Saturday, October 23, 2010

More man than boy

I went to visit distant relatives (not geographically speaking) of W recently. A tiny house in one of the larger favelas on the northern extremes of the city, called Brasilândia. The tight-fitting ramshackle houses - squeezed into every conceivable space on the steep slopes which mark the city limits - mirrored the interior of his aunt's house: a small, dark living room and a single bedroom where seven of his family live.

W with family

They seemed a caring family who clearly love W, but had (and have) no means to care for him. I couldn't tell whether it was adolescent timidity which made him stare at the television the entire duration of the visit (I had to keep prodding him to engage a little), or a simple resignation that the likelihood of him ever experiencing something resembling a normal family life is slowly ebbing away as he reaches adolescence.

the road home - cityscape in the wing mirror

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