When I was a little girl and lived in Cariri(1) and was really hungry,
I looked but only saw grass.
I gazed afar and in that vastness saw a great endless drought.
My father spoke to my mother like this: Tereza, this will be our end, the only
thing to do is leave Cariri(2).
I could not hear these words without my eyes filling with tears. I knew that I
would leave there but never return.
And my nightshade? I loved to play on it. My God, make it rain on this place.
But then I thought of my brother Antoninho, who had died there because he had
nothing to eat.
One day our problem was solved. A man arrived in a truck and spoke to daddy. He
spoke of the MST, but I wasn’t close by and couldn’t hear.
After the man left, my mom and I asked what he had talked about. My father said:
of the MST.
MST! We were surprised, what the heck is that? Daddy explained it to us. Two weeks
later we left that place and occupied a farm.
Goodbye Cariri. We endured the tents. We faced sun, rain, the police, we were
evicted, we went this way and that.
But one day this changed, we got some land, we began to plant. Such happiness
that I no longer remember that other place, much less the nightshade.
Here we have everything, fields, school, day-care centers, health center, and
even a park to play in.
But if the reader doubts the strength of the MST
Only by entering the struggle will you see,
Everyone very happy with a reason for living.
1. Town in the very dry backlands of the state of Ceará in the north-east of Brazil.
2. The child refers here to the typical situation of the migrant from the north-east, known as retirantes