Obrigada!

No falla Portugués (I do not speak Portuguese).  But from the moment I stepped on the plane headed for Brasil, I recognized that knowing absolutely no Portuguese was going to present a few problems.  When the gentleman sitting next to me on the plane offered to stow my carry-on in the overhead compartment I couldn’t understand him.  I knew he had said something to me in Portuguese.  Was he commenting on Toronto’s freezing weather?  Was he informing me he was a frequent user of the barf bag? A smile was the only response I could give.  After gesturing with his hands, I caught on, and gladly handed over my bag.  Then it came to me, by the grace of God, the one word I knew in Portuguese “Obrigada,” I said to the man.  “Obrigada” is how a female Brasilian says “Thank you.”   

It happened again on Friday while at the drug store trying to buy neon pink nail polish and at the dollar store acquiring a blue polka dot umbrella.  I was at a loss of words at the papelaria (stationary store) trying to purchase a gluestick, and once again as I desperately attempted to buy some soft serve ice cream.  Through a series of hand gestures I was able to find what I wanted, but my response was always the same, “Obrigada.”  I wanted to make casual conversation and let the clerk know that neon pink was my signature color.  I wanted to tell the gray-haired owner of the papelaria that I was using the glue to make a scrapbook.  Sigh.  I simply couldn’t.  I had to be content with giving them a small thank you.

            Thursday was my first full day in the city of São Paulo, and a friend of Maryknoll named Jose gave me a tour around the neighborhood where he grew up.  Jose was raised in a favella (slum) called Brasilandia.  Jose showed Catherine (another missioner) and I his primary school, and introduced us to his neighbors and family members.  With each introduction, we were offered water, mango juice, snacks and given a place to sit.  We would observe Jose interact with his family, translating pieces of the conversation for us.  I paid close attention to body language and intonation, but the only word clearly recognizable was “Justin Bieber.” Jose’s teenage nieces had some serious Bieber fever!  When we got ready to leave each house, I turned to the homeowner and said, “Obrigada.”  This was the only word I could offer in exchange for their kind hospitality.

            When I arrived off the plane in São Paulo, got my bags and walked through customs, I was greeted by Father Dan, a Maryknoll priest who has lived in São Paulo for thirty years.  Dan embraced me with a warm, sweaty, humid, Brasilian hug.  It was exactly what I needed after nineteen hours of travelling.  Dan then took me to the apartment where I would be staying temporarily with other MKLM missioners.  I was greeted by six other missioners, two Maryknoll sisters, and some friends of MKLM.  We had lunch together and I was able to drink lots and lots and lots of water.  I found a room with a bed made for me, and was able to take a shower and brush my teeth.  Again, the only thing I could say in response to the generosity I received was “Thank you!”

I am overwhelmed by love that has been poured into me as I entered São Paulo.  Whether it is the stranger on the plane, the stranger on the street, or the strangers turned housemates, it’s humbling to be the recipient of real compassion.  At the same time, “Obrigada,” is a continual reminder of the love that brought me to São Paulo in the first place.  I’m talking about the love of my brother, mom, dad, extended family and dear friends. To each of you, I say, “Obrigada.”  Thank you for sending me off to Brasil with your love, and may it continue to nourish me as I begin this journey.