My Namarado

Brazilian English Teacher - 1964

40 years ago in Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, the US Peace Corps sent us to the bairro of Sao Cristovao.  In the afternoons I worked at the Fundacao Leon XIII Community Center (Catholic Social Services).

Maria, our secretary invited me to go with her to a wedding in rural Rio. She asked me to bring my camera and take pictures. New role for this Peace Corps Volunteer as wedding photographer.

We made it for the reception. The pig had been killed and was roasting on the spit.  We wished the bride and groom well. The ladies all sat in a circle in the living room.  Maria introduced me to Dona Irani.  Yenta at work!  I then was introduced to Dona Irani's son, Wilson.  He was a tall, very good looking brown Brazilian with glasses. We chatted which pleased his mother. He taught English in a middle school.

We took the train and bus back to Sao Cristovao.  He was somewhat  nervous about walking me to the steps of my favela. He walked me to the bottom of the steps and wished each other well.  I was invited over to their house and became a regular visitor.  Good food, good company and a Brazilian namarado (sweetheart)

My feelings were running hot and heavy. I was thinking how I would take him home to Akron as part of my family. One day in his bedroom, I was trying to understand what was going on in our relationship. He pulled down his pants to his groin and showed me a long incision.  So, it was a long abdominal incision.

Carnival was nearing. He asked me to go down town to Rio with him on the bus. We stopped for cafezinho.  He wanted me to meet someone special.  We went up the long dark staircase. I looked up at the top of the stairs.  There was a man with long hair seated with a caftan that reminded me of Salvador Dali.  It was then deep down in my gut that I knew Wilson was gay.

He took me to his Queen.

Wilson has his Queen and I had mine.  She was flying down to Rio.

Carole James