I thought I knew all about the world. After all, I was born in Australia, I had lived in three different countries; New Zealand; four different states in America. I was a teenager and thought I had been everywhere and done everything--was I in for a shock and a wonderful surprise!

As with all our other trips, everything did not go as planned. We were supposed to be provided with a translator (we were told they spoke Spanish, not Portuguese--our English-Spanish dictionaries were useless), and my father was supposed to report to work two weeks later, to give us time to set up house. When we arrived, we were met by a wonderful man who spoke broken English, and another man who took my father right out to the oil barge. We spent our first night in Brazil in a great place (I wish I could remember the name of it)...the food was spicy and the music was wonderful. I will always remember the music--it was so different than anything I had ever heard--so happy.

We spent the first few weeks getting settled in our new home--and savoring all the new foods. I quickly discovered the art of speaking with my hands. The kids my age spoke broken English, but most of the adults in our neighborhood did not. It was my job to scout the neighborhood when we first arrived at a new place. I quickly found the neighborhood store. All I had t do was follow my nose - they baked the most aromatic bread in that store every afternoon at 4 o’clock. It was a very small store stocked with everything a teenager needs and wants.

We had only been in Brazil for a few days and my mother needed a fly swatter and fly sprayer. I went to the store and looked around but could not locate the items. I could not figure out why they would not have anything like that when there was an obvious need for them. The man who was supposed to stop by and help us with translation and other things would not be there until the next day, and my mother wanted these items now. I decided that the only way that I was going to be able to get them was talking with my hands. I pointed to a fly, made a "sh sh sh" noise like the sprayers make, and then dropped to the floor like I was dead. They pointed to heaven. They knew! I was so excited! They knew what I wanted! I waited and nothing happened. I did my "sh sh sh" thing again. By this time there were about a dozen Brazilians around me and they all laughed so hard they had tears. They pointed to heaven again. I nodded "yes" and raised my hands in a questioning manner. They pointed to heaven again. This time I looked up and there were the sprayers and fly swatters and hats and all kinds of things, all hanging from the ceiling. I must have really turned a bright shade of red. The owner felt so bad he got my items down and gave me a free loaf of that wonderful smelling bread.

We lived in the neighborhood for about six months. Every time I went into that store (at least once a day), the owner would point up and make the "sh sh sh" noise and laugh. He and his family were very nice to me. In fact, it was his son that tried to teach me to dance. Junior, my name for him (they all wanted Anglo names so I named them all) and his friends were about my age and often had dance parties. I would never dance. I had two left feet. After two or three times of my attending these parties and being a wall-flower, he decided to teach me to dance in his backyard. After about two hours, he said maybe I should change the records and keep teaching English.

A lot of people went in and out of our home welcoming us to Brazil. Each one had a piece of advice: buy your vegetables here, buy your fruit there, buy your fish here. There were no conventional grocery stores. There were markets with stacks of great fruits and vegetables, clothes, toys and all kinds of stuff. Fish was a very popular food in Manaus - my mother had it frequently. She taught the maid how to cook it just like she liked it, which means cutting the head off and throwing it away.

I am not sure who arranged for a maid, but one showed up after we had been there for a few days. I loved our maid, Maria. She was always trying to teach me things. She is the one who taught me the art of bartering, a lesson, I will never forget. We went to the market and there was a large papaya that I wanted. Having lived in America for a while, I was unable to get the fruit I was used to in Australia. I asked the vendor how much it was and when he told me the price, I paid it. The maid slapped me so hard I ended up on my butt. How could I embarrass her like that! If they knew I would pay full price, she would not be able to barter for our groceries. To this day when I eat papaya I think about her. She was a wonderful woman with a heart of gold.

I went into the kitchen one day and there was a pot of what looked like soup on the stove. I was hungry. I had been playing soccer and missed lunch. I stirred the soup with the spoon on the stove and reached deep into the pot and got a big spoon of soup. To my horror there was a fish head on my spoon. Those discarded fish heads were put to use! Maria walked in and started laughing at me. Apparently my eyes were huge. I said I would not eat it and was going to make a sandwich, when she reminded me of my saying "When in Rome...." She scooped up a bowl of soup, sprinkled farina on it and said, "Try it." It was the best thing, it was one of the best soups I had ever eaten. I thought the flavor was tremendous, but no one else in my family would even try it.

Maria and I had many a bowl of fish head soup while discussing the world. I in turn, made her an American lunch, jello, a tuna fish sandwich, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and oatmeal cookies - all items for which ingredients had to be imported. She agreed with me that peanut butter was icky for a woman that had been out of Manaus, she sure had a lot of wisdom. Unfortunately, we moved about six months later and I never saw her again. She taught me how to dance, barter and make fish head soup. I really think she possessed the spirit that makes the Brazilian people great. I visited her home for birthday parties and other special occasions. Her home was made of sticks and mud, her bathtub was a barrel that caught rain water, and her floor was dirt (but it was clean), and the family was happy. They had respect and love for each other. The first time I visited her I was upset and saddened because of what I considered poor living conditions. She asked me if a wood floor could make an unhappy person happy? My response was no. She asked me what would make me happy? I couldn't answer her. She told me that she had all that could make a person happy: a good family, a roof over her head, and a job,- what else did she need? Nothing! I always thought that poor people envied rich people (in the U.S. we were middle class but in Brazil we were considered rich), but I have to admit at that moment I envied her. We had a wonderful day. There was roasted chicken (we caught it in the back yard), lots of fresh fruits, beans, and of course, it was all sprinkled with farina. We danced and talked and told stories. I have to admit it was one of the best parties ever.

We moved to another part of Manaus after being there for about six months. It was near a Club that was the home of one of the many carnivals in Manaus. The costumes were remarkable, but I will always remember the music. Brazilian music....but that is another story.....

Sincerely, Brigett Grey