Saturday afternoon, strong wind and cloudy skies predicted a storm soon. A message from Civil Protection advised: “risk of flooding, avoid unnecessary travel”. From the kitchen window, I noticed a young man standing at the entrance of the building. He smiled on a video call, oblivious to the weather and the first drizzle.
I thought I was one of those who don’t consider themselves sugar, don’t give up easily, adopting the speech of the unbeatable. Under the gaze of strangers, he seemed happy with the words exchanged and gestures on the other side of the screen. I imagined that, despite the cold, the heart must be racing with reciprocal happiness, the kind that sustains the day with a dose of “everything is possible”, after talking to a certain someone. Would it be family? Friend? Girlfriend?
I assumed he was an immigrant, because where I live there is an apartment that usually houses workers from different countries. I heard comments that there are addresses like this, paid for by the employer as a benefit for employees of other nationalities. This is what a colleague who worked in call center.
The boys on the ground floor leave early in the morning, in groups of three or four, wearing yellow vests and return at the end of the day holding toolboxes. The young man I saw is part of the new round of tenants, which varies from month to month, as I could see. They have their own dynamic that translates into a lot of work and some music. These are superficial conclusions from those who just cross paths at the front door. Everyone’s life is always more complex than we think.
That joy of the young man standing at the entrance of the building took my thoughts to the beginning of my immigrant life; when calls with family were more frequent. Whatever happened was new and half of my being still lived in Brazil.
Over the years, the calls gave way to short phrases via WhatsApp, audios asking about videos that resonate in Brazil due to the levels of xenophobia and racism. Lastly, we have been talking about a Portugal ravaged by bad weather. “Was your region affected?”; “Is it really cold out there, cousin?”; “Take cover!”
I still have the habit of calling some friends. With one of them, we reached a six-hour call, during which we had lunch together and then had coffee and cake, like our afternoons on the porch at home. A program that has no comparison.
Last Friday, during a trip in an app car, the driver from Minas Gerais commented to me about this decrease in routine immigrant calls. She said she still resists. Every week, she sets aside a day to update her life with a friend who lives in the United States. He also writes letters and sends them to some elected officials in Brazil, the old-fashioned way. And listen to received audio without increasing the speed: “It’s respectful of the person who dedicated time and I also don’t want to lose information that could be important,” he revealed.
I looked once again at the guy downstairs and wondered if he was just starting his career; He looked no more than 20 years old. Are calls with relatives still routine? Does he cultivate the dream of reuniting his family; Do you already have renewed documents or are you in the category of more than three hundred thousand immigrants with expired residence permits?
Due to the age group, I remembered my brothers. I traveled back to when they were children, watching the same cartoon over and over again, and keeping the dream of exploring the world in their pocket. They could very well be like that boy: far from home, resistant to storms, but warmed by a connection.
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