Chocolate from Home

Hot and humid air presses down on me like a wet blanket as I navigate my way through the tented stalls of Rio de Janeiro. Across the uneven concrete, my eyes dart around the dusty flea market. I see miniature statues of Christ the Redeemer carved out of wood, plastic, quartz, and stone side by side with wisps of torn fabric fluttering feebly in the dry wind of the late afternoon. Screaming children, merchants crying their wares, and the babble of prospective buyers assault my ears while I try to absorb all that is going on around me at the Hippie Market.

I lean close to jewelry stands where rusted silver rings gleam dully on faded black velvet. My fingers brush past them to caress the bright quartz bracelets that look as though they were hewn from a story book. My eagerness is at once quelled by the common sense side of me: when will I ever need that? I can just see it accumulating more dust than it already has stashed away somewhere in my room. I carefully step around a gaggle of children clustered around a stand of old toys. Naked Barbies smeared with dirt, ripped dresses, baby dolls with missing eyelashes, and toy trucks that have taken one too many trips to the dump all lay at the mercy of chubby little fingers clutching at them. Squeals of delight emanate from the group of kids as their eyes light up and they nudge each other to share each new-found treasure. I strain to find the beauty, but all I see are things I will never need. Masks hung jauntily on display, hammocks and flags lying limp in the heat, CDs and clunky necklaces: they all fail to move me. Again, I move on. Feeling as though I will be caught like a mouse in a trap if I linger too long in any one place, I shuffle on and on.

I pause in front of a wizened old woman sitting at a little table with a spread of chocolate candies set before her. I’ve caught up to my friends now, and they are “oohing” and “ahhing” over how delicious the little treats look. Individually shrink wrapped and set into neat little rows, each bonbon looks mouthwatering. White chocolate, milk chocolate, half and half, sprinkled with chocolate pieces, long squares, and round balls – it seems like this grandmother has made her own little handmade candy shop. For the equivalent of about one dollar, I purchase one and pop it into my mouth. The old woman smiles knowingly as my eyes widen at the flavor – it’s just like brownie batter. I’m transported back to my family’s kitchen licking the warm chocolaty batter off the spoon as my mother half heartedly scolds me about salmonella. My little sister runs through our kitchen clutching her newest treasure with pride: a chipped set of chick salt and pepper shakers she bought from a garage sale down the street. They will become the new centerpieces on her dressing table in our room. Dancing around in ever-new configurations, they will be turned this way and that until they look just so among her horses, empty perfume bottles, and dolls with hair that has been frizzed out with time.

Invigorated by the taste of home I thank the kindly woman and move on to check out authentic masks. But I begin to see the shabby toys as something more: something that looks a little like hope that reminds me of my own childhood. I smile as I see with new eyes the children effortlessly seeing past the dirt and grime of the toys, to see a treasure in this little market in Rio.

—Kelly Fisher

A Smile, a Dance, and a Friend

She hovers at the back of the group staring shyly at me from her perch on the tree stump. I am surrounded by a cluster of children starved for attention all chattering away and trying to grab my hand at once. Their brown and green school uniforms are covered with dust and their eyes squint from the light of the hot Ghanaian sun beating down. Across the schoolyard I see a fellow Semester at Sea student emerge from a classroom to play soccer, and the group around me flocks to join him. I am on a service trip to a school in a small village in Ghana and take the brief respite to take in my surroundings. There are children everywhere, milling about from one student to the next, chasing a rolled up plastic bag doubling as a soccer ball, dancing, or just plain running around.

I notice the little girl again, who can’t be more than five years old. Such a slight little thing, she’s taken the distraction of the soccer game to creep a little closer to me. I take a small step towards her, smiling encouragement as she glances up at me through her lashes. After a moment she points to herself and says “Lena” in a sing-song voice I can barely hear over the other kids laughing and running around me. I crouch down and mimic her, pointing to myself and saying my name softly. She smiles and I hold out my hand. She shakes it delicately and, as I stand up, she keeps hold, tightening her fingers and grinning up at me.

I start to sway back and forth and she copies me, swirling her canary yellow dress as she moves from side to side. Tentatively, she points her toe out and then snatches it back. I do the same and Lena’s expectant face morphs into a huge smile. And just like that it’s as if we are best friends. Her little shoulders relax, and her smile is carefree and sincere. We exchange dance moves, and before I know it we are jumping and laughing, swirling and skipping to music only we can hear.

When the time comes to leave, I share a special smile with Lena, and she knows – while meeting all the kids was a wonderful experience, I got to share a truly special moment with this sweet little girl. I pick her out from the crowd waving goodbye and make a surprised face – which she immediately copies – and we share a silent moment as we both burst into giggles. Hardly a word was said between Lena and me that day, but I know I found someone I will always remember with a smile and a giggle. We didn’t need computers, video games, a swimming pool, or even a soccer ball to have fun. We only needed ourselves to become best friends for the day.

—Kelly Fisher