Arrival to the Favela
The sun shone high over multicolored rooftops.
Every window, every wall glazed in a different shade, a moasic neighborhood studded into the side of a mountain.
Eyes wide with wonder, Abia absorbed it in as moments.
Children ran in circles, through open hatches, climbed out of broken windows and scrambled over the top of roofs. Some with miniature aircraft’s made from debris above their heads, others with outstretched arms and eyes of imagination.
Women bathed in shallow pools of cloudy water, where others washed clothes on sprig boards, ringing out the excess and setting them to dry on dusty stones.
The air smelt of soot and the scent of tobacco lingered. There was not one man Abia saw without cigarillo. But every now and again the sweetly sharp scent of citrus would coat her nostrils, Oranges and Lemon being sliced and sold on sticks two shacks away.
Through all its noise, Abia caught many languages from many tongues that she did not understand.
A kaleidoscopic maze, she took it in breath by breath.
© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Skies over A Shanty Town