Ene 28 2013 Any street Africa

• Gondar_opt.png

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  They were two minutes, nothing special, routine sequence and in that corner of the world passed the reality of make-up before our eyes. There is something hypnotic sway of people, the bustle with which Africa desnorta, aimlessly, without further horizons than a president less corrupt than the previous, a rainy season more lenient

Today I want to open a window to Africa, sneak into the streets, in any street. Wait and expect them to go from life in sandals. It was in a corner of the city of Gondar, but it could be another city, other country. No matter, the pace of Ethiopia is the same as the rest of the continent and there, Alfonso Negron, our camera around the world, planted his camera with the African parsimony that made him fit right into the crowd.

In the seventeenth century, Gondar became the second most populous city in the world, a reference in the world. Four centuries later, reference is almost nothing. It retains its Orthodox monasteries and castle Fasilidas, in memory of times more lustrous, but today we want to approach men who have forgotten their own history, as in Africa, anesthesia time returns to all those dirt roads.

In Africa, anesthesia time returns to all those dirt roads.

They were two minutes, nothing special, routine sequence and in that corner of the world passed the reality of make-up before our eyes. There is something hypnotic sway of people, the bustle with which Africa desnorta, aimlessly, without further horizons than a president less corrupt than the previous, a rainy season more lenient, a new child, an end of the month with the mother to feed, a lucky break in the pocket of the tourist, a love just around the corner.

Were, repeat, two minutes one morning, one working day, of a city that we forget, a country that is not recognized in the mirror, a thousand times patched continent. At that time, in those 120 seconds, Alfonso could not turn off the camera, no plane change, perhaps not stop the course of those people hove, because a camera off is like denying the world. It was perhaps the modesty of the observer without interfering, from afar, not to alter the chaos that was taking place.

A young man polishes shoes outside, rubbing with determination to remove accumulated dust from walking on the misery

On that street mingled vans and greetings. The quietness men wore slacks or shirts with American flags. Others carried twigs, or sugar cane. Women did not lose the poise covering their heads with the grace of Ethiopian Queen of Sheba. We saw gold cross with rags watches. We saw furtive glances at the girls who were passing, perhaps to attend a convenience store pots, or en route to a temple, or looking for husband, who knows. In Africa men shake hands without complexes and children share bikes, because only they have, neighbor's solidarity is the only certainty. No further themselves, the rest is rain and helplessness,

The world does not know that there is a street in Gondar where men smile at the sadness. Where a woman, the background, in the same street, sweeps over the clay to dignify their little corner of Ethiopia and lights a fire and clean their wicker baskets, beside a peeling wall announcing Cokes. Still further background, a young polishes shoes outside, rubbing with determination to remove accumulated dust from walking on the misery. And no one knows the type of clothing stall, carefully wiping the sleeve of a dirty shirt, to see if that garment pays rice tomorrow. And then a man walks pensively and some children have to know that crafts, while laughing at the last movie you saw no.

And so goes the life, So many things that no matter, both coming and going of souls making their way to nowhere. It was a street at any given time. Africa was.