Antonio, 51, from Santiago (the island). His mother, Francesca. He five brothers and five sisters. He fourth. One sister, Angola for work – Angola, over there, is rich. One in Portugal, one in Sal, one in São Vicente (all islands), the rest in Santiago. He’s been here before and left. Now it’s 4 years. This island is expensive. One kilo of bananas – Bananas, you know bananas? – is 50 cents on his island; here, 2 euros. Because of tourists. He sculptor. He sculpts turtles out of the limestone rock he finds on the famous Santa Monica beach (you seen turtles? They show their heads outside the water in the evening…) In Creole, Portuguese, English, French, Italian. Based on who’s lying on the sand, all superbly understandable. I guess he can now stock up on 2 kilos of bananas for the rainy days ahead – I’m happy – or, as someone else suggested, go to the Senegalese shantytown and eat for four days. When people eat, they happy, you know.
You’re Crushed – this will be your nickname – between the destiny of leaving or staying. In Boston or wherever else you can’t work a week, get paid and then not show up at work for a few days because it’s your right to spend the money you’ve earned. They’ll never understand. Alas, you will have to change.
You’re Crushed, like the stones you’ve been crushing of late. To build a huge resort on the best beach of the island, countless kilometers of white sand and crystal clear ocean – the mighty Atlantic, which can look so tame and sound so mild and you can subdue with a votive lamp or plaque, the walls in the little chapel of Our Lady should be bursting at the beams. And today anyway you would travel by plane.
Todo o mundo é o mar
O mar é de todo o mundo
All the world’s a sea / the sea is everybody’s.
Cabo Verde, March 2017