Guess Her Profession
I recently returned from a magazine assignment in Curacao, a lovely slice of Caribbean island off the coast of Venezuela. I was there for a diving story but, in the way that life goes, the real story turned out to be Clarina Gomez, who, in her job working for the tourist bureau, spent a week showing me her island.
Spend a week with someone and you learn a few things about them, and what I learned about Clarina was that everywhere we went she was recognized. It’s true, Curacao is not large (some 40 miles long) and Clarina has lived on this block of limestone her entire life, by my guess sixty-some years (it is impolite, and to be honest mildly intimidating, to ask such a distinguished woman her age). But longevity and close proximity to one’s neighbors do not explain what unfolds as Clarina goes through her day. In restaurants, people wave from tables; from doorways they nod hellos; they get up from behind important desks, ducking their heads respectfully as they come forward. When Clarina walks the colorful streets of the Willemstad capital, they stop her. At traffic lights, they roll down their windows and lean across the seat, unleashing a happy torrent of Papiamento. There are times when I am certain that, in their excitement, they’re going to hop right into Clarina’s car, turning a deaf ear to the honking masses.
It is like being with Lady Gaga, but without all the self-obsession and weirdness. Of these people who wave and smile and offer their hand deferentially Clarina says, “Just to see them, it’s a happy day.”
She says this softly, but she is no softy. She commands respect. She brooks no nonsense (a handy skill when traveling with me); when a drunken pan handler approaches us, she gives him her “hard face” (her words) and he veers away. But she says things like, “Oh my goodness”, and in her eyes you see genuine caring, and she reaches into her purse for candies for little children, but not before asking the parents’ permission. She speaks five languages. She remains curious. Currently, she is devouring history books, learning more about her island, although she has likely trod its every inch. She is dushi (sweet). In the evening, our official day done, the phone rings in my hotel room. “If you aren’t too tired,” Clarina says, “I’d like to show you more of our island.”
I pick up my notebook and take the elevator down to the lobby. How can I say I am too tired to learn?
She is retired now, but that doesn’t matter
Juffrouw Gomez, they all say.
Teacher.
Spend a week with someone and you learn a few things about them, and what I learned about Clarina was that everywhere we went she was recognized. It’s true, Curacao is not large (some 40 miles long) and Clarina has lived on this block of limestone her entire life, by my guess sixty-some years (it is impolite, and to be honest mildly intimidating, to ask such a distinguished woman her age). But longevity and close proximity to one’s neighbors do not explain what unfolds as Clarina goes through her day. In restaurants, people wave from tables; from doorways they nod hellos; they get up from behind important desks, ducking their heads respectfully as they come forward. When Clarina walks the colorful streets of the Willemstad capital, they stop her. At traffic lights, they roll down their windows and lean across the seat, unleashing a happy torrent of Papiamento. There are times when I am certain that, in their excitement, they’re going to hop right into Clarina’s car, turning a deaf ear to the honking masses.
It is like being with Lady Gaga, but without all the self-obsession and weirdness. Of these people who wave and smile and offer their hand deferentially Clarina says, “Just to see them, it’s a happy day.”
She says this softly, but she is no softy. She commands respect. She brooks no nonsense (a handy skill when traveling with me); when a drunken pan handler approaches us, she gives him her “hard face” (her words) and he veers away. But she says things like, “Oh my goodness”, and in her eyes you see genuine caring, and she reaches into her purse for candies for little children, but not before asking the parents’ permission. She speaks five languages. She remains curious. Currently, she is devouring history books, learning more about her island, although she has likely trod its every inch. She is dushi (sweet). In the evening, our official day done, the phone rings in my hotel room. “If you aren’t too tired,” Clarina says, “I’d like to show you more of our island.”
I pick up my notebook and take the elevator down to the lobby. How can I say I am too tired to learn?
She is retired now, but that doesn’t matter
Juffrouw Gomez, they all say.
Teacher.
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