A clean-up crew in yellow suits sweeping out Jardim today. Burning piles of trash, throwing large chunks of broken up concrete into the back of dump truck. Perhaps it will return to being the under-used, crumbling garden it was before. A place to let your goats graze.
It’s hard to believe that some children actually spent nearly two formative years of their lives in Jardim as IDPs, or deslokadu. One wonders what they will tell their children about that experience. Time seems to plays tricks here – while it seems strange I was here 18 months ago, it also seems like an eternity has passed.
On far corner on the Farol side, I noticed a building that I actually ate in once – Indian food, I believe, I wonder why, the place was always awful — entirely derelict, with the roofing panels falling in.
One of the mini mandis in the house I’m staying is a sky blue UNAMET voting box. (An acronym, one of many starting with UN, but so loaded with meaning. With history.) Apparently this mandi is no rarity, voting boxes have uses well beyond the week they are loaded on and off helicopters by the UN.
I feel an acceleration of history here. Probably it’s the coming and going, but I sense that even what is happening today is not so much news but history.