I still did not know how difficult or impossible it would be to succeed in life when born woman, black, poor, with health problems in a poor city in the northeast of Brazil.
I still did not know what life had in store for me in a country where racism ruled, where blacks, mixed peoples did not have a place in society, neither in TV, nor in magazines. Only in newspapers and on the last page, because that's where they speak of criminals. The social column pertains to the rich, meaning whites or those who are mostly white.
I still didn't know how much I would suffer to pass through this barrier and manage one day to be someone in life, to have the same rights that the whites or near-whites born in my country have.
When we not born white and discovered at 15 that color makes a difference, that curly hair differentiates us, that white guys in school like you but do not want to leave with you, they look always to find white girls, then you begin to ask yourself: “Why not me? He appeared to have liked me just as much; we studied together for the exams.”
And among them there is one who chooses you, then has to be courageous because his friends are not going to leave him in peace until he decides between the negro and them. The pressure is so strong that he finishes forgetting the love and choosing the easier way, finally you are not part of their lives, you are something separate and apart.
That is the life in a country potentially rich, considered still in development, destined to be a power one day and still waiting for that day. A country culturally poor, full of prejudices and connected to roots of colonialism that are transmitted generation to generation, where the poor continue poor and the rich become richer.
I still did not know how much it would be hard for me to think highly, to want to be someone in life, to be like the whites in my country, and to succeed professionally, to have money, a roof over your head, and all that they have right to. Rapidly, I discovered that my life was the reality in my country, that the majority lived like me, and that I was not a lucky person. If, in addition to this, you were born with health problems, then you are in shit without end, you do not have any right to think of the future, believe me. You are completely screwed.
If you want to succeed in life, girl, and leave this shit, you have to choose between being a singer or soccer player or actress. I do not have a good voice thus I cannot be a singer. I don’t have the talent to play soccer and even if I had, I have heart problems, and women’s soccer is not in style. I cannot be an actress because so much in cinema as in theatre and television, the actors who are black or mixed are relegated to roles as slaves or domestic help. They are never given starring or co-starring roles. Always minor roles a they are forgotten, no-one speaks of them and they die poor.
The professions where one could leave this shit unhappily are not for me. Then I thought why not be a photographic model and appear on the covers of stylish magazines or other media. No, because the models that appear in magazines are always white, or nearly white, or peroxide blondes, never black or mulatta. I would have to succeed in life another way.
Of what use is so much energy and talent if finally you are not born in a developed country with all its advantages? To be born in a poor country is to suffer until the last breath.
Uncle Sam rules the poor countries, undeveloped and developing like mine. Therefore, I had to speak the language of him, if I wanted to succeed in life. The world was made for whites like Uncle Sam, but for whites, it does not have a place for people like me or like us.
The first step would be to speak the language of this country cost what it costs but how to speak its language if the education in my country is uncertain? To go to school to learn the language of my country already was difficult; to imagine learning the language of the “almighty” then would be hell. To pay the private school to learn English was out of the question. It already was difficult to pay the rent at the end of the month, not to mention food, transportation, and medicine, to imagine paying a school in order to learn the language of Uncle Sam then was a dream. It was then that I decided to be a journalist.
The people should know that without studies, without education, you would not go anywhere. You have to know how to choose a government, you have to know how to choose the politicians and not to sell your vote for a sack of rice or beans or flour. A president, which for him, the education is a priority and health fundamental. The people have to be vigilant with respect to the politicians that they put in power, to be able to discern the corruption behind the false appearance of a good politician and for this to study was essential, to read and learn to express one and to know your rights. Journalism, a difficult profession to exercise in a country corrupt like mine, where everyone wants a piece of the pie, but what to do, this was what I wanted to be. A journalist.
I call myself Clara, I mean Clara was the name that I gave myself in order to begin a new life, here in Rio de Janeiro.
The memories of the past do not serve any purpose, they only make me cry, thus I left them behind. My present I already know, my future was already traced, I know what I want, it is only to get there, there where I know that I am going to go.
I was born to win and it is that force inside me that carries me to fight, to confront the challenges that will carry me to certain victory, at whatever cost, even a life.
Prayer
I protect you against everything and everyone, I care for you day after day because it is a new day for me.
In you I put all my hopes and feelings, because you are the birth of a new life, of peace, of hope, and of happiness.
You will be my victory, my liberty and my turning point to an unknown world.
With you the land will appear small, I will be able to be everywhere without needing to be present.
You are the dream that I long to realize and that one day I will.
You are you, simply you, perhaps who knows, one day!
Lene Machado
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