One day, a young woman sat down on the step in front of her doorway to soak up the sun and enjoy the fresh air. It was a Monday, and Monday meant tour day. Each week, a local charity called “don’t be a gringo, be a local” would take tourists through Rocinha favela in Rio de Janiero, right past the young woman’s home. She thought of the organisation with admiration. They contributed to the community through programmes for single parents and their kids. She was always happy to see the tour’s guide, Luiz, who would go out of his way to greet everyone in the street as he passed by with his line of inquisitive tourists.
It was a quiet morning. Some kids played football with an empty Fanta bottle, while nearby, two dogs licked at the water beneath a dripping tap. Absently, she stroked at a cat that rubbed against her denim skirt. She thought about work; in 2 hours she would be dressing tables for the evening’s reservations. Most of the customers in the Copacabana restaurant would be tourists, looking to have a good time by the beach. The young woman took a pair of tweesers from her pocket and a mirror from her purse and began plucking her eyebrows.
Suddenly, out of the very corner of her eye, she noticed a blur of yellow. She turned, and there waddling towards her, wearing nothing but a vest and a pair of flip-flops, was a 5ft yellow duck! The young lady gasped and dropped her tweesers. The cat ran. Shifting awkwardly from one webbed foot to the other and shaking his tail feathers enthusiastically, the duck came closer and closer; his big blue eyes gazed hopefully. “Quack”, said the duck.
What could a duck be doing in Rocinha? What did he want? The young woman was puzzled and a little bit scared, too. And then, to her horror, he lifted the giant camera that hung around his neck and aimed it at her face.
“Click” went the shutter. “Click”, “click”, “click”. It fired like a mouse trap, over and over again. She tried to tell him “no”, but she didn’t speak duck. Out of desperation, the young woman covered her face with her hands.
After taking what seemed to be hundreds of pictures, the duck stepped back, extremely pleased with himself. He let the monstrous camera hang limp around his neck. Behind him, the other tourists filed past as they continued to follow Luiz through the favela. The big yellow duck turned and joined the end of the line without so much as a quack in the young woman’s direction.
Like an animal at the zoo, she felt unclean. She also felt trapped. Next Monday the tour would return and there might be another duck on safari. The young woman sighed and thought of the approaching evening which she would spend serving a restaurant full of ducks.
Great writing :)
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