Mad waters
The floods happening in Brazil bring me sad memories from a Christmas Eve in 1995.
I have two or three memories from when the river flooded a big chunk of the small town in Southern Brazil, where I lived until I was 17. Floods in which the water destroys and washes dozens of homes—and dreams—are common in Brazil, and unfortunately, I experienced that two times in my life.
It was Christmas Eve in 1995, and my sister and I went to bed probably really happy; after all, we had received our gifts before going to sleep, a tradition in Brazil. I don't remember anything about that Christmas Eve, nor the gifts our parents got us. Was it a board game? A Barbie? A bike? I also don't remember the rain that was certainly falling nonstop outside - or my parent's concerns about the level of the river that passed on the back of our house, 300 feet from the place where I built all my childhood memories - including bathing in its waters on hot summer days.
I'm trying to guess what exactly woke me up that night. Was it the rain? Voices? Intuition? I just followed my instinct and the noise. After walking towards the aisle and passing by the living room and the kitchen, I found the back door open. Connected to the kitchen was an open area, like a concrete-covered deck, and when I reached the door, I saw a scene that is the only vivid memory I have from that night. That deck, slightly lower than the house, was flooded with water. My dad and a neighbor were carrying the washer out of the laundry room. While walking in that dirty water, they were trying to move that big machine to a safer space. It was a shocking scene. The lights were on and helped me see that water was everywhere. The river had overflowed, and, at that point, the water had reached our house and all the neighbors on the same street. Christmas Eve quickly felt like something distant. A memory from a dream. But now I was awake, and it was all gone.
I was 9 years old, and my sister was 6, so that's probably why I don't remember many things from that night and the days after. Curious to learn more about the facts from that sad night that created trauma not only for my parents but for a lot of people affected by that tragedy, I decided to call my dad and ask for more details. He told me they only realized that the river could overflow around 1 a.m. when it was pouring rain. He also mentioned that it was early the following day that he drove me and my sister to a safer place. Thanks to the generosity of a lot of people in our town, including my former teacher from the first grade, who received us in her house, a lot of kids from my street were safe - and at least the adults could focus on saving some of their furniture and personal belongings. I have some memories from our day at her place, but in my weak memories, my dad had driven us to her house when it was dark out.
-I don't recall much from that day - I tell my dad.
-Well, it's not a good thing to remember - he responded.
When we returned to our home the next day, the scenario was sad. There was no more grass in our backyard—it was all covered in mud. The fence between our house and the neighbor's was gone. The house was messy, and you could see the water level's mark on the walls. The river looked closer. The water was medium brown, and the currents were powerful. It looked mad—really mad.
This all happened about 30 years ago - it's awkward to realize that - and I never forgot it. And although my dad said it's not a good thing to remember, every time a flood makes the news in Brazil, my parents bring the topic into the conversation - like it happened yesterday while calling my mom. It felt impossible to avoid the topic. And that's because, at this exact moment, Southern Brazil is being hit by the worst floods in more than 80 years. Many cities and towns in Rio Grande do Sul, the state next to Santa Catarina, which is the state where I'm from, are facing a horrendous tragedy. The pics and videos are heartbroken. It's hard to believe. Things you could only imagine seeing in movies - but sadly, it's real life. Houses, buildings, cars, bridges, and landmarks are all underwater. Some people are stuck, waiting to be rescued.
It felt wrong to write about any other topic today. And this is a very peculiar feeling when you are an expat—at least for me: you can't just "turn off" something in your head regarding your origins, culture, and memories. Of course, I felt empathy for the earthquake in Taiwan, for the fires in Hawaii, and for the situation in Gaza. But it hits differently when it's about your people and the place where you're from.
This whole tragedy made me think about what my parents went through back in 1995. And why it's still a vivid memory for them. I mean, I can't imagine what it's like for them. Two young adults who saw everything they had built were at risk of destroying, fighting to save some belongings, and worrying about their two daughters' safety. There were no instructions or commands; they just did what they could - without knowing what would happen.
As a kid, you just trust your parents about your safety and well-being. You believe they will take care of you when you feel vulnerable. They know. They are strong. They are the grownups.
But today, as an adult, I try to imagine what it was like for them to make those hard choices. Should they stay? Or go? Should they try to save some belongings? Having to guess what was the best shot, not knowing what would happen, while trying to comfort us and not showing signs of desperation. And I also think about their fear and insecurities while trying to be strong for us. And it brings me back to the present, to the audio I listened to yesterday from someone I don't know, desperately crying while facing the tragedy in Brazil. While I look at my dog peacefully sleeping, and my husband asks me if I slept well, I realize that my problems look insignificant - at least right now. It doesn't feel right to complain today.
People from Rio Grande do Sul need donations. Here's a link for a fundraising in case you want to donate - they accept international credit card.