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| Carmen & her little shop |
Some of you reading this post will already know who Carmen is and her
involvement in my life in Iquitos. For others, I’ll introduce you to Carmen Del
Rosario Ruiz Sanchez—or what I like to call her Carmencita (little Carmen).
Carmen is a street vendor and craft artisan who works on the main promenade of
Iquitos, called the Malecón. Within weeks of moving into my apartment in January
2009, Carmen befriended me in a way that I could never resist. I barely spoke a word of Spanish then and
certainly couldn’t understand it--but that didn’t stop Carmen from providing me
with a glowing smile. Her coy little giggle and greetings of “hola, gringita”
continued until we could finally exchange names. I’d see her on my corner or along
the street as I came and went through the years. She’d always inquire about me
and give me her toothless smile, picking up on my moods and insisting on hugs
and kisses. Despite her obviously minimal circumstances and difficult life, she
never asked me for anything. (Mind you many people over the years have
befriended me, or tired, but it was more about being a handy ATM rather than a
sincere desire to know me). Even through the years, as I learned to communicate
with Carmen at higher and higher levels and better understand her troubled life, she
almost always presented me with her bubbly personality and easy going style.
Besides suffering a lot of city bureaucratic rigmarole, an economic downturn in
2010-2013 that seriously reduced the number of visiting tourists (her
customers) and ultimately the complete destruction of her vendor stall (along
with about 30 others) by a raging fire, Carmen got up everyday, come into the
city to work and continued to fight and move into each new day as best she
could. She has no other means of support or way to cover expenses other
than these small sales made from the natural products she makes herself.
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| Isn't she lovely? |
About two years ago, there was a particularly vicious storm that passed
through town. With high winds and rain, many people lost their roofs and/or
walls, as the poorest house are made of minimal materials and cobbled together, at best.
Carmen lost part of her roof and a whole back wall in the rental lean-to in
which she lived. The landlord took no notice to make repairs and the patched
together house offered her neither protection from the weather or security from thieves, both of which are common--especially for old, venerable people.
For the first time, she asked me if she could borrow some money in
order to buy used, replacement corrugated metal for her roof and plastic tarp for the walls. I agreed and
somehow, some way she paid me back over time. She’d told me that she had a small
plot of land that was hers, located right next door and someday wanted to build
a house there. I decided to check it out and see where she lived and the plot
of land, too. Her house turned out to be no more than the most ramshackle,
tumbledown building that you and I wouldn’t house a pig or cow in, let alone a
human being. But this was the best she
had and proudly showed me around with no embarrassment. After that visit I started stewing on her
situation, attempting to find an easy solution--one that would somehow help her and ease my own conscience about the excessive good fortune in life. However, as the
months passed and I kept interacting with her, I knew that half-measures would
never do.
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| Carmen's original home |
With crowd-sourcing groups catching fire, I decided to try a personal
appeal to my own family and friends, describing the project and the person who
would benefit--sort of a personal Habitat for Humanity idea. Not surprisingly, people stepped up with
large and small donations, which quickly added up to enough to build Carmen a
very simple home. In February, construction began and was completed in about 8
weeks. Since then, Carmen has moved her things in and made it a home. I’ve
tossed in some paint and bought her a few pieces of furniture. And she’s now making
her various crafts at home under a very bright fluorescent light fixture. She
has plants rooting in buckets, created a small kitchen in the corner and added
some homey touches on the walls. In the
meantime, she continues to go downtown each day, 7 days a week to sell her
products and do the best she can.
Who is Carmen? I didn't know as much as I should so with a friend, we trekked out to her house one Sunday afternoon to chat. Everyone has a story to tell and Carmen is no
different. Born January 3, 1950 in
Iquitos, Perú, she has lived her whole life in the city and never gone or lived elsewhere.
She was the oldest of 5 children and it was clear as she spoke about her parents
that they were a kind and loving family unit. Unfortunately, when Carmen was 13
years old, her father—a radio operator for the naval station in Iquitos—was
working when lighting struck. He was wearing headphones and the electricity came
down the tower to his head. He was rushed to Lima for treatment but died a day later. This
left Carmen, her mother and 4 siblings with no means of support. Her mother had no skills and could only sell
scavenged fruit on the street. A classmate’s family bought Carmen her schoolbooks
until she was 15 and gave the family S/5 a day for food for years. Carmen cried as she
told me how she was so careful with her books and notebooks. They were very
precious to her and she knew her mother could not replace them. A few years later, Carmen left school but continued to care for her brothers and sisters
so her mother could scrape out a living.
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| Relaxing & catching a breeze |
In her twenties she took a three-year vocational course for the production of
artisan crafts from an institute in Iquitos. Along the way she had a husband in her
life but that didn’t last and he left her with three small boys. She provided
for her family by selling these artisan crafts and still does to this day,
maintaining a fierce independence. All her children have moved to Lima and for
whatever reason she rarely sees them but now and then they do call. However, her
old classmate--whose family helped her out all those years ago--comes to
Iquitos every Christmas to visit family. She always seeks Carmen out on the
street and brings gifts of Christmas bread (panetones) and chocolate. Also, her
younger sister calls her every day from Lima to check in and stay connected. These
two women provide a lifeline and network of people who care about Carmen and
her well-being.
In 1996 she was hit by a motorcar and severely injured her leg, which
troubles her to this day. And her toothless grim is to be blamed on a thief in
the night who broke in her house 8 years ago, stealing clothes and personal
items, including her front bridge. And I don’t know to what extent, but she’s
suffered more than once from malaria, dengue fever and giardia, just to name a
few risks that living on the edge will present here in Iquitos and the rain
forest.
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| Home, sweet home! |
I asked Carmen with such a troubled, seemingly limited life how she maintains
her happy, positive self. With so little
to call her own, she still shines through with light and joy. What’s her
secret, I asked? She gave me her shy smile, not sure what to say but eventually
stating the most healthy of sentiments. She simply fights to keep going each
day because life is still good. Her friends and fellow vendors on the street
are her family. They watch over her and love her. When she has a sad day, she
goes to bed to rest and the next day feels ready to take on a new day. She puts
each day behind her—letting the past go--and does her best to look for the good
in her life, counting all the things that are right, not wrong. She inspires me!
Considering her age and health, I don’t know how long Carmen will be
around and who knows what will happen to her little house when she’s gone. But it
gave me incredible pleasure to provide one kindly old woman who befriended me a
home to call her own for as long as she lives. Where our relationship will go
from here, I don’t know. When I have to leave Iquitos now, we say our goodbyes
and she cries even as I assure her I’ll be back. When I do return, it’s a reunion
of pure joy. One day I will leave here for good and say my final goodbyes, but
that’s a ways off and in the meantime I’ll continue to share her joy in the
simplest of desires—a home of her own.
NOTE: A final thank you to everyone who pitched in with donations for this
project. You know who you are and I will always have a special place for you in
my heart. Sintita
