Activism under Fire

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As my taxi pulled over, I scanned the bustling street for Esther, familiar with her calm gait and appearance. Instead, I noticed a group of drug traffickers at a nearby sale point, reminding me of the dangers ahead. Having just arrived with two large suitcases, I wished I could have stayed in the car longer, especially as my driver seemed eager to leave the area. Exiting the taxi, I grabbed my bags and headed into the neighborhood I knew well from my time living with Esther, her sister Maria Rita, and her sons, André and Leonardo. Despite familiarity, a constant undercurrent of fear lingered, knowing I could be confronted by traffickers or caught in a violent encounter. I took a side street to avoid one boca and felt relief when I spotted André approaching. He greeted me with a bear hug and took hold of my larger suitcase, towering over me despite being just shy of thirteen. He mentioned that Esther was waiting at a different corner, humorously noting her struggle with phone messages. We laughed and continued our search, eventually finding her a few blocks away. As we walked home together, I tried to shake off the anxiety that Cidade de Deus brought, focusing instead on the joy of reuniting with loved ones.