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Eco123 Revista da Economia e Ecologia
Friday, the 24th Abril 2020
A reflection by Dina Adão
For some years, I wandered around the “other Algarve”, listening to its older inhabitants. I would find them sitting in the town squares and gardens, in the shade of large trees, working the land or taking care of their animals. After explaining to them what my purpose was, and once they had overcome their initial distrust, we would look each other in the eyes, forget about time, and I would be overcome by the tenderness with which they listened to my questions, recounting their memories and engaging in conversation.
This special sharing between us always started with a conversation about their gastronomic traditions: what they used to eat when they were children, at Christmas time, etc… and what the more fortunate people used to eat. This was because, at that time, I was researching into the history of food, in the south of Portugal, for books that I would later publish, but our conservation rapidly spread to a range of different subjects. I too would sit in the shade of large trees, listening affectionately to the story of an illness that had affected a family member, discovering what were the best home-made and plant-based remedies and cures used by their grandparents – and even by others before them – and hearing about the stories that they used to tell one another as they sat around the hearth on stormy days, or learning about how people experienced love in places where not even the wireless had reached at that time.
When I left the landscape behind me – and as I was driving in the opposite direction from the one I wanted to be heading in – their stories echoed in my mind, like in a film. Armed with the ample space of my own memory – with solitude as my sole companion – I was able to separate those parts that were important for my work from those that nourished my soul. As the director of this film, I would frequently create words that were not actually uttered, imagining faces and immortalising expressions. I still feel very moved as I recall some of them, reliving the ingenuousness I felt before such a beautiful thing!
Immediately flashing before my eyes are the fisherman from Quarteira, the chicken farmer from Aljezur, the miller from Cachopo or the swimmer from Alcoutim and his stories about smuggling goods to Spain. Some of them are no longer with us. They have departed. But they are still inside me. I shall forever remember their simplicity, and their immense wisdom.
What they lacked in material property or comfort, they made up for with their generous capacity for sharing. On many occasions, I was offered… a sack of sweet potatoes, a basketful of small pots, cabbages or lettuces, a bottle of medronho brandy… We have eyes to see with, ears to listen with, but we frequently lack the humility we need to be able to feel. With their words and their affectionate gestures, they gave me so many things…
We may question whether empathy is something that each of us is born with, but there is no denying that we can go out and find it – or we can let it come to us. And there is no doubt that it frequently comes to us in difficult times. The pages of newspapers are filled with news about movements and acts of solidarity, appealing to the emotions that we all can feel and reminding us that we are all part of the same network. Those who have flour bring a sack with them, and they are joined by those who bring vegetables from their gardens or allotments, and, suddenly, people previously without any great experience are making bread and cooking for those who continue, without any respite, to guarantee the best conditions of safety and survival for each and every one of us. And these gestures are replicated, unleashing a wave of kindness, attention and love for our neighbours. This is the world I’d like to add my name to, a world of empathy, a world of respect and solidarity.
I sit in my chair, with the sun bursting through the clouds. May we all feel truly poor, so that we will be able to grow again.
