Oscar, Lucas, and Mariella

Continued from the previous entry…

I still remembered that morning’s feeling of being an invader in the Barrio Flotante of Iquitos—that I didn’t want to disturb the regular goings on, instead, opting to be a bystander. And yet, I was still fed up with myself for not having the courage in the morning to pull someone aside and get their life story. I was itching to know why they live in the Barrio, whether they like it, whether they hope their children stay or leave, and what a normal day looks like for them. I had these two parts of me competing, and I couldn’t tell which was going to win. But I didn’t have to make that decision for myself—rather, someone would make it for me. As I turned the corner to take in one last view of that marsh, where Zack and I had stopped to take a photo in the morning, a chubby, round-faced man in a Miami Dolphins jersey pulled me aside. He owned a shop with cold water, and he could see me dripping in sweat, clearly desperate for a bottle. I let him pull me aside, selling me two bottles for S/ 1 a piece (going rate is S/ 4 downtown, and a subsidized S/ 2 in our hostel). I started to strike up a conversation with him, pointing out the rainbow now in the sky over the spot to which I was originally heading.

He pulled up a chair and instructed me to sit. I glanced into his shop, which had everyday items like toilet paper, a refrigerator with an assortment of drinks, and some snacks. Behind the back wall of his shop, I could see the corner of a bed. This was not just his store, but his and his family of five’s house as well. Next to the refrigerator was a hen’s cage, and when I asked its name, he told me that from now on, it'd be Ian.

At this point we introduced ourselves. He knew words here and there in English, actually more than I’d expected (we’ll get to why later), but we conversed as he helped finish my sentences in broken Spanish. His name is Oscar, and today, he turned 46 years old. He has three children, aged 9, 10, and 16. I had the pleasure of meeting the younger two, Mariella and Lucas. I tried to start conversation with Lucas first, asking him what he liked to do in his free time. Like clockwork, I got the answer than any ten-year-old boy in all of Latin America would respond with: fútbol. I asked him where he played, and his dad told me about a youth team he’s on that plays farther away. He told me that his favorite team is Argentina, and that he hopes to become a professional fútboler. His dad also told me the position he plays, but I didn’t commit that to memory. Our conversation was cut short when I noticed his sister in awe over my Apple Watch. Though keeping her distance and not touching it, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of it. I wonder what was going through her head—I mean, as a kid, if I saw something shiny, new, and cool, I’d have my grubby little fingers all over it. Maybe there was an aura about it that this is above her, that her touching it would make me feel weird or want to leave. So, I showed her how it can take pictures, and instructed her “toca!”—touch it!—on the shutter button to get a selfie of the three of us kids. She was still hesitant to touch it after I told her to, and it took her dad’s convincing for her to finally press the button. Lucas was amazed by it, and asked what else it could do. I showed him how it can play my music and tell me the weather, and though I didn’t have any games on mine, I showed him the one game I had downloaded on my phone at the time: Stickman Cliff Diving. Though a rudimentary game from 2012, I still keep this as my go-to game for when I’m bored… we played a few rounds, the two of us, before putting the phone away. Oscar asked me how much it was, to which I gave a price that was a bit lower than what we really paid for it out of respect, and he and his family were still amazed at the number that came out of my mouth. I justified it by citing how things are more expensive in America, and giving some reference prices for, for example, clothes in the US. He was, regardless, still shocked. It made me sad, having to justify the fact that I had something on my wrist worth more than he could comprehend, but the way I saw it, they had a close-knit family that’s well-fed and invested in love for each other. The dad couldn’t help himself but butt in with a smile on his face when his son talked about soccer. He wore his daughter’s necklace proudly outside his shirt, bragging to me about how she made it herself. The mother, while washing the clothes, sat outside on the porch, and the rest of the family was outside before I got there to accompany her. I, though a guest, felt as if in that moment, he had welcomed me as one of his own children.

I tried to get them to talk again, asking the dad to tell me a story from his life. He began to describe how previously, he owned a tee-shirt shop on the main square of Iquitos, and I can imagine now that this is how he learned the poco inglés that he does know. But before I could get how he ended up selling refrigerated drinks in the corner of the Barrio—before I could get the rest of his adult life story—he changed the topic to be about me. It was a natural flow, something like “when I was your age, this is what I was doing. By the way, what are you doing?” to which we pivoted to what life is like in America. I tried to bring the conversation back to be about them, but it was three against one, and they couldn’t help but ask me everything. We talked a little about school and what I’m studying, and I mentioned how our football team won the national championship this year. Now, bringing up our football team, of course, brought up two related points. First is that we don’t care about soccer as much as the rest of the world—to which, Lucas was shocked—and also, Oscar was indeed wearing a Miami Dolphins jersey. When I brought up American Football, Oscar went “ah yes, of course, I know the sport” and proceeded to name one NFL team, one NBA team, and one MLB team as examples, all in a heavy Peruano accent. It made me laugh, but I let him have his victory and nodded along.  

Soon, our conversation diverged from formalities and introductions, and more into casual chitchat. I was a little disappointed, but there’s still something to gleam from it. He asked me if I could translate the words Bluetooth, Facebook, and Twitter into Spanish, for which I tried my hardest to explain both what they were and also provide a direct translation into Spanish.

I mean, the idea that these words should be translated shows his lack of familiarity with the modern world and its technologies, even those that are decades old at this point. I mean, I frankly couldn’t imagine having to translate Bluetooth to, say, a Spaniard who doesn’t speak English, because they know that the word doesn’t translate, it’s just the name of a thing.

Each translation elicited a loud laugh from him, realizing what these words he’d heard being thrown around really meant. It was pure.

His family has been living in Iquitos and the surrounding area for as long as he knows, but when he asked me about my ancestry, a first wonderous, and then panicked look came across his face. I said that my family is from Germany. He was first in awe that they could come from so far away, and then, asked me nervously if my family are Nazis. I hadn’t brought up my religion yet, and I’m actually proud of the education that he received to know that, well, if my great grandparents lived in Germany, they were likely Nazis. I explained to him how we ended up in the US, and how I am constantly thankful for Grandma Ida’s brave decision to pick up her life and leave for greener pastures. He also asked me about the phrase He!l H!tler**, asking whether the word “He!l” is the English “Hi.” He was confused why the Germans would be saluting their führer in English, after all, though I was a little uncomfortable with his knowledge on the Third Reich.

In the middle of this conversation, he had his son run inside to grab a blanket, which he attached to the roof to block the setting sun. He clearly wanted me to feel comfortable and welcome, and I appreciated his gesture.

As I explained our family’s history, I could feel Mariella pointing at my elbows and knees, covered in the red bumps of over-itched mosquito bites. The three of them had a good time laughing about how I had such a hard time with the mosquitos, whereas there was not a bite to be seen on any of their skin. I think maybe it made Mariella feel better, as she pointed these out over and over again. Maybe she realized that I too have flaws and issues like any other human, despite the multi-hundred-dollar fancy device on my wrist.

Frankly, I think that for the first 40 minutes of our time together, she saw me simply as “the wearer of the shiny screen,” as she struggled to hold any conversation between us past a word or two. She resorted, instead, to looking in awe at my watch. But s

he seemed to warm up to me after realizing that I was covered in mosquito bites—a symbol of my inferiority.

As 3:00 turned into 3:30, and then 3:50, I had to find a break in the conversation to part ways. Zack had no way of knowing that I wasn’t lost somewhere in the city, and our tuk-tuk to the airport was scheduled for 4:00. I reluctantly was forced into ending the conversation, though I’d rather have spent all night with them.

I wanted to buy another drink from him as a parting gift, but the water had cost me the last two soles that I had on me. We parted with a selfie of the four of us instead. Just before leaving, with his hand over his heart, in English, bade me farewell with a “May God bless you, my friend.” I returned the sentiment, wishing the best for them, and expressing my gratitude for having met them.

I hope that, by writing my experience with the family here that I will never forget the sincerity I felt when wishing them to be happy, successful, and blessed. I hope that at some point, somehow, sharing their story will bring them and their friends to prosperity; that Mariella can one day have an Apple Watch of her own if she wants. They deserve it.

** FOOTNOTE: Free speech on the internet is a tricky subject, and certain laws in certain jurisdictions have led to internet users receiving jail time, sentenced by laws which instruct the judge to ignore all context around hateful speech and to consider simply the speech itself. I am censoring this for my own peace of mind and the longevity of this blogging project, though I think it is overkill