São Paulo: through the eyes of the people

Qual é a definição de pai? Há muitas. Definições legais, poéticas, literárias, bíblicas, realistas, “de botequim” e muito mais. Para mim, pai é aquele cara que baba com as realizações dos filhos e ponto final. Se a minha definição está certa, não fujo à regra e, assim, babo com tudo o que as minhas filhas fazem.

Há algumas semanas, a minha filha mais velha, Ana Clara, de 14 anos de idade, teve, como tarefa escolar, de escrever algumas linhas sobre tráfego em São Paulo, a cidade onde ela nasceu. Nada muito difícil, na minha humilde opinião. Eu teria escrito aquelas obviedades de sempre: horas perdidas, irritação, atrasos, buzinas, motoqueiros inconsequentes, péssimo transporte público e coisas do gênero. Ela, que apenas passou seus primeiros 5 anos de vida naquela metrópole, teve um olhar diferente. Ela preferiu contar como 3 pessoas, em suas rotinas, viveram um dia no pesado tráfego em São Paulo.

Leia o texto, use o Google Translator, se necessário, e me diga se eu não tenho todas as razões do mundo para ficar babando nas minhas filhas.

She walked along the sidewalk, an icy breeze blowing through her chestnut coloured hair. Forcing her arms to stop shivering, and blaming herself for not wearing a jacket, Paula wondered how the weather in São Paulo could be so unpredictable. She waited for the rusty traffic light to change colour before crossing the busy streets of her new city. Looking twice, of course.

Halfway there, she spotted willing street entertainers, evidently misjudged, trying to earn their money. She could see the yellow smiles on the performers’ faces, but wondered if that was part of the act. Reaching the end of the street, Paula looked at the bench next to her and wiped it carefully before taking a seat. On the street opposite her, fire breathers roam the streets. While two skinny and freckled boys try and impress the impatient drivers with their mouth-dropping skills, four others would go around pleading for money.

One ginger-haired boy who looked about twenty years old, lit up the stick and threw it up to the cloudless sky, clapped his hands to a well-know tune, then without missing a beat, caught the stick in his left hand. The traffic light turned green again; no time for taking a bow or collecting money. The other boys merely shrugged and went back to their stations, huddled up to keep warm, before trying their luck again. Paula watched, awe-struck, at how hard these boys worked, and how proud they all looked of each other. And she was proud of them. She took one last look and, still freezing, headed home.

Not very far from all this action, Alana took one big breath of air and let the pollution slowly fill her lungs. She hated São Paulo. Holding her books tightly to her chest, she stepped on to the bus and took another breath. Sweat. Carefully stepping on without touching anything, Alana scans the seats for an empty seat, which, in São Paulo, is physically impossible.

Her blue eyes quickly hovered side to side and yes! Walking to the back of the bus, where a miraculous seat was empty, Alana couldn’t avoid the eyes of several passengers, who were clearly wondering what this fish-out-of-water could be doing there. The only free seat left was the window next to another person who seemed out of place, wearing all black.

She went closer and realized it was an old woman, her wrinkles running down her face like the rivers run down the mountains. She could not help but be mesmerized by this incredible beauty of the lady, who appeared to be seventy years old, and when she smiled, Alana mirrored her. Even she had to admit that a few simple gestures are all it takes to connect with the people of São Paulo.

Alana motioned for the woman to kindly let her through, and when she did, the bus suddenly resumed its movement. One, two, three. It stopped as abruptly as it had started. Alana found that genuinely strange, and looked across. As far as her eyes could see, the street was covered with multicolored cars. An ocean of cars took over what normally was an empty part of the city.

Even with her window closed, Alana could hear the sounds of honking, all in different pitches and volume. She could hear the desperate screams, “let me through!” She could hear the swearing, the cursing and finally, the crying. The bus driver turned the radio, and finally, music filled Alana’s ears and rid her of agonizing sounds.

Isabel was late, and nothing she could do could rid the cars in front of her. Her eyes, starting to close, could not take this everyday version of her high school detention. However, back in those days, she was able to take a nap. It was virtually impossible to do so here, as the sounds of furious honking could never leave her at peace.

She knew traffic was no paradise, but it was if all the cars, buses and bikes of the city were competing for each millimeter of the road. The traffic light started to look like a soon-to-be war zone. Isabel was not surprised, with all the screaming and honking; it was likely World War Three had already broken out.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Isabel notices an abrupt movement, a car trying to steer away and screams of terror. Drunk with fatigue of all this noise, she only turns a bit, but enough to see what was happening first hand. A masked stranger was demanding the money from a terrified woman who broke down in tears. Isabel squinted and realized he had a gun.

Beginning to feel fear take over, she did one thing every São Paulina could do: honk. She started doing it non-stop, and people started turning their heads around to check what was going on. Soon, the whole street followed suit, and the idiot with a gun was taken by surprise and sprinted away from it all. Isabel smiled. It was the first time in her life the traffic in São Paulo helped to save someone’s life.