were all right. At first, I thought it was given to me because they found it difficult to pronounce my name, Azevedo dos Raimundo Francisco. However, it was heartwarming when I found out that it was borne out of love.'

'Wow! So they really adored you then. What about their food, hope you enjoyed it? Tell me about it, grandpa.'

"Certainly Jack. When coming to the farm the villagers would bring along a traditional dish I grew to love. It was made of yam and some leaves. 'Seu sabor era divino'!"

"Hhh...'eu sei que você gostou'. What was the dish called?"

"Emm...It's called 'e-ekpang...k-kiku'. Not sure if that's correct though. 'Mas saiba que foi o melhor'."

The beautiful memories were returning and invading my mind's tavern. I could not help but wonder at the similitude that existed between Rio de Janeiro and the state of Akwa Ibom. They were very clear, just as the differences were.

'On many occasions, after a fruitful work on the farmyards, I and the other boys would go to the stream for a cool bath before retiring for the day,'' I continued.

'I enjoyed the masquerade festivals, the wrestling competitions, the moonlight folk tales and even the maiden dances. As I turned 20, I was even allowed to join in the wrestling competitions.'

'You must have stayed in Nigeria for a long time then.'

'I stayed for 10 years. Africa gave me one of the best moments in life I must say,' I replied.

'So that's where you met grandma!' He exclaimed, this time with a very beautiful smile.

'Yes, her parents had a farm close to the stream. And I and uncle Mario would accompany a certain E-Ete...Etemb...Et-tem—',

'Etekamba you mean. That was his name. You and uncle Mario would come up to the stream every morning just so you could steal glances at me,' I was cut in by Atim, my wife and Jack's grandmother. I laughed heartily as she walked towards us with a tea kettle.

Except for some wrinkles on her face and her now chubby frame decorated by her denim jacket she looked no different from the beautiful woman I saw and married from Africa sixty years ago.

She was black and I was Latin American, so what? With her, I had the best of everything including our children, Paulo and Adriana, and even Jack, our youngest grandson.

Spending the winter vacation with my daughter in Saguenay only further knitted the bond I shared with my wife. And interestingly, we were one sui generis couple that embraced and admired many cultures.

'Sit here Jack, and let me tell you all about Rio de Janeiro's beautiful culture. Tomorrow, it will be all about the Ibibio culture of my hometown.' My wife said and placed a saucer containing three teacups on the coffee table.

She started,

"You see Jack, after your grandfather and I got married in 1961, I joined him back to Brazil, and oh! how he loved the 'ekpang nkukwo' dish he got used to in Nigeria. He said it gave him a feeling similar to that which the 'feijoada' gave. So when we arrived in Brazil, this time living not in the Favelas but somewhere along Avenida Brasil, I usually made sure it became a regular meal."

She looked closely at Jack whose ears were itching for more, and then continued,

"And when we did visit Antonio's bar club, your grandfather would narrate to him how Nigeria's rich dishes accentuated its culture. Those were the best of moments. On several occasions, we would ride on his bicycle to the Guanabara Bay, where we would hear and play along with singers singing and dancing to the samba rhymes. And why! I wouldn't dare to forget the Rio carnival, 'o maior show da Terra', which is held every year prior to the season of Lent. Your grandfather and I would stay close to the sambadrome where we would see the 'Comissâo de frente', the 'abre-alas', the 'Porta-Bandeira' and the 'Mestre-sala'."

I was flabbergasted that my wife could remember all these events with no detail left out.

'You remember the 'Banda de Ipanema' we participated in about the Year 1965. We paraded the streets of Ipanema,' I reminded my wife.

"Yes, I do. The parade was done about two or three times before the carnival that year. It reminded me of the 'Ekpo' festival back in Africa, especially because of the samba music," she added.

I remembered in the time of long ago, how gaudy and colourfully dressed we were. I remembered the dance and music in Cine Lândia square and 'Rei Momo' who was always supposed to be very tall and fat. I remembered Rio de Janeiro of old, as lively and flamboyant as it was. It was an OLD TIME LO!

I turned to Jack and with a bodacious feeling of confidence I said,

'So my boy, next time you come to visit us in the Cidade de São Sebastião do Rio de Janeiro, never forget that it was a Piccadilly circus of the 1900s!'

fact or fiction
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  • Scolaire Academyabout a year ago

    This is a brilliant masterpiece...though it is written with little emotions, the story was well researched.

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