Liselle Milazzo
Contributing Writer
When most students decide on a study abroad, they pick a campus in Australia or Italy, with built-in friends going from their home campus and standard shock value like being so far from home or looking at the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
When I decided on a study abroad, I picked Semester at Sea, a floating college campus chartered to go around the world stopping at only Third World and non-Western countries. I was with no one I knew and had tons of shock value, like what is considered properly crossing a street in Vietnam (by stepping out into oncoming traffic) or climbing the Great Wall of China. However, one aspect of traveling that is the same no matter where you go is the humorous, awkward, and confusing process of taking a local’s picture.
In Manaus, Brazil, a little girl with flyaway curls eats a chocolate truffle with her little brother on the curb. Thick raindrops fall around them so they take shelter under a red tarp. I see them as I cross the street. Yellowed newspapers languish in the gutters. The little girl wears a white shirt with two yellow bears riding on top of a snail. The little boy picks at a soft chocolate ball with his fingers, messily jamming it into his mouth. The buildings are sweating brown rain.
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My camera is around my wrist. I want to document this trip for my future self. When I get old and forgetful, these photos will be all I’ll have to remember Semester at Sea.
Taylor, Annie, and I are washed down the sidewalk with the crowd. Taylor and Annie are two petite blondes who are interested in finding the next great bargain. I don’t know how we ended up together for the day. They wanted to find Brazilian bikinis. I didn’t know what I wanted to find.
The river of humans we were carried in is brown and sluggish like the Amazon River. A woman with a face of wood is waving purple underwear in my face. I can’t understand what she’s saying. Language has never been one of my strengths, but I imagine its something like, “You! American! This will get you a nice boy! Buy it! You need it!” All too quickly though, the mass of people tugs me to the next stall and her purple underwear is gone.
A man in a business suit pushes past me. He is clutching at his briefcase like a child clutches a teddy bear during a thunderstorm. I follow in his wake and look back to make sure Annie and Taylor are following me. They are, slowly the two girls bob along like buoys pulled along by a tug boat. Behind them, my eyes catch the chocolate-eating siblings again. The boy’s orange and blue shirt makes him easy to spot. His sister is holding one of his hands while the other is in his mouth. Chocolate is tucked into the corners of his lips. His eyes almost meet mine when a man with lemon-colored sunglasses cuts in between us. I search the crowd for them but can’t pick their short forms out.
For the first time since I’ve gotten to Manaus, the air is sweet, cleansed from the rain. I pass several men sitting behind blankets of fruit. They sell fruit with skin the color of blood and spikes like a rose. I step out, ready to cross the street when I feel a small tug on my shirt.
“Deskoopa.”
I looked down. It’s the chocolate brother! He is chattering and smiling up at me. The little boy is still clutching my shirt. What did he want? I look back at Annie and Taylor, unsure of what to do, but neither of the girls give me any help, Annie starts a conversation with Taylor. I’m left on my own.
The little boy tugs on my shirt and stares at my camera. I call Taylor’s name, hoping she’ll have a change of heart and help. Instead she just shrugs, smiles, and wanders to the vendor in front of me. I puff out my cheeks, thinking. The little boy’s eyes are brown and huge. I can see my pale face reflected in them. Did he want his picture taken?
I look at the little girl. The look on her face is one I’ve made at my little brother before. It is the “It’s never going to happen but I’ll go over with you because you’re my little brother and I kind of have to” look. I give a silent laugh and crouch down. I know how difficult a grumpy brother can be.
The boy rubs his hands down his shirt and smiles. I turn on my camera. A woman in a yellow tube top walks around us, grunting Portuguese. The sister has her arm around the little boy’s shoulders. I say, “cheese” and just as the camera flashes the boy sticks his hand into his mouth. I turn the camera so he can see the picture and he pokes at the screen before chattering to me. He assumes I can speak Portuguese. His sister stands over his shoulder, looking down at the image. She gives me a closed-lipped smile before she grabs her brother’s wet fingers and heads in the opposite direction. I stand up and the little boy turns, giving me a tiny wave before he is tugged down the street.
Weren’t they going in the other direction earlier? I blink and cross the street. Did they want me to keep the picture? Was that boy giving me instructions to mail him the photo and I didn’t understand? I groan in confusion. Taylor and Annie appeared between the dark heads of Brazilians tugging at me, “Come on! We found a shop!”
The image of the siblings goes dark on my camera.
Three days later the ship left Manaus. When I uploaded the pictures on my computer, I saw their faces again. The snapshot of the chocolate-eating siblings isn’t the best picture I took while on Semester at Sea, but it is one of my favorites. Will I take a local’s picture again the next time I travel? We’ll see.
Liselle Milazzo can be contacted at lmilazzo@ksc.mailcruiser.com
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